It’s over, isn’t it?

I wrote a post when I finished my undergraduate days. Back then, it was one of many written by other people who were also graduating. Now we’re done with being post-graduates, but not one of those lazy bastards has written anything. It’s enough to drive you to the bottle. Maybe I should drive them to the bottle, plonk them in front of a computer and make them write, under pain of listening to me sing.

I must say, it’s been fun — five full years of it. I’ve met many interesting people. I’ve become friends with even more interesting people. And some people I can’t imagine how I did without them. Whom did I insult and poke fun at before?!? Now, now. Those guys I did that to before need not take offense. It’s just that these people are easier to bait. You were expecting glowing praise and heartfelt compliments? Do you not know me at all?

I can’t say that I’ve learnt a great deal about the canon of English literature. It might be fairer to say that I’ve acquired a smattering of knowledge that allows me to bluster my way through my exams. I’m mighty grateful none of my professors read this blog, because I still have to give my final exams. If they catch on to my tricks, then they might examine my answers more critically. However, it might also be that they’ll realize that while my answers might be a bit short on theory and other such things, it certainly won’t be short on reasoning, analysis and my own opinions. I think that’s the best thing I’ve learnt during these five years. See how I managed to praise myself and my university and professors at the same time? Show me where else you could learn to do that? I’m sorry, what was that? Of course I’ll accept your apologies for being unable to find anything similar. It’s all right.

It’s been a fairly smooth ride, with the occasional bumps of crazy, and the rare pothole. I don’t think I’ll be forgetting the crazy bits anytime soon. I’ve acquired enough stories to fill a bookshelf. All right, that might be an exaggeration. But I could certainly write a three-volume novel. In fact, I think everyone of us could write a three-volume novel. Between us, we could definitely fill a bookshelf. And it would be one of the most entertaining bookshelves in history. All right, maybe those war years would be full of excitement and distress. The sixties might be full of cultural significance. But then, I’m not going to go into full-blown nostalgia mode when I read books from those shelves.

It’s slightly scary that I’ll soon have to start working. I need a job for that first though. At the moment of going to press, I have no job or offers, except maybe the faintest hope of one. In case you know of any, drop me a line. I don’t have to work of course. I could do an M.Phil, another M.A., some other degree, or just be an unemployed layabout. But I’d rather work. I’ve studied enough. It’s time to put these skills to the test. While procrastination might be the more comfortable option, it’s not an option I wish to take anymore. I don’t think the skills will be the problem. It’s just the whole idea of actually being employed full-time. It’s hard to get my head around the concept. I’ll have to accept that I’ve grown up. What’ll be next? Old age? Death? Snakes and shotguns?!? Get off my fucking lawn!

Employment is scary. I’ll be responsible for my mistakes and they’ll have greater consequences than just lesser marks on a test. Or will they? Maybe I’ll just be a Wally — drinking coffee, shirking responsibility and making sarcastic comments about all my co-workers. I doubt that though. Well, maybe not the coffee. I’ve worked on enough projects to know that I’ll always pull my weight. I wonder if that expression arose from the galleys? But I can’t do half-assed jobs on projects and stuff. It’s like an itch that has to be scratched.

It’s also hard to imagine forming a new routine, one that’s different from the “Get up, get ready, go to campus, spend all day engaged in various activities, return or go to friend’s house, rinse, repeat.” Going to the campus has become almost second nature. I don’t even register details on my way to the campus anymore. My feet just automatically complete the journey, kinda like cruise control. It’s not as if the campus hasn’t changed. I know fewer people there now. But soon, I’ll know even fewer people. Eventually, I’ll know almost no one. I’ll be one of those who come by, look around aimlessly and then head out again. I might run into some of those who become campus institutions. The ones who become one of the sights on campus and join the league of dhop’er chop and the KMR. They will be the only ones I’ll know. And then I’ll kill time by talking about pointless things. Even now, I kill time by talking about pointless things, but at least the ones I do it with are people with whom it’s fun. There, you happy? I complimented you. Now will you stop with the waterboarding? Seriously!

It’s now that I think we have it both the best and the worst when it comes to staying in touch. On one hand, we have such methods like social networking, text messages, cheap call rates and other such methods of staying in touch with the minimum amount of effort. Unfortunately, all this ease also makes it all too easy to take people for granted. You start off thinking “Hmm. Haven’t talked to X in a long time. Must catch up soon. Oh well, there’s always or maybe I’lll just text. Eh! I’ll do it tomorrow. It’ll only take a minute.” and before you know it months have elapsed and you find that X’s life is not all that interesting now that the principal characters are all unknown to you. I intend to remedy this by making sure that I become a recluse. This way I’ll have no principal characters and you buggers will have to be interested in my life. See what all I plan to endure for you people? Where’s my money, bitches?!?

Of course, it is more than likely that the people I want to stay in touch with — notice how that expression makes it possible to avoid naming anybody, thus making everybody think they’re included. Learn this skill. It’s very useful — will be in the same place that I am. That would mean that I don’t have to be a recluse. It would also mean that wherever I am will witness periodic acts of lunacy. Or at least occasional drunken misdemeanours. And no, I’m not telling you about any drunken misdemeanours. Do you even know what a misdemeanour is? Oh wait, you do? Well, jolly sucks to you, I’m not telling you.

I’m already over a thousand words in and I haven’t said a single thing of relevance or interest. Just shows what happens when you force someone to write a farewell post. There’s so much to say that you end up not saying anything. Having mastered the art of writing absolutely inane stuff, I can write a long post and still be completely inane and pointless. That’s a highly useful skill. Learn it.

I’ve seen quite a few changes around me, none more so in the people. Now that I’ve acquired the interest of those who’ve stuck around till this point, let me disappoint you by saying that in the main, they’ve been changes for the better. The ones who’ve changed for the worse aren’t worth the effort, as a great man would say. I’m not sure if any great man ever said this, but it sounds like something great men would say. Actually it sounds more like something some American would make a photoshopped motivational image out of. But who is to say they won’t be great. Everyone has to start somewhere. The ones who’ve changed for the better have become funnier, nicer, and other adjectives, some of which are unsuitable for a family-friendly blog such as mine. Fuck you all! Cursing is an integral part of the family but adjectives are not. That is an important lesson. Learn it.

As you might have noticed, this post has been almost entirely about me. It’s because I can’t presume to write about other people. They’re inscrutable and I have no idea what they’re thinking. Except when they insult me. Then they’re very vocal about their opinions. And they’re uniformly unflattering and hence they have been rejected as possible candidates for inclusion in this post. If you wish to be famous by appearing on this blog, start saying nice things about me and my various skills. The best compliment wins a mention on this blog. The contest closes when I die. So you have time to come up with something that really captures the brilliant piece of your life that is me. Put your thinking caps on! But finish reading this post first.

In fact, I have very little else to say. I really only wrote this so that other people might be shamed into writing theirs. I mean, when the least articulate amongst you writes a 1500+ word post, you can surely do better! And remember to make it juicy, salacious, bitchy, scandalous and full of gossip that I never knew. Remember, I’ll be reading each and every one of your posts so I’ll need to have a lot of the dirt if my attention is not to go a-wandering.

Also, am I not a brilliant ray of sunshine?

Soap in the water, lather in my eyes

You know what the problem is with resolutions? You feel more and more foolish the longer you stick to them. All resolutions imply a denial of some sorts. You might argue that a resolution to exercise more helps you gain health. You don’t gain health when you exercise. Health is merely the denial of sickness. When you exercise you put millions of hard-working bacteria and virii, not to mention a bunch of protozoans and fungi, out of business. Their economies go into a tailspin and they have to resort to strange tactics to recover. Be thankful they haven’t started an ‘Occupy healthy people’ or a “We’re the 99.99%” movement. Notice how my attempts to write a serious piece about the problems of keeping resolutions petered out into the usual snide asides and topical references. Actually I don’t have much of either so unless I can come up with something quickly, this post is going to run into a dead end. The word count won’t look too good when it says One sixty nine. Incidentally when I wrote one sixty nine, it became one seventy. I find that amusing.

But to return to the problem of resolutions, each resolution implies denial. People don’t make resolutions about gaining weight or smoking more. Hedonism and resolutions seem to be at odds. Each day you stick to your resolution only makes it a bit harder. You start to wonder if you aren’t missing out on something by denying yourself. That cake looked mighty alluring the last time you looked at it, didn’t it? Or if cake is not your poison of choice, though it’s hard to believe that such people exist, then whatever item you’ve resolved to stay away from sure looks like a good time now, eh? I’m betting even that extra poundage you resolved to stay away from seems like a nice idea now, what with all the cold, famine, drought, hangovers, inflation, depression and assorted privations that your denial has brought upon you.

Admit it. You feel like a damn fool for being so headstrong and sticking to your resolutions.Everyone else has kicked back and broken the shackles and look where they are. Shopping for XXL clothing and drinking themselves into a coma, that’s where they are. You, on the other hand, are reading my blog. I’m not complaining. Misfits and freaks like you are my target audience. Always write for people like you. You know just what they want. On a related note, most of the world are normal idiots. How else does one explain so many things that go against the freaks and misfits? Our freakishness and misfitness aside, we’re normal idiots too. It’s just that we have this aura of being on the borderline between normalcy and full-blown lunacy. Choose a side, freaks! Choose lunacy. Lunacy has its roots in the moon. And the moon will soon be the place to be. We already have a head start. We’re on the borderline. I’m afraid the loonies have all the prime real estate in their control. I don’t intend to argue with them. They say such random stuff I’m worried it’ll turn me normal.

And again I veer off a serious note and choose to wander into a cul-de-sac of nonsense. It could have been a lane or a shortcut but it had to be a cul-de-sac. Stop being so noble and living by your own codes. Go ahead. Break all your resolutions. Stop denying yourself the good things in life. Be safe, sane and consensual. Don’t google that last line. I told you not to. Now you’re on a wikipedia roller-coaster all through Risk Aware Consensual Kink straight through to the second moment of area of concrete girders. And it’s been more than an hour since you were here. I had to remotely alter your consciousness and tap into the collective will to change the rotation of the earth to match your computer’s system clock. That last line was a complete crock of shit. But it sounded like a cool thing to say at that time. In three days, I shall break my resolutions. Don’t be scared. I would never do that. I’m one of you guys. We’re all the same. You can read me as well as I can read you. Although it looks like all you consist of is irrelevant trivia, a motley collection of skills and constant denial. What reality do you live in? Choose my reality. In my reality, things happen as I expected them to. One way of doing that is to expect everything. Life, being the bitch that she is, will then do the one thing you had not expected. But since you expected her to do that, it’s happening as expected. Try to wrap your head around that concept. It’s not too hard. It’s harder to wrap flat bread around shredded chicken. I’d advise you to try it. Add condiments, some vegetables, some sweat and grime and it still won’t taste as good as the meanest roll from a corner shop.

As you can see, my mind is a lumber yard. Things wanted, always buried. Gandalf said something similar about Old Butterbur. Now I don’t claim to be Gandalf. My beard is nowhere as bitching as his is. Mine merely whines and complains every once in a while. Also, any stick I whirl and twirl merely flies out of my hand and, more often than not, whacks some innocent bystander who immediately morphs into a balrog and tries to slay me. I made up that last bit also. I am not in the habit of whirling and twirling sticks in public. I merely do it in the privacy of my own home. I’m not deemed important enough to spy on. Damn Newton!

Why Newton? Why not?

Stephenie Meyer, Seriously?!?

There is a site called I Write Like.

So far it’s told me that I write like Cory Doctorow, William Gibson, Daniel Defoe , Lewis Carroll, Arthur Clarke, William Shakespeare, H.P. Lovecraft, Stephen King, Douglas Adams, Ernest Hemingway, J.D. Salinger, Stephenie Meyer, David Foster Wallace and James Fenimore Cooper.

The only connection seems to be that they all wrote in English. I’m now pretty sure the buggers just draw up a random name.

I have broken it! My God!

Double-decker joy.

Heh heh. I came back by a double-decker train this time. It is the very much fun. Although it only has a/c chair cars and hence is slightly expensive. Also the only food items available on the train are chips, biscuits, frooti and water. Comes of not having a pantry car. But since it only takes two and a half-hours to get to Durgapur, I’m not complaining. Also it is damn fun to sit on(in?) the upper deck and watch the platform. The lower deck is also fun. As you can tell, I sampled the window seats of both decks.

In other news, I have to report that Ubuntu is not invulnerable and does break. I believe I managed to break it by trying to download through WINE which screwed up my drivers. Ah well. I’ve done a clean install of Ubuntu 11.10. I’m quite liking the new Unity interface. It reminds me a lot of the OSX UI.

In even more news, I re-read the entire Harry Potter series in reverse order in these past few days and have come to the following conclusions. The last three books are not that bad. In fact, in book five, there’s a line which only makes sense if you’ve read book seven. And even then it’s not a hugely striking line and the real explanation is only evident if you make the connection. I have to admit, my respect for that woman has increased.

In even more news, I have to write a term paper in the next 48 hours. Life is soon going to get interesting.

Also, I just realised that over the years, by buying all those tech magazines, I have accumulated 98 CDs and 33 DVDs. It is a slightly scary thought that there will be people who will have even more.

Boo!

It’s just a thought.

B.B. King is Morgan Freeman. Yngwie Malmsteen is the guy who speaks fast at the end of commercials.

I found this on the internet and I must admit I really liked it.

No offense to Malmsteen, of course.

Or B.B. King.

Of cabbages and kings.

Hey world! What’s up with you? Not that I’m interested. This is my blog, not yours. So get your own blog!

Anyway, sorry for that disturbing scene, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight’s entertainment is my mangled finger. While that may sound like some Emocore band, it is, quite literally, my mangled thumb. You may be wondering how it got mangled. If you’re imagining that my thumb has become a torn, bloody chunk of meat… seriously, try therapy.

A cat bit my thumb. Interestingly, my friends thought of the same joke. Oh well, you know what they say about wise men. And fools, now that I think about it. The incident happened on the thursday before last. I was bringing our cat back from a creche where we had placed it. Incidentally, I realize that I haven’t said a word on this blog about the cat. I shall now digress and tell you all how the cat came to be.

In the beginning there was a tom cat… and then after much wailing and gnashing of teeth… I spotted a cat hiding in a corner of my room near my cot. It seemed to be injured so I fed it. Soon it became friendly and started treating the mess as its own. Then one day it came in injured with one eye popping out. To cut a long story short, I was bringing it back to the mess.

It was in a pink basket and I think its sense of aesthetics was jarred severely. It tried to escape, got stuck and bit me. “Bit me hard, it bit me good / It caused my thumb to swell up like some succulent fruit” and it also caused me to have twelve puncture marks on my thumb. It looks kinda cool, actually.

There is also injured pup in the mess which we hope will make it.

Also the cat, which was being called “Billi” will probably be renamed “Pataudi” or possibly “Tiger” in honour of the man.

Also, never trust life when it seems like there’s too much drama. It’s merely gearing up for the sock filled with the lead of sordidness. If it seems too dramatic to be true, it is. And there will be a bitter awakening.

I might be wrong, of course. But I doubt it. Things are random and there is no grand plan. I should know. I’m God! I can barely figure out how to make this thing work. Bloody instruction sheet!

Update :: The pup, named Doggerel Barua A.K.A. The Amazing Mercurochrome died yesterday (The 26th of September, 2011), possibly of rabies. The pup fought but such is life. It sucks. Especially since we had managed to find a home for it and all. Oh well.

And the end draws nearer…

So one more year of my life has gone by. I am now older. I can feel many manifestations of it now. I’m less scornful of people taking rickshaws everywhere. I now get aches and pains following strenuous, physical activity. But I still retain my carefree outlook on life. So while my body might give up, I’ll will it to do all the crazy shit I always do.

I’m afraid I didn’t really gain much wisdom that I could bore you with this year. I gained experience but no wisdom. I did gain a wisdom tooth. Painlessly, I should add. Unlike other people who were put through some incredible pain. See what I meant about forcing my body to do all kinds of crazy shit? My mind has the final say, always!

I’ve learnt plenty of new shit. One of the things I’ve learnt is that WordPress’s spell checker puts a red squiggle under both ‘learnt’ and ‘wordpress’. I also learnt that Samsung has a really stupid dictionary in its phones. Other lessons, you either already know, don’t want to know or can’t be told. You’ll just have to wait till I publish my memoirs.

My social skills are non-existent, I’ve realised. This thought makes me very happy for reasons unknown. Anonymity is a beautiful thing. Transient moments feel better than recorded events. Now I’m just talking shit and trying to annoy everyone.

I’ve come to like reading non-fiction better than fiction. It requires me to think and reason. Fiction sometimes brings sharks along.

Technology is amazing. Ethical piracy is essential.

Spread stuff on the bread!

It will happen. You know that right?

Post man!

So Memory Lane now has a few dogs answering the call of nature. They’ll have to be avoided. And I’ll have to take care not to step in the doo-doo in an advanced state of inebriation.

But it also has this lovely belladona growing which I’m starting to like.

And maybe that yew alley will work out too.

Oh my god!

So Facebook has this little thing on the sidebar where it recommends things to ‘like’. This thingie generally is all right but it has made me realise two things. The first is that I have way too much free time and the second is that – and this is the biggie – I do not like The Beatles.

You read that right. I don’t dislike them and yes, they’re pioneers and geniuses. I do not dispute that. But still, as far as I’m concerned, I don’t like them enough to ‘like’ them.

Told you I have way too much free time.

Enh!

An interesting thought

One of the better metaphors for a group of people is a cutlery drawer. There will be the sharpest knife in the drawer, a bunch of not-so-sharp but useful knives, one completely useless knife that no one knows why it’s there, a bunch of spoons, some forks and of course a twisty corkscrew. Not to mention bread knives, knives for soft fruits, cleavers… Hell! A cutlery drawer is the perfect metaphor for a group of people. This is what I’m going to use from now on till the end of time. In fact I think I’ll start labeling people I know in terms of cutlery. I’m limited only by the number of people I know and the types of cutlery I know. The latter is easily remedied – Thank you, Internet – and soon I shall start referring to people as ‘Cleaver’ or ‘Soup Spoon’ or maybe ‘Coke spoon’ (which Wiki assures me exists so don’t look at me like that). So everybody! Prepare to become cutlery!

I wonder who will be the boning knife.