You have two cows (2 cows)

[My tribute to the insti footer team]

Aravind G: He likes colorful cows. You will find him in cow races, cow jumps, or for that matter, any cow event that’s going on right now.

Yahoo! : Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Two cows.
Two cows who?
Moo. Moo.

Talli: Yeh kya haraamipan hai? Two cows ki maa ki ch***. [3 sentences down the line, the content is too ‘mature’ to be printed here!)

Praveen: See, macchaa, the funda of two cows is….(10 minute lecture)

L2[with an arm in slings]: Ek cow ne tang laga di peechhe se, aur ek cow ne dhakka diya.

Popa: Two cows, yaani do gai, two guys, matlab do aadmi..hahaha.

Om, senti: Cow1> what if cow2 scores an own goal? Tab to main kuch kar nahi paunga.
Cow2> (pained to the core and just short of hitting cow1) arre nahi karunga yaar.

Hati papa: Abbe, dono cows ke pair zameen mein ghus gaye the.

Coco: In cowland, these youthful bulls get seduced by despo cow aunties. These aunties with coconut shaped udders like bulls with thundering thighs.

Vivek: Main two cows se milne Delhi jaa raha hun. Shaayad late se aaunga ya bilkul nahi aaunga.

P.S. Can’t think of anything for the rest now.

Two cows - 1

Anger management

Of late, I’ve started finding faults in people more often that not. I get irritated at things that I would have normally dismissed as silly or unworthy of my attention/thought. In short, I’m getting pained. It’s not so much about people paining me as me getting pained. I see the virian virtue of empathy slowly trickling away from my blood. But I ask, is it for my good or bad?? And how do I even get an answer to this?

I hate to get angry. It makes me lose control over my emotions, or rather, an expression of my emotions. Often I’ve wriggled out of the misery convincing myself, and trying to convince others that I’m not angry, but just irritated. But how thin is the line that separates irritation from anger?? True, I do not break glasses or throw things at people or shout at people at the top of my voice. In the few times that I’ve been really convinced of my anger, I’ve expressed it in my own ways. Often in funny ways, as witnesses claim.

It’s an art to hide a range of emotions behind a blank expression; I am but a dilettante. And anger robs one of the canvas to dabble in this art. Some argue that masking one’s expression is a dishonest pursuit, a travesty of emotions. That they have a right to know what others think and feel. But then don’t we need to look at both sides of the coin?? There is, perhaps, a third side??

I know I’m a hypocrite at heart. But, does owning it cleanse me of the sin of hypocrisy?? Also, does a false claim of hypocrisy make one a hypocrite?? I make no attempt to answer.

I greet people I loathe with an equally fervent smile as I would someone I consider close to me. It is so well-knitted into my demeanor, only a VERY few would actually notice the difference. But I admit the difference, however infinitely subtle.

Now, someone having a sudden surge of curiosity may ask, “Why all this badinage?” I have my reasons, vague and contrived as they may seem.

Let me elucidate, with a tactful use of bullets, of which I have become a fan of late.

• S borrowed my all-out the night before. He wanted it for 5 minutes, or so he claimed. Now, when someone borrows something u really need and assures u he will return it in 5 minutes, u expect him to return the something in 5 minutes. He returned it the next night, through an intermediary. My night, however, was spent in the envious company of mosquitoes, covering myself in a blanket in this dreadful Chennai heat in a desperate attempt to thwart off their ruthless attack. The greatest human civilizations were built on the sound foundations of empathy, a concern for fellow beings. When that is not forthcoming, u start wondering where our own civilization is headed to!!
• I had to submit a letter to prof. S. Which I did. He refused to take it on the irrefutable grounds that the sheet was folded, at three places, if I might add. Hence, I had to get it typed by the guy in the office. The guy was supposed to come in another 10 minutes, and I waited. As 10 became 20, I decided to take my chances and asked S if I could use the comp to type it out myself. “Can you type?” he asked. “Well, I can try.” Much to his surprise I typed it out at a fairly decent speed and finished in a few minutes. Took a print-out, deleted the .doc file. “Fine,” he accepted. I heaved a sigh or relief, a huge one at that. As I started walking out of the building, Ma’am S called me back. Prof. S, scrupulous that he is, had noticed a profound fault in my letter. The letter should have been dated the day before. Couldn’t I just strike out the date and write the correct one. I’ve even got a pen with black ink. Better type it out. Hmmm..
  

Test

An embedded Youtube video. Let's see if this works...




P.S. In case it does, can someone strip and flog the guy with the headband??

Maria Maria!!

An event that surreptitiously went unnoticed behind the World Cup hungama was this year’s Wimbledon. Even Federer’s outrageous performance, which one journalist claimed to be the best performance on grass since Jimi Hendrix's in the 60’s, escaped the attention it deserved otherwise. What did catch my attention was something else.

There was something about the two women’s finalists. One had muscles, looks and build that had an uncanny resemblance to that of a man. The other, to put it subtly, was flat-chested. It was a dreadful disappointment for a lot of us who had been religiously following the performances of the Sharapova’s and Hantuchova’s and Vaidisova’s.

In the yesteryears, I didn’t care so much for the Monica Seles’s and Sanchez Vicario’s as I did for the Steffi Graf’s and Gabriela Sabatini’s. In recent times, the increasing ubiquity of the Russians in women’s tennis (that has surpassed that of the Baldwin’s in Hollywood) has turned out to be a boon in disguise. They have revived what was thought to be a lost element in women’s tennis – grace and beauty on court, with no concession on talent.

As much as we like to see Sharapova looking her prettiest self, we love to see her decimate her opponents on court with consummate ease. It is the fighter in her that appeals to us, and not her gold accessories, that are, but just accessories. It is when her immaculately placed forehands and neatly spun backhands leave her opponent bewildered that she looks her best. It is when her grunts reach a crescendo that her fans’ lubb-dubb of the heart starts a-thumping.

Strangely, the Sharapova’s and Hantuchova’s do not seem to carry all their grace off-court. In their public appearances, they do not seem to exude the same elegance that they do on court. Their appeal, sexual or otherwise, is limited to the court, and perhaps, rightly so. Though it borders on vulgarity to describe a Sharapova v. Sania match as porn as one over-imaginative blogger did a while back. Kourinikova, not much of a player as she was a teen-model, failed to impress for long. Her elegance (if she had any) never seemed to appear on court. (I won’t be surprised, however, if Herbert Herbert doesn’t agree).

At the end of the day, we want the best to win. Only the best. Is that asking for a lot??

Manipur Diary

• If there was anything that dictated the way I lived, it had to be the load-shedding routine. It was complicated, and my attempts to completely decipher it proved futile. Roughly, the current came at 8-10a.m., 2-4 p.m. and according to a complex method, it would be decided whether it would come again at 6p.m. or 10 p.m. which would last till 4 or so in the morning. With the monsoons arriving, one would have expected the situation to improve. It did. An extra half an hour was added to each slot, before and after.
• Each morning, by the time I wake up and finish brushing my teeth, my brother would be back from his two tuitions. At 8, when the load is unshed, I would laugh myself to an episode of ‘Whose Line is it anyway’. A heavy breakfast of rice after that. Lunch (chara wanba) is late. A game of footer with an airless ball in the evening with the kids. Late night: watching TV if the current comes, or read something otherwise. By 9, everyone is sound asleep and I am well alone, awake.
• There are 5 trees growing in our garden bearing 4 different kinds of mangoes. I had stripped a diminutive tree of red cherries of all its fruits, as and when they ripened. Now, the mango trees bore the brunt. Raw mangoes are the best when it comes to beating a post-afternoon-nap-lethargy. Add a few mint leaves, green chilli and salt to taste, and u have the perfect recipe to jerk u out of ur lethargy. Not recommended for those with a penchant for stomach upsets though.
• Books have been a good company for me this vacation. Apart from old Graphiti’s and etc’s, the Illustrated weekly of India’s, and Sputnik’s, I have been gorging on novels, finishing off all that I could lay my hands on. The list includes Two Lives, 2 John Grisham’s, short stories of Anton Chekhov, a Peter Straub ( Mystery), an Agatha Christie, Harold Robbins (one of his better ones), and one romantic novel (some Delinsky), and The Rule of Four. Thanks to W. for providing me with most of the books!
  
• The streets in the city (if u can call it one) are dusty, and clogged with ubiquitous, yet inconspicuous one-ways. They are sure to be missed but for the traffic policewomen stationed at these little alleys. I tried smiling my way through once, but the policewoman stuck to her job!! For an outsider (I felt like one myself) it can be a frustrating experience, finding one-ways where u least expect them. The junctions are manned by incompetent traffic policemen, and more often than not, the roads get clogged due to an extra wave or gesture of the hand.

• Football fever hit the place hard. From my 8 year old cousin to 60 yr olds, references to the ongoing finals were abundant. Dad, a staunch supporter of German football, would be annoyed when players of other teams don’t shoot and pass as the Germans would have. He was quiet when the Germans exited before the finals. My cousin studying in 10^th standard explained why she would watch only England’s matches – Frank Lampard. Her anecdotes on football mania at her school were amusing enough. My 8 year old cousin, who had taunted me for days when his left-handed Nadal beat my right-handed Federer in the French Open finals, would greet me in the morning with his own prediction of the day’s matches. His was an opinion I revered, Sarathi’s in Poknafam was not. He did write a decent book – Nungsibi Greece – but his extravagant use of words (and not much else) left a lot to be desired. One big disappointment during the finals was the failure of the electricity department to fulfill their promise of providing uninterrupted power during the matches. It left a lot of people irritated, and once again, devoid of trust in the department.

I'm happy!

Right now

Four years have passed since I entered this institute, and I hardly noticed how things have changed. As I look back and immerse myself in introspection, it seems like the I that was then and the I that is now are different, in ways that I'm aware and in ways that I'm not. Maybe a good way to judge this is to ask someone who knew me well before and haven't been in touch with me for the past 4 yrs.

With many people passing out and entering an entirely new chapter in their own lives, several existentialism dilemmas and issues have started to brew within and without us. With current debates going on the so-called excellence phenomenon on one side and cases of suicides and disillusionment of students with the system, these questions have never been more significant. Seemingly simple questions like ‘what now?’, ‘what have we achieved?’, ‘is it worth it?’ etc. that are digging up the philosophers in many of us. Not really surprising, if u think of it.

Everyone wants to different, in one way or the other. And everyone has a secret fear of getting subjugated to the annals of mediocrity and mundane existence. Two easy pointers would be the answers to the questions -

• Will we be really able to do what we like?
  
• Will we like what we end up doing?
  

I see many minds getting weary in the middle, thanks to the tug-of-war between an inherent desire to excel and distinguish oneself from others on one side and the external pressure of conformity on the other.

Paradoxically, it is hazaar tougher to get involved in something that u like to do. Not many people get so lucky. The maxim ‘Do not what u like, like what u do’ is a blatantly misleading statement; it’s subjecting a person to a life of superficial happiness and deep regret. That’s not what we want to end up doing. And the justified fear is in ending up doing so.

Another dilemma is the search for things that endear to u, that u can be passionate about. This leads to an iteration of experimentations and analyses in the capacity of each person. Experiments can go awry and analyses can be erroneous and there should be allowances for these. When the allowances are not coming, frustrations emerge. As I see it, parents and guides should be more accommodating at this stage than any other. The role of peers also can’t be undermined. Everyone wants to be accepted and yet, be different from others leading to ego clashes and the like. When u live with people from so many different backgrounds and with different personalities, u r bound to learn and adapt and condition urself.

I’ve been fortunate enough to get close to a Punjabi, a tam, a bong and a gult in the course of these years and of late, a sindhi and a bihari – all with strikingly different personalities and behaviour.. U know there are people u can count on, whom u can trust, and for whom u are willing to go out of ur way to accommodate them. It’s a pleasure to know these people. I’ve fostered numerous acquaintances, but these are a few prized ones. Unfortunately, half of them are going this time. And we are all going different ways, as far as I can see it It’s a feeling of weirdness, above loss, that’s encompassing me now. Hopefully, it will pass.

Getting acclimatized to hostel life was an entirely new experience; and I’m expecting that getting out of it will be another quantum jump. Mine was rather gradual as I had spent one more year in hostel in Delhi, but for most of the students here, it was a start. And as most of us were dumped in a single hostel, we were made to sort things out for ourselves first hand, with little help from seniors. What an experience it was! By the way, the affinity to the girls’ hostel did nothing much than serve as an occasional eye-candy. ( who can forget the way the two of us hogged the limelight when the soodest senior girls’ gang took us out for a movie treat!!)

Our first year saw another thing – us getting impressed by the so called gods in the institute. They were seniors to us and starting the second year, we began a long draught process of emulating the gods. The process continues till this day.

Whatever be the case, I’ve seen most of the people around me growing, maturing. Some disillusionment is evidently there, but overall, we are more prepared to face difficulties than we were four years ago. And much less susceptible to external stresses.

As for me, the funda is simple – make an endeavor to find out what endears to u. Stick to it and screw everyone and everything else. Altruism is one luxury we can’t afford, especially when u have to pay with ur life and happiness.

Many of my friends have entered and are entering a new procellous phase in their lives. My best wishes are with them. I have one more year to go, and I’m waiting, albeit a little less enthusiastically than I seem to on the onset.

Life’s like that.

Bird flew

The first reported case in Asia was by a Korean poultry farmer. One fine morning, he discovered that one of his chickens was missing, and innocently uttered, “Bird flew.” Den, dey thot da name wasn’t k3wL enuff, and ‘bird flu’ was born. Since then, birds started flying everywhere else, with the latest flights being sighted in France, Nigeria and Iraq, as reported by u-know-WHO.

Apart from birds, flying pigs have been sighted, though in much lesser numbers. Flying humans have been sighted too, but in very, very rare cases. But then, who wants to fly anwyay? Though it has not been specifically proved, some human flights have been linked to sightings of bird flight. Experts have advised to cook them and their eggs properly to render them flightless.

The term has been effectively used by PETA (Professional Extreme Tacticians in Air) to further their cause. They iterate that among the varied hazards of flying is that u can fly into an unassuming bird and drop dead any time. For quite sometime now, they have been distributing t-shirts that read –

Bird flu
Will u?

in the front and a picture of a dead chicken in the back.

One way to prevent flying of birds, apart from separating them from the flying flock and clipping their wings, is to employ bird flu waxing vaccine. It is supposed to make them inactive and unmoving. Apparently, chickens thus rendered, especially broilers, are extremely sensitive to fright and shock. Last heard, a marriage ceremony had left 99 chickens in a poultry farm dead the next morning. Consequent investigations showed that it had nothing to do with the fact that it was a Punjabi marriage. The case was finally dropped when it was discovered that the only survivor in the calamity was a dumb chick. And it was not a blonde even!

“Technology is to be blamed. It’s made us lazy; all we do is sit, eat and sleep. After sometimes, we won’t even be able to attend Punjabi marriages.” – a socialite.

“Birds fly, they don’t flew.” – George Bush

"Actually, they do." - Oscar Wilde.

I crave for some sleep

The air stirs reluctantly

And your thoughts blind me.

Scouring the deepest
strata of my memories
For a perfect gift.

You and me, alone
The empty skies above, and
a tractor, perhaps.

(14th Feb.)

Movie marathon II : Koreans attack

These Korean movies are a revelation. Superb story-telling with some neat acting have made these movies make my list of all-time favorites. Not to forget the beautiful background score that underlines all of them.

Memories of murder (8/10)

You guessed it right. There’s a serial killer in the movie, but the movie is more about the investigators - two rural cops and a special detective from the capital - than the killer.

The investigators lives get consumed by the growing frustration in being unable to nab the killer, and they start pursuing their own tactics to do so. The pace of the movie helps in intensifying the emotions involved.

I can’t believe I laughed in the first half of the movie, and trust me, some scenes are quite funny. The way the story evolved is unimaginable and would leave you glued to ur seat till the end.

Based on a true case. (Apparently, the killer was never caught.)

Oldboy (7.5/10)

The movie everyone is talking about post-Zinda.

An ordinary guy is kidnapped and imprisoned for 15 years, making him wonder why and by whom he is being imprisoned. When he is released abruptly, the question why he is released becomes more important to him than why he was kidnapped. His past gets unraveled as he seeks to find the answers to his questions.

There are certain things that might put off a part of the audience, least among them being the violence that would make your bones creak. The story is shocking and the way it’s being told is no less so, perhaps exactly what the director wants.

Wonder if it’s the director’s fault or the actors’, but couldn’t help noticing a room for improvement in their acting, specially the guy who played the avenger. Oh, but didn’t the director get the Grand Prize of the jury at Cannes?

My sassy girl (8.3/10)

The name misled me, and I presumed it to be another cheap ‘sissy’ movie. (Remember ‘Sex is zero’?) And so, I watched it post-lunch in the weekend to help me in my afternoon nap. I was in for a surprise, and a mighty pleasant one at that.

An inept, awkward guy and a dominating, fist-yielding tomboy make an interesting leading couple. Their relationship, a different one at that, goes through ups and downs, drawing the viewers’ unwavering attention along with it. The storytelling is tight, and yet flows like a breeze. Each thread is woven to perfection to present the fabric that the movie is.

Based on a series of true stories posted by Ho-sik Kim on the Internet describing his relationship with his girlfriend, which were later transformed into a best-selling book.

Now, time for my 3-sentence reviews.

36 Quai des Orfèvres (French) (8/10). The two best actors of France come together to play two cops standing on diametrically opposite principles. The tug-of-war between the two protagonists, accentuated by some neat action sequences leaves u spellbound. If you found “Heat’’ boring, this is the movie to get you over your boredom.

Lord of war (7/10). A perfectly cynical Nicholas Cage will make u smirk, while the reality will stun u. A perfect portrayal of the anti-hero. “You know who's going to inherit the world? Arms dealers. Because everyone else is too busy killing each other.”

Monella (Italian) (6/10). This is my first movie of the genre – erotic comedy. The director had a tough job portraying nudity in a humorous vein, but pulls it off amazingly. With a pretty actress to boot.

Goodnight and good luck (8/10). The use of black and white documentary footages merges seamlessly with the movie. Worth watching for the speeches delivered by David Strathairn. Another directorial triumph for George Clooney after ‘Confessions of a Dangerous Mind’.

Broken flowers (7/10). Looks like an extension of Bill Murray’s character in Lost in Translation, with the same laid-back, lazy rendering. Surprised to find Sharon Stone in a truncated appearance. Good performances by all his ex-gfs in the movie.

Jawani diwani (0.5/10). One of the good things about watching a movie on comp – u can scroll through it. Saw this movie in less than 6 minutes. Yeah!!

Blue Velvet (6.5/10). David Lynch is the director, and that says more about the movie than anything else that follows. Less surreal than Mulholland Drive and Lost Highway. The hovering tension grips u throughout the movie.

Aeon flux (4/10). The movie would have looked good if it were animated. Points for Charlize’s attire. Otherwise forgettable.

Tidhanic. 13 minutes of laugh – that’s what the movie(???) will give u. When u have Leonardo and Kate Winslet delivering dialogues in Tamil, the hilarity consumes u. Loved the part where Rose’s fiancée says, “I love u daaaa.”, in the fundamental tam accent.

Zinda (7/10). A good movie if not taken in the shadow of Oldboy of which it is a carbon copy. Of course, the director had to do away with the taboo subject and in the process made a mess the ending. Commendable and wooden performances by Sanjay Dutt and john Abraham, respectively, delivered atop a superb background score.

Shattered glass (7.8/10). A powerful drama shedding light on the cut-throat world of journalism. Based on a true story, it portrays the meteoric rise of a young writer-journalist, and the consequent downfall when his deception got unearthed. U can’t help sympathize with him in the end even though u know he his guilty of having fabricated more than half of the 41 articles he wrote for ‘The New Republic’.

Family Guy Presents: Stewie Griffin - The Untold Story (7.5/10). Stewie is the ultimate harami, perhaps second only to Eric Cartman (South Park). U will like this movie if u like this conversation:
Brian Griffin: This is the perfectly destroyed spider web.
Stewie Griffin: Where's the spider?
Brian Griffin: Knock, knock!
Stewie Griffin: Who's there?
Brian Griffin: I ate him!

12 Angry Men. (8.5/10). A jury room with 12 jurors inside will blow your mind away as they decide the fate of a boy accused of murdering his father. The 90 + something movie will drain ur emotions away as u are caught in the suspense built up in a simplistic set-up. Amazing.

Now, when do i get a ticket for Rang de basanti? :sigh:

This and that

Imagine a dish that you relish the most. Let’s call it Zoso. Now, you are invited for this dinner and informed earlier that you are gonna be served Zoso. At the dinner, you find a carte du jour of lip-smacking, saliva-enticing food, but you see no sign of Zoso. Your host starts serving you. You start eating. The food is good. But, u want the zoso. The voice of the host is no more than a monotonous, irritating hum as you chat over the dinner. U want the zoso. Badly. Desperately. Your patience takes a terrible beating. It gets bruised, harassed. Finally, when your Patience says it can't take any more, closes its eyes and seems to be breathing its last, u see the zoso in front of u!! Your Patience might be dead, but u hardly care anymore.

You take a bite. Nothing short of brilliant. The best you’ve ever tasted. Before you have completed relishing the taste, he snatches the plate from you and throws it out of the window. Nothing else said or done. Plain, horrible silence.

This is how I felt after the Led-Zeppelica show. A group playing Led-Zep, almost ditto – songs, costumes, aura – everything. Dazed and confused, that’s the way, the song remains the same, immigrant song. And then, stairway to heaven. They were playing each note to perfection and were about to begin the solo when the horrible thing happened. Shit, I don’t want to even talk about it. Dear Dean, you are one big .......

#

My comp has been running for the past 18 days. One of my comp-sci friends told me that leaving a comp on for a long period of time extends the comp’s lifetime. U know that’s just bullshit. I’m just too lazy to turn it off everyday. *shameless grin*

Bored in class

Me:
On a rock she sat, with drooping eyes
Separating herself from the lies
She thought, "Oh! How time flies?
Shit! My paneer butter masala must be burnt."

Jat:
Time actually did fly
Not just the paneer,
rather [the] house itself was burnt
and so was the baby child
and the husband who was blind.

Me:
You bloody sadist...

#
Plagiarised:

And now the dhabas are changing,
new dishes have come and gone,
sometimes when I pass that old madrasi lane,
I still smell it, I can't be wrong.

Standing in those unwashed clothes,
the waiters still call me in there,
oh the way my nostrils burn,
I know that it will be served forever,
what was the worst food of my life.

yeah it was the sambhar of 69,
the sambhar, the sambhar, the sambhar of 69 !!!
Oh yeaaahhhhh
[Source unknown.]

Lord of War

Guns. One of the three g’s that have fascinated men over the ages - the other two being girls and games. It might be the image it conjures, or could be the way it gets stuck up in your throat and releases itself nasally when you pronounce the word.

I remember reading a thriller, the name and the author of which pass my memory right now, in which a politician was assassinated using a rubber bullet. The intricate detail to which the gun was made and the planning was done captivated me. It remains one of the best thrillers I have ever enjoyed. More relevantly, it made me fall in love with guns.

They keep recurring in my dreams. And I can’t give an apposite reason why.

I have heard gun-fire, real gun-fire; gun-fire that goes rattatatatat, with seemingly long pauses and short rats and tats in between. The incident took place half a kilometer away from my house, when an Assam Rifles convoy ‘retaliated’ to the explosion of a bomb. Those who had planted the bomb had run away. In the end, 18 civilians got killed by the one-sided gun-fire. No A.R. personnel received so much as a scratch.

For the first time, I didn’t find guns fun anymore.

Now, a pertinent question, why am I saying all these? There are two reasons-
1.I’m terribly bored to do anything else right now.
2.I just saw this movie, ‘Lord of War’.

The first needs no explanation.

As for the second, the movie (8.3/10) shows the plight of gun-runners and reveals an astonishing, though not really unknown, fact – the real culprits are those who make guns, and those who sell them. It shows a cynical and funny Nicholas Cage in his true elements. But in the same breath, shows the massacre of kids and women and gun-wielding teenagers. That’s not funny. Neither is the fact that the biggest gun-runners are the 5 so-called superpowers who are also the members of the U.N security council, who continue doing it with no repentance and reluctance.

As the protagonist says in the movie, “There are over 550 million firearms in worldwide circulation. That's one firearm for every twelve people on the planet. The only question is: How do we arm the other 11? ”

I don’t like guns anymore.

We are the champions, my friend

The scores:
Leagues:
1-0 vs. Delhi
0-0 vs. Kharagpur
Semis:
0-0 (4-3 in penalties) vs. Mumbai
Finals:
1-0 vs. Delhi

We were thus crowned the footer (known as football or soccer to the world outside) champions after a drought of a long 15 years. Oh boy! what a joy it is to be a part of a gold-winning team and what a pride to be a part of a defence that yielded to none. Delhi, you people were good, that’s why we scored against you, but then just not good enough. The week's stay in Roorkee was fun, inside and outside the field. What with the numerous squabbles and fights and some highly competitive matches in other games too. The only crib I have was the stupidly amateurish and ordinary refereeing. It suddenly made me empathize with players who rattle and punch referees during matches. Whatever. We are the champions, my friend! Let me bask in this well-deserved glory for sometime.

#
There’s no place like home. It’s not that I dislike other places. In spite of the dusty and potholed roads, the lack or excess of security, the firings and the mindless explosion of bombs (I missed one by 15 minutes this time!!), the complete absence of night-life, internet connections that make the phrase sound like a misplaced oxymoron (which explains my prolonged absence from the world wide web), current that goes off without a whisper of a warning, there’s something about home that’s missing anywhere else. Perhaps the home-made food, or being able to just loll about without caring a damn about anything (as a manner of speaking). And Manipuri winter is the best I’ve ever experienced, very unlike here where I am literally sweating it out. At least for the nonce, I’m indeed quite happy that the nostalgia in me is dead.

#
In hindsight, what a fantastic year it has been for me; just didn’t realize how it whizzed past me at such a neck-breaking speed. It’s been fairly interesting in every way – academically, physically, emotionally. And a perfect climax to boot. Thanks to everyone who have made my life such a joy to live. I am blessed. So, bless everyone who’s reading this and bless everyone who is not.

I don’t believe in making new year resolutions and hence, I haven’t made any. I have a wish-list though and it goes something like this-

• Spend a week in a virgin island (preferably Thailand) with someone who I can spend a week in a virgin island with.
• Spend another week touring Europe.
• Watch a Pink Floyd show – LIVE.
• Get a little more academically inclined. (This is a wish-list, remember?)
• Watch all matches of Italy, Brazil and Argentina during the world-cup (I know I’m thinking a little too ahead, but still)

Sorry to my other wishes that couldn’t make it to the list. I’m bound by constraints here. (‘U’ know what I mean)

O dear, I’m so ready to take the new year by its horns!!

Ah!

Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
And when I come home cold and tired
It’s good to warm my bones beside the fire

Having endured 2.5 + 2.5 hours of intensive practice, soaked in the incessant rains, enjoyed an invigorating shower and a scrumptious dinner, and having watched half of a movie (Monty Python and the Life of Brian) that I have been waiting for with bated breath, here I am. With a weary body that aches with each slight movement. Numb legs whose presence I am faintly aware of.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, forgive me in case u witness any sort of lapse in my thought progression. It is purely (undoubtedly) unintentional.

[The door flies open and Cardinal Ximinez of Spain enters, flanked by two junior cardinals. Cardinal Biggles has goggles pushed over his forehead. Cardinal Fang is just Cardinal Fang]

Ximinez: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise.... Our two weapons are fear and surprise...and ruthless efficiency.... Our *three* weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency...and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope.... Our *four*...no... *Amongst* our weapons.... Amongst our weaponry...are such elements as fe..

Ah, sorry for that; a minor disturbance, I say. Sometimes it gets on to your nerves. It is just plain frustrating to see people leaving for their sweet home and you are stuck in this unending routine (read horrendous, mind-numbing, body-deadening Chinese room-level torture).

If you have read this far, not yet stoned AND still alive, you can choose either the red pill or the blue pill. The rest, as they say, will be history.

P.S. I had/have no intention of torturing anyone.
P.S.S. If this post seems too arbit, it's not my fault.
P.S.S.S Where am I?