Three Point Oh!

A new year. A new dawn. More insolent, supercilious juniors (not that I have any reason to complain). A road leading away from the half way mark... The same old routine, punctuated with few new additions to the my repertoire - like football every evening and arbit walks (which I never previously had considered worthwhile) through the lesser explored realms of the insti. I also rediscovered my penchant for arbit chats, my GTalk status indicating as much a few days back, courtesy GTalk itself and an eighteen year old by the name: Leif K-Brooks. The new year also saw the insti screwing with me once more, as I ended up exiting sophomore with lesser credits earned than any of my contemporaries who hadn't earned themselves a back. I also wasn't given an elective and chosing 'Creative Writing' has been one of the better decisions of my life - if it weren't for which, I'd never have learnt about the 'Dutch' and his 'last Dutchess'. Vocab building is part of this course, I'm given to learn, and I've added at least two more oxymorons to my vocab already, thanks to Jetty - "Useful-Omegle-ing" and "Thomso-work".

I have been one of those few who have been fortunate enough to retain their original names as part of their identity. 'Anirudh', 'Ani-Arun' and 'Ani' were the only names I cared to respond to. However, a short life at IITR has redined nicknaming as I find myself responding to words of varied origins - from the absurd 'Kondy' to the inane 'Andrews' and then the insane 'Kondrews', I have been supplied a plethora of appellations to cope with! Often the name transcends the language boundaries too - I also respond to the call 'Ani-puli'... Why, the burgeoning of names never ceases to amaze me. When people stopped being able to come up with better names, out of fear for having to resolve to banal, hackneyed phrases and words, they simply update the version! Apparently, the 'Kondy' saga has seen a 1.0, a 2.0 and now, most disturbingly, a 3.0 version! Yes. Now people simply say, "Three point oh!"

I cannot elucidate to you the differences between the Kondy prototype and its newest version, as I believe, along with many others, that there has been no modification. However with the higher intellectuals being either vela, bonkers or both, insisting on them being meaningful (read: declaring the same by fiat), I fear these names are here to stay! To the delight of the aforementioned brainboxes (and to my dismay), now any crazy act conceptualized by their fertile and versatile grey cells can be attributed to me by stating, as if obvious, "It's 3.0 da. He can do anything!"

Well, one week into this insti and 3.0 have already been in love (which, I'm told, lasted for a day or two), I have stood for Bhawan-Secy (God alone knows what is happening to that) and today, I've been informed that Kondy 3.0 is the greatest Ghissu ever! God save this world. God save Kondy 3.0 (at least).

Life, The Universe and Everything Else...

Yesternight's four hour deliberation in the presence of three highly intellectual individuals, myself included, one Jetty and an unwitting hacked haddu, I confess, has brought me another step closer to the answer to Life, the Universe and everything else. An innocuous I entered the fateful night by knocking on the door of an ostensibly harmless room where was going on, a discussion about (the renewed craze) Harry Potter. Although I'm not a great JKR fan, as I've often uttered myself, when HP3 - The Prisoner of Azkaban made its grand entry into the conversation, I was a prisoner of their (soon to be our) discussion. HP3 ranks high up there among my favourites along with the Half Blood Prince; the latter, I adore because of the wonderful depiction of my favorite character in the series and the former because of the accurate and magniloquent representation of Time - Travel and it's uses.

I recently read a status message on Facebook - "Sometimes we so wish we could go back in time and do things all over again. But the truth is harsh. We can't do it over and again. We won't." and I realized how wrongly we view things. Yesterday brought out the scientists in us and the discussion raged on, leading us from Time-Space to Quantum Reconstruction for teleportation and the practicalities of creating 'life'; the entire fiasco gravely misinterpreted by the haddu as cacophony. The theories lead us from infinite parallel time-dimensions - each time'line' comprising of the entire history and future of time within it - to parallel universe theories as depicted beautifully and confoundingly in 'The Butterfly Effect'.

All roads lead us to the contradiction of the aforementioned status. Even if we could travel through time by some 'magical' contraption, we could never change what we have already witnessed because of the basic definition of the word 'witnessed'. So, whatever has happened remains that way. If I do manage to change something, then I already have seen it in my past! In which case I probably already know, in my past, that I am going to change something. And that I who changed stuff already knew in his past... and so on and so forth. So where was the beginning of the universe? Was there ever really a t=0?? And if all these arguments are true, IS EVERYTHING WRITTEN?

P.S. The initial question was fundamental. Rudimentary.

Assuming Harry, Ron and Hermione were all present at the hospital ward at say, 7 p.m. and the two H's leave for the 'timely' adventure and go back to 5 p.m., then Harry and Hermione would have to relive the period between 5 and 7. What is Ron doing during these two hours?

At first it seems all too naïve, but soon it so excruciatingly flatters to decieve.

P.P.S. Sorry for bugging that grey with my first scientific konfession.

The Inebriated End...

My mind was spiralling away... Thoughts skidded through at breakneck pace. My life, and more importantly the past two months, flashed in monochrome. I felt like I had been hit by a Humvee or worse, a hangover which had turned uglier than usual. The things I have done and the things I should have... The colours ebbed away and I felt my life wrung out; drained of hue... Everything was turning black and white. The last stoke of green and droplet of red were moving away, just out of my reach... I forced my eyes open, conceding to the end - what had been two lovely months was just inspiring its last great gasp.

The black was replaced by a blob of brown and some pastel shades of green and yellow. A cuboidal white entered the periphery of my vision. I squeezed my eyes until they watered and resigned to my new, yet familiar, life. As I looked past the globular rubber brown, the strange smelling pastes of yellow - I saw my own face. Strange property of light - this reflection. You see yourself; yet it isn't you. I saw myself shades sadder; mournful - a face feeling relegation. Or was it true?

It was then that I realized that I had been staring at the rotis and urghh... dal on the quintessential stainless steel. I observed the vanilla melt. The reflection was actually my face. I was back here - it was no nightmare. I have oft longed to return to Roorkee but today - the great demise - wasn't one of those days. It was a day I also realized that one half of my engineering life was over and the secong innings had begun! It was the day I finally decided that it was time to witness in awe the great wonders of true - Solani.

The putrid odours soon were in the past. The bizarre nighmares were forgotten. It is a new life, yet old, and I am back... It wasn't long before I recognized my love for this insti yet again. And how lucky the insti is to have people such as us! I love this place once more. It's good to be back.

Vive L'IIT.

A Rain, A pig and A Lot of Wet People

The ‘Retreating Monsoon’ is a phrase few people inhabiting the northern plains might come across, much less comprehend. And for a southerner from these parts, it would be nothing less than ‘bizarre’ if he encounters pellets fall earthwards during the month of July. Nevertheless, he will welcome it.

Well, this monsoon has taken up many a strange way as compared to its fathers and ancestors. Arriving earlier than usual, it gave the farmers and Met department great hope… Ever since, it has dilly-dallied causing heat waves in the northern half and supplying water to the Coromandel. It was only when the Met Dept said that there will not be rains in Delhi until the fall of June, did the rains respond a week before the ‘due date’ ergo not altering the ‘Met is always wrong’ paradigm.

Insofar as I have ascertained, employing the limited resources and zeal at my disposal, tedium sets in during the wee hours of the evening, at the demise of the afternoon hours. Hence, it was with the noble intentions of allaying boredom that I headed off for the beach at 1700 hours IST – my usual time. Many had failed to arrive that day citing various strange and untellable reasons. I was nevertheless joined by a fellow beach-faithful going by the name of Pramod (hereafter ‘P’ for ease) and another school junior.

Even as I plonked myself on the marble parapet, I stared up heavenwards carefully noting the garrison of grey vertically overhead. “Dude, it’s going to rain,” said P. The other lad seconded him.

“No man,” I reassured. “Don’t you remember tenth geography? Sea breeze, da!”

They nodded conceding to such infallible logic. The clouds would blow deep into land and leave the sands unscathed, bone-dry… I smiled to myself – the wonders of nature and their simple scientific explanations – high pressure to low pressure, presto!

Plop. One of the largest globules I have encountered in my 19 years of existence fell on my wrist. Even the soundest hypotheses have fallen and mine, apparently, didn’t even make the ‘sound’ cut. Anyway, I stood corrected as we ran for cover in a vast stretch of plain shelter-less sand. The nearby Barista had already been taken by people who had anticipated the rain, much unlike the Meteorology Dept. We ran further towards the only fathomable shelter – a food-court ‘Planet Yumm’. Alas, many others had a similar idea and the poor waiters inside were having a tough time finding standing place for themselves!

In a great stroke of luck, under the illumination of a stroke of lightning, I discovered a shed towards the rear of the building. Rushing forth, we were the first to avail sanctuary under the 4 square metres of asbestos. I recall distinctly, saying, “Hey, this looks like a cattle-shed!” Yes, soon enough people aped our feat and sought shelter under the very same 2 by 2. What was worse, they now used me as a barrier between themselves and the splashes off the tarmac! Soon enough, it did resemble a chaotic shed of livestock.

We realized the urgent need to evict the excessive population. It was perforce then, that we set our plan rolling…

For starters, I sneezed loudly enough to wake up the nearby dead at the crematorium. Then the other two were quick to turn away and hold their breath before P yelled, “ENNA DA? (What da?) Don’t sneeze! You’ve got SWINE FLU… There are people around!!”

Oh yes, it eased the crowd out a bit while others threw us dirty looks and whispered among themselves… The ones with an IQs above fifty over hundred stayed on, I guess. However, the rain had concluded its first bout and what lingered on was nothing save puddles, wet sand and the petrichor… Do I love rains or what!