Living In The Past

Now then, this is my second post in 2 days, or is it? Suddenly, I have a lot of time on my hands, and an equivalent amount of freedom to go with it. A void of sorts has opened up before me, and I don’t really know what to throw into it. Maybe you’d have some suggestions. For one, I tried going to my school for the 1st time after 3 years. And y’know, it felt nice. I thought I’d never go back to school, was hoping not to, but I was dragged into it. And boy, it felt strange.

As you know, today was our 60th Republic Day, a special occasion of sorts, and hence the celebrations in school would be a bit high-key. Of course, there was the usual VIP, who turned out to be an ex-Group Leader for the IAF. Nice, retired sort of guy. There I was, back at what people would say was my “Alma Mater” to utter what is a definite cliche. Apart from a few chosen things, I’m never too emotional about anything. And definitely not about school. No sense weeping over a thing gone 3 years ago, is there? Never had any “special” memories of school or something.

So, as I said, there I was, back at school, blinking like an owl in daylight. Not that I’ve seen owls in daylight, but I’m just borrowing popular phrases. I looked around and recognized some teachers. Look left, here some, right and there were some more. And the students, well they looked well below their age and definitely what I’d term as pint-sized pipsqueaks. There was a distinct difference between the smaller and bigger of that species. The bigger were a foot taller and broader, and the smaller ones were only meant to be present for applauding the giants’ accomplishments. The smallest ones were not to be seen, which means they were too small or successfully squashed. And I couldn’t recognize any of them. Not that I wanted to. Or hoped to.

The only interesting thing which seemed to strike us during a dull award presentation ceremony was the female and Indian version of Michael Phelps, right here in Mumbai. That girl took away all individual records for track events, and even the shot-put, surprisingly. Moving on, the yawn-inducing ceremony ended and the students seemed a bit too eager to get away. No doubt buoyed by the offering of sweets. But then again, I’m assuming everyone’s like me 😛

Neenad gladly, and not too unselfishly, wolfed down some sweets without offering them to us. (If you’re reading this, no hard feelings right? 😛 ) We had a round of nostalgia and a bit more after meeting our teachers and some tohers who might never have had taught us before, but who somehow greeted us all the same. Ah, well. If I might say so, one of the teachers looked as pretty as she did 10 years ago. After that, we roamed around the buliding for a bit, and tried to slam-dunk on the newly installed basketball net, which we couldn’t manage even though I’m nearly 6 feet tall. Poor show :))

We relived some past memories by playing footy with an empty bottle, which didn’t do my new shoes any favour. Not that I expected to make them cleaner either. While the Investiture Ceremony was going on, we slipped out quietly, leaving the place we spent 12 years (11 for me) in, in our wake.

The abrupt ending actually shows how bored I was at 23.49. Need inspiration. Desperately.

Paint It, Black

Can you guess what contributes to 50% of Vile Parle’s GDP?

What did you go to while you were in Junior College?

What is the single-largest business in Mumbai apart from Dharavi’s leather outfits?

Ans. Private Classes in Vile Parle!

Okay, now that was just a light-hearted jest at the suburb most inhabited by every T, D and H. Not related to Parle at all. Today’s post has something to do with a place about 1 km northward. Look for Irla (in Mumbai) on Google Earth. Yes, that vehicle-forsaken place you see on the satellite imagery is Irla. Most famous for the store, Alfa and Sathaye College’s other branch (smirks) and slightly known for being the location of Vaity’s Class for Engineering Drawing. Which is what I am bound by to that place.

Now, people who have seen me draw would have highly recommended some class for this subject, with which I highly agree. This Vaity guy was pretty popular with the suburban crowd and hence my admission form (filled and submitted) was lying in aforementioned professor’s office by early January. Big relief for all artists out there? You bet! Atleast I could improve my technical drawing and ease their pain a bit.

So, being a lethargic lot, our Prof probably decided to give us some time to rest our lazy asses before we got down to engineering studies. 13 days after college started, and we had our first class. Which was today. Just midweek, I was dreaming of a nice Sunday of lazing around, crunching a few keys, eating something every 2 hours (do that anyway) and watching a couple of movies. Cozy and comfortable bubble burst by a not-so-blunt Engineering compass. Ouch.

The class was scheduled for an unearthly 7 AM on Sunday, the day after my parents left for a “pilgrimage”. Which means I had to get up myself and manage to put a few blades to the razor and rustle up a breakfast for myself. Managing to do that, I rushed to the station, only to find a huge queue at the ticket counter. I considered heading back home and catching up on a few Zzzs. After a devious plan of robbing the first man at the counter was discarded on the grounds of laziness, I decided to splash the cash and buy a coupon booklet. That is Not the young one of a book, for those uninformed people.

I huffed-and-puffed my way up the stairs and looked at the darned indicators. A very pleasant (not) sight greeted my eyes. The train was 5-7 minutes late. And it was already 6.40. When I got down to the station, the indicator showed the Expected Time of Arrival of the train in 74 minutes. Well, that was a malfunction of the indicator LEDs, as usual. The train arrived a bit earlier than the expected time though. So much for Mega Block Sunday.

When I got down at Andheri station, I got out onto the main road and approached the nearest rickshaw I could lay my hands/eyes on. Which was not much as it was pretty dark then. Oh come on, it’s winter and the sun ain’t rising ’til 7.00, not unlike the people. And was able to get to Vaity’s in time.

Now ED is a subject in which you need a lot of space to maneuver your arms, especially if you’re a gorilla, and to roll up your sleeves, spit on your hands and get down to the job. 40 students in a 20*10*10 room is a pretty sight, especially with 4 other people milling around. ED instruments are even more irksome, the drawings requiring patience, imagination and a delicate hand. Well, I imagined different things, most noteworthy being the likenesses between a drafter and a robotic arm. Which reminded my of Terminator. Which is not very clever on a Sunday morning when you’re attending class.

The time progressed well and I was actually having fun drawing symmetric figures  (when the OCD-obsessed person in me comes alive). 2 benches ahead, a louse kept disturbing the pace of the class by refusing to give up his squiggly lines and asking stupid questions. My pre-class hope of meeting some stunning girl during class was insanely off the mark. Well, maybe not. 😉

ACs and me do not look face-to-face at all. I hate their cooling, which is all that they do. Maybe if they prepared a pizza or two…

End-result, I had a need to relieve myself of some pent-up pressure. Which was all that was significant during the day. Cheerio!

Bluesy Boos?

17th January 2009

One of those rare days. Hope days like these never come again. Faith doubted is faith lost. Or is it? Match-day 21. Chelsea playing Stoke at the Bridge. Half a year ago, 3 points guaranteed. Present state, Chelsea at home? Who the heck are they? From being the side with the greatest mental strength in Europe to a stuttering, faltering side who struggle to beat newly-promoted teams at home. Wait, what was that?

I grab my place in front of the idiot box. Saturdays and Sundays are the days I refuse to hand the remote over to my parents (or sister as is the case currently). The remote follows me over the place a la Mary and her Little Lamb. Not that I’m Mary, but I know you guys aren’t stupid enough for direct comparisons. You don’t look it, that you might be is an altogether different matter. It even accompanies me to the toilet. No kidding.

So, as I said, Me in front of the box. Curse Scolari a few times. Stupid team selection. What the fvck is he doing with a 4-3-3 having 3 strikers out of which only one can score without placing a nude model in front of the goal? Not that I want Diver-boy to play.

Out of the 3, even my grandmother could play better than Malouda. I still wonder why Scolari continues to pick him. Same with Ballack. No doubt he was a brilliant player in his prime, which is now past. Now, he just passes the ball to the other team. Lousy.

Not the reason to lose faith in the team now, is there? But having the horrible personnel that it had, even then Chelsea had to beat Stoke City, you would think. But no, might Chelsea had to scrape and sqeak and whimper their way around. No doubt they dominated the match, but the created enough chances to feed a couple of dormice. No life in the game. No passion for the game. No determination to win. Just a few men plodding around in elderly fashion trying to entertain a couple of footballers. First time I ever switched a TV off before a Chelsea match ended.

Not done. Tried to tell my parents how horrible my team was playing. My parents suggested I stop being so emotional about a football team. What else do I be emotional about? They even suggested switching teams. The very blasphemous idea chilled me to the bone. Change teams?! Never in the world.

The result is this post.

Smoke On The Water?

So I have two articles to write. So what if I haven’t updated my blog in some while? I was too busy deleting my other blog, with a view to minimizing efforts and reduce the strain of managing two blogs. Well then, I return to my original one having tasted the first day of college in SEM 2, which wasn’t so bad, considering I have some nice friends from amongst my seniors now.

First day was never going to be troublesome, what with a small portion of the professors bothering to turn up at all, and most students in the vacation mood. Normally, I’d hate to write this on a blog, of all things, but today’s experience has told me to do something about it. Be cowardly, and that’s the thing I’ve done.

Having experienced things first-hand on our recent college trip, I am in a better position to comment on this situation. Most of the people of my class have hearts of gold, but I guess there have to be some exceptions.

Hypocrisy, extreme miserliness, stupidity, crass behaviour, etc aren’t too hard to find, are they? Well, you wouldn’t have to look too far in our class. And many people actually seem to like the person. I guess everyone has some such quality. Some other guy/girl might be writing something similarly horrible about me in some other blog. Right?

Doesn’t matter. I’ll keep this post open to judgement.

Venus In Furs

Dear Mr/Mrs/Ms Director,

WHAT were you thinking of when you made your movie? Exactly, what? Even my neighbour’s pet dog would have made my evening more satisfying by scratching himself behind the ear. Did you really think that was entertainment? Sure, if you were certified dippy or something right out of “George of the Jungle”. After your last movie, I thought maybe this one would be uncommonly good. But no, you had to make the same old stuff all over again.

Maybe they should start director’s classes now. Maybe Spielberg or Scorsese could be invited for a few lectures. Now, I’m seriously confused as to your genre. Did you say comedy? I’m a bit short of hearing. C-O-M-E-D-Y? A man trying to close his zipper does look like he’s shagging somebody, doesn’t he? Or how about a few digs at gays, eunuchs, and so many other anti-social elements of our society? People peeing on each other is hilarious, right? Nice. Now we know why our society is so backward. Of course, the major reasons needn’t be mentioned, but people really do enjoy such slapstick stuff. Crude. Definitely. And you start it.

People tell me to leave my brain at home when I go to watch your movies. Well, biologically, even you know it isn’t possible. But your movie actually demonstrated that, and expected us to laugh. Really now. Ha Ha. I really don’t want to watch such movies, but some of my “patriotic” friends want me to go with them. I am not patriotic if I don’t appreciate lousy movies like yours truly, and the inane songs with the inaner lyrics that your music directors seem to churn out like a mass-production line. People do actually say that sort of stuff. Maybe your movies about “patriotism” really managed to delude them into thinking you were good. Okay, some of our movies are truly good. Jhankaar Beats, Dil Chahata Hai, et al were truly brilliant movies, both perfect-o in their delivery and comic sense.

All you do is to bring together some of our “supposed” comedy-specialists, toss up some crap about something related to a vague love story, with gangsters, homosexuals, etc. all mixed in, and some crappy one-liners about something related to sexuality thrown in. What’s to wash it down you ask? Beer? A nice glass of red wine? No, you have to go and concoct some anti-climatic climax, shaken but not stirred, so that you feel like banging your head. Even better. Making a slasher movie. Just like you did when you saw your previous attempt at direction.

Hey, I’ve even attached a photograph of yours from a recent publicity event related to your latest movie. I hope you like it. They even managed a quote from you. You absolutely hate publicity, don’t you? Quite the loner. Well, I assume even loners would go all out to promote their movies, appearing here there and everywhere, a la Barkha Dutt. But you can’t really expect good stuff from anyone nowadays. Or can you?

Yours (quite un-)sincerely,

Fan No. 123456789012345