The calendar cant lie. After all those lazy winter days sleeping in my comfortable home now was the time to leave to spend rest of my lazy winter days sleeping in the "not so comfortable" college hostel. Actually its time like these when the inner philosopher in you rises out demanding the purpose of your journey.
"Its not like you are going to study and attend classes there, are you?". No we scream in utter disgust of having been even suspected to be guilty of possessing such revolting a thought. Ok ...now there might be some intelligent or molested kids who actually think either they can gain a lot from classes or attending classes is so much fun but
1). they are too small a number
2) i dont give a damn about them
so here i make the generalised rule:
"Coming back to college from holidays is never easy"
Add to my original argument the frightening looking USEO's (Unidentified Supposed to be Edible Objects) and the above mentioned rule begins to develop a six-zigma level of authenticity. Between the struggle of mind and the "paapi pet", its the latter that emerges as a winner . The hangover of that winning celebration is generally diarrhea vomiting and yes unintentional biological/chemical warfare too.
Though i know its a close and shut case and i have provided you with ample evidence but still to add some more weight and more importantly to less my burden by sharing out my woes i would like to proceed a little further.
A freaking 30 HOURS in train. Now there might be some romantics who fell in love with the constantly changing landscapes that passes through their window or some die-hard desperates who are waiting to meet their kareena kapoor in there and hence wont find this a valid point but then i travel in sleeper class ant the damned train goes to BIHAR.
Now mind you i am not a regional chauvinist. M entire being cringes when i hear that sucker raj thackery or listening to those separate nation demands but trust me if you would have traveled for 30 hours with constant fear of being drowned under ground nut skins you will find out the validity of my point.
The entire coach's idea of water harvesting is to choke up those nasty pores in the sink that leaks out the precious water with the help of pan-masala wrappers and leftover neem sticks. The renovation process involves removal of every single glass frame and repainting the boring white to a racy blood (spit) red.
i rest my case
Friday, January 1, 2010
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The IP Odyssey
It was a lazy winter afternoon. The classes for today were cancelled and all my friends were yet to come to college from home. If you are actually reading this you would have by now gauged and been frightened by the very noticeable shade of disappointment that I felt on cancelling of classes. Yes, however hard it may be to believe but I was actually that bored.
So I decided to watch the flick ‘avatar’. Seems like a perfect plan to fight my battle against the boring afternoon. However there were two big problems. First we do not have any 3-d hall in Varanasi and second that no Hollywood movie; and I mean that ‘no’ in its total absolute term; could find its way to a theater screen without getting caught in the cruel clutches of dubbing. However watching a movie being hailed for its breakthrough special effects on a 17’’ computer screen would not have been fair.Also watching a movie having an enormous budgets of 2000 crores illegally on the desktop for free just seemed a little cruel. So I wore my jacket and started my bike which as a matter of fact is still being parked illegally in the college campus. I am mentioning this statement as a precautionary measure. Afterall you may have mistaken me for some law-abiding conscientious person by my recent statement.
Now the horror story begins. Attention all Varanasi folks what comes now is a true story of the experience of watching a movie in IP multiplex. The fun began right at the ticket window. While I politely stood in the line of the counter reserved for the ladies; No don’t look for your spectacle; it was the only open counter at that time. Seems like Varanasi is at the forefront of the feminist movement. Meanwhile the attendant was attending a phone call which seemed like an emergency. (I guess that’s the only way you could have explained his keeping all others waiting in the line). Although i must saythe phone call took an exceptionally long time for an emergency call. Maybe some earthquake occurred and he was being told the names of all the victims so that he can find out whether any of his family members was involved. But then why was he smiling all along; I asked to myself. Idiot; pat came the reply; where else but in the oldest city of all could you expect people to follow the ancient sages. You lucky man have just witnessed an extreme illustration of laughing in pain.
Now was the time to pass through the security check up. And I must say they took me by surprise. They treated me like a superstar. Yes ,despite the furore created around them, no bollywood actor would have been handled in so brusque a manner at any American airport. The guy fell 1 mm hg of pressure short from being booked for sexual harassment.
Finally i reached the line to the theater hall . After all that happened before this began to look like a sort of an anti climax. Could it really be so easy? I will stand in the line, show them the ticket and will sit on my seat and enjoy the movie.just like that.
There were some.....actually as an afterthought .... many people around who were pushing to be ahead in the line. I smiled at them just like the foreigners smile at the ways of indian people in pre- independence era. Little do these foreigners know that what they think of as an act of indecency or a proof of indiscipline showed by these uneducated Indians in reality is a tradition ingeniously developed on the solid rock of adaptivity. If only I knew that I was no different from those foreigners.
On entering the hall I shockingly found out that the movie was already started. Mind you I went for a 1 pm show that means that there were not many people in the line and I arrived before the gates were open so it could not have taken me a lot of time to enter the hall either. Anyway I frantically rushed to my seat, acquainted myself with the person sitting next to me so that I could ask him about the beginning. (Much to the dismay of the surrounding audience I must say).
Thankfully IP believed in the theory of Sherlock Holmes. One should be acquainted with the worst of each other in the beginning so that everything seems pleasant later on. It seems like going that way or was it? At least 10 minutes before the ending the gates were opened. Now I have heard of some cinema halls changing their environment a little bit to match up with what’s actually happening in the movie. But to imagine that the piercing light in my eyes denoted the end of darkness as the U.S army was was being defeated in the movie would have required a highly elastic imagination.
While the movie was still running the cleaning staff started roaming around the seats with their torches lit. As a result many a rabbits (read people) got scared (read embarrassed) and left their seats before the end. When I still refused to go away and sat their till the end I was given the look that’s reserved for those who lick the entire plate of Maggie clean making sure not a tiny portion of their money spent ends up in the dustbin.
I came out from the theater and succesfully reached the parking lot without encountering any hostility which trust me is sayng something. As i was taking my bike out of the parking I heard two school girls accusing each other of losing the parking ticket. This would be fun I thought. So I waited for them to pass out first. And fun it was. The girls just speed off. The checking guys did make a dutiful “ruko “call but that was all. Start reading the paragraph from the beginning and look for the two words “school girls” and you will get the enormity of what just happened. I looked at my bike once again. It was exactly the way I left it; no parts stolen, even the petrol tank showed the same reading. And so in Varanasi, the city of God my belief in the divine sprit was strengthened.
P.S Add to this experience the over enthusiastic dubbing artist who even dubbed the native language dialogues that were originally subtitled and I still liked the movie. Says a lot about the movie, doesn’t it?
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Hope: my take
The climb up the stairs was a tough one. The toll it took was startlingly visible. Awfully short of it he was gasping for air. Stooped back, slouching shoulders, everything about him was dull but for his eyes. His eyes had a strange alertness in them. Tiresome yet alert they were moving frantically looking for something, maybe for a pillar to get some support. But No, it was not just that tiresome alertness in the eyes that was startling. Something more ...something dark ...a sadness maybe… yes indeed a sadness. You could feel that around him. His eyes had more than aqueous humor. They were a graveyard burying within an entire life of failure.
But now the expression was changing. The eyes were registering something else .A mélange of emotion. Horror, anger, frustration, despise; all that being painted on those watery screens in a flash. If I had not been the narrator I would have agreed with the group passing by about it being rather funny. You see his face was dead to all expression. There was no way his face could have matched those windows. His eyes were fighting a lone battle, tired and desperate longing for support; how could have they portrayed those emotions. Also added to the flurry of emotions were his own eye’s desperation and helplessness. So unless you look closely in them unless you spare time to associate with their pain they looked nothing more than a roadside painter’s effort of painting a Michelangelo.
The cause of this sudden activity in the otherwise boring life was a mirror. The mirror had a very special place in his life. For him it was what a partially healed wound is for others. You know that scratching it will never make it heal and more often than not it’s a very painful experience especially when that layer is sticking strongly to the wound and in the process of scratching it you tear open the wound but there is just something about it. Don’t know what that something is. Maybe that something is hope. A hope that when he would remove it he would find that wound healed up. Why would one hope against something which is that obvious. I don’t know. Why did the man look in the mirror? I don’t know that either.
There is no point telling how he looked for a very simple reason that there is just not much to talk about it. A face that was crumbled under the weight of the dead dreams a face aged way beyond its years but I would not be surprised if you ever saw him moving past you and accuse me of providing a misleading description. There were no distinguishing symptoms to notice. Wrinkles were still to meet him. There were dark spots but nothing out of the ordinary. As I said before his face was just dead, dead to all expressions. He was not smiling but I am sure if he would it would have looked ridiculous. And then there was this haunting aura leaking from his eyes and settling on all of his face. He was not startled or even if he was I could not notice maybe a glint of dismay but I could have clearly been imagining it.
Once he reached his house he sat on his chair and just sat there doing nothing thinking nothing. After some time maybe the blankness helped him clear his thought or maybe he just got too bored. Whatever the reason be he begin to ponder about what went wrong. Even here there were no precise moments. Just like his face without any distinct symptoms. No doubt there were mistakes but there was no road turning he could put fingers on, no particular door he didn’t knock on. If given a time machine to change correct one wrong turn, to open one forgotten door I am sure he would have suffered through a feeling of great indecision.
If this analysis would have been presented to any sane judge he would have confidently pronounced him “not sad”. How he wish he himself could believe in that verdict but sadly there is a limit to which one can fool oneself. A thick bitter voice of disgust and loathing surrounded him, mocking him but there was another voice too and in perfect contrast to the previous one. Slow and sweet, it was the voice of hope. And she made him realize that if there is no big force no big reasons then maybe things are not bad in a big way either. It was not that the voice had some magical qualities. Neither the sun pierced the clouds and showered his light on him but there was something mystical about it for sure because the man actually thought that there is a possibility to get away from this, that there is actually a possibility of changing things for good. There is a solution however tough though of the problem called life and he needs to find that out.
And thus slowly his face began to breathe exhaling the gloom that was settled and inhaling the freshness of air. His back though still bend now seems to be struggling to fight for respect. And so with a pen paper and rejuvenated mind he begin to figure out the solution contemplating about the changes he need to make within devising new action plans. And after time uncertain he was finally ready for the battlefield, finally ready to face the world.
And so begin a new day with each coming ray of sun being a symbol of hope a promise of better world better life. But he could not bring in him the required transformation. Be patient the voice said. And indeed patient he remained. But days turned into week and week into month and he just could not change himself. The lethargy the inaction had eaten into his roots and for all his sincerity and hard work he could not fight it. And then came the realization that he could not make it. The future he saw, the glimpse of which was enough to transform him will always remain a future.
With it came the breaking. The face stopped breathing. The stoop the sluggishness was now more evident than before. But the biggest victims were those eyes. The graveyard seems to have one body too many now and the deadness was now sucking away the life. It was now not possible for anyone to saw him walking across and then accuse me of providing a misleading description. The gloom that I once observed was now there to see for all.
While tearing away pages from his diary he realized that it was not the first time he had planned. There were many a pages torn away before. And then it dawned on him. When he went to sleep he proved me wrong. The smile didn’t look ridiculous. It was haunting. He smiled because he now knew who he can put his finger on. Hope
But now the expression was changing. The eyes were registering something else .A mélange of emotion. Horror, anger, frustration, despise; all that being painted on those watery screens in a flash. If I had not been the narrator I would have agreed with the group passing by about it being rather funny. You see his face was dead to all expression. There was no way his face could have matched those windows. His eyes were fighting a lone battle, tired and desperate longing for support; how could have they portrayed those emotions. Also added to the flurry of emotions were his own eye’s desperation and helplessness. So unless you look closely in them unless you spare time to associate with their pain they looked nothing more than a roadside painter’s effort of painting a Michelangelo.
The cause of this sudden activity in the otherwise boring life was a mirror. The mirror had a very special place in his life. For him it was what a partially healed wound is for others. You know that scratching it will never make it heal and more often than not it’s a very painful experience especially when that layer is sticking strongly to the wound and in the process of scratching it you tear open the wound but there is just something about it. Don’t know what that something is. Maybe that something is hope. A hope that when he would remove it he would find that wound healed up. Why would one hope against something which is that obvious. I don’t know. Why did the man look in the mirror? I don’t know that either.
There is no point telling how he looked for a very simple reason that there is just not much to talk about it. A face that was crumbled under the weight of the dead dreams a face aged way beyond its years but I would not be surprised if you ever saw him moving past you and accuse me of providing a misleading description. There were no distinguishing symptoms to notice. Wrinkles were still to meet him. There were dark spots but nothing out of the ordinary. As I said before his face was just dead, dead to all expressions. He was not smiling but I am sure if he would it would have looked ridiculous. And then there was this haunting aura leaking from his eyes and settling on all of his face. He was not startled or even if he was I could not notice maybe a glint of dismay but I could have clearly been imagining it.
Once he reached his house he sat on his chair and just sat there doing nothing thinking nothing. After some time maybe the blankness helped him clear his thought or maybe he just got too bored. Whatever the reason be he begin to ponder about what went wrong. Even here there were no precise moments. Just like his face without any distinct symptoms. No doubt there were mistakes but there was no road turning he could put fingers on, no particular door he didn’t knock on. If given a time machine to change correct one wrong turn, to open one forgotten door I am sure he would have suffered through a feeling of great indecision.
If this analysis would have been presented to any sane judge he would have confidently pronounced him “not sad”. How he wish he himself could believe in that verdict but sadly there is a limit to which one can fool oneself. A thick bitter voice of disgust and loathing surrounded him, mocking him but there was another voice too and in perfect contrast to the previous one. Slow and sweet, it was the voice of hope. And she made him realize that if there is no big force no big reasons then maybe things are not bad in a big way either. It was not that the voice had some magical qualities. Neither the sun pierced the clouds and showered his light on him but there was something mystical about it for sure because the man actually thought that there is a possibility to get away from this, that there is actually a possibility of changing things for good. There is a solution however tough though of the problem called life and he needs to find that out.
And thus slowly his face began to breathe exhaling the gloom that was settled and inhaling the freshness of air. His back though still bend now seems to be struggling to fight for respect. And so with a pen paper and rejuvenated mind he begin to figure out the solution contemplating about the changes he need to make within devising new action plans. And after time uncertain he was finally ready for the battlefield, finally ready to face the world.
And so begin a new day with each coming ray of sun being a symbol of hope a promise of better world better life. But he could not bring in him the required transformation. Be patient the voice said. And indeed patient he remained. But days turned into week and week into month and he just could not change himself. The lethargy the inaction had eaten into his roots and for all his sincerity and hard work he could not fight it. And then came the realization that he could not make it. The future he saw, the glimpse of which was enough to transform him will always remain a future.
With it came the breaking. The face stopped breathing. The stoop the sluggishness was now more evident than before. But the biggest victims were those eyes. The graveyard seems to have one body too many now and the deadness was now sucking away the life. It was now not possible for anyone to saw him walking across and then accuse me of providing a misleading description. The gloom that I once observed was now there to see for all.
While tearing away pages from his diary he realized that it was not the first time he had planned. There were many a pages torn away before. And then it dawned on him. When he went to sleep he proved me wrong. The smile didn’t look ridiculous. It was haunting. He smiled because he now knew who he can put his finger on. Hope
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Non-Linear Followers
There is no denying the fact that we in general tend to follow the crowd. From careers, brands, hairstyle even blogs(could not resist to skip it , after all i wrote an entire post on this topic). But whats equally undeniable is the chaotic way in which we follow. No i am not repeating that "we should not follow it blindly " line that comes under the heading "iipm ranked 1st among overseas placement" (To give the devil his due with such a unique relation between title and content he can never be accused of being a follower).
What i intend to say is more on the surface hence the one that is not that obvious .I mean who has the time to look at surface things; the one that will provide a short terms solution (in the present life) when you have this all very important work of inspecting deep within you for eternal purification.
So without beating (or shall i say digging?) around the bush for long i will drive my question straight. Why the hell can we not follow a line?. From the cinema hall to passport office to ration shops our attempts at making a line are as disheartened and as ineffectual as my attempts of plotting one in my engineering design class. We hate lines so much that we even ensured that our greatest gift to world "the zero" has not a trace of linearity in it.
Obviously lack of time in this fast paced country is definitely a reason but it cannot be the sole one as it fails to explain the phenomenon of a line not being followed by a government officer. The reason for all we know maybe more phsycological than practical.
Breaking a line makes us unique (though if we do a statical analysis we might actually come to a conclusion that its actually the opposite). It separates us from the common hard working stupid people who waste their time following lines. Its almost like a movie. The "imaandaar" and "gareeb" father on one side and the rich and believing in the mantra of "by hook or by crook" son on the opposite. The perfect(and of course like most of the movies : boring) formula.
For the commoners its an opportunity, its a way of showing their clout among the peers, a perfect showcase to display their high up contacts. For the top notch's its a test to prove that all is well and flourishing.
There is also a way of breaking line without contacts. By actually breaking the line ( More obvious , more on surface and hence came a bit late to my mind).It appeals to the "adventurous you " in yourself. Just like they show in the ads ; a hero dropping some inedible pan massala or wearing some stupid (of all the things !) baniaan (seriously is ad agency an involuntarily organization?) .
It also appeals to the "18 till i die" generation . The one that refuses to grow old ( actually act with dignity would be better line) . Following a routine , being disciplined have been stereotyped as traits of old (more by heart than by age) person. Actually not following a line is just one branch. Somehow due to combined effect of media peer pressure and God knows what else a scenario has been created where doing anything including dancing naked on the busiest roads (if the recent rumors about the movies being offered to a certain individual are true than maybe we can also include raping your maid in the list too) is considered cool and young as long as it defies rules and more often than not in a counterproductive way.No wonder breaking the line becomes the beginner's task then.
So next time when you break the line think about why are u actually breaking it
What i intend to say is more on the surface hence the one that is not that obvious .I mean who has the time to look at surface things; the one that will provide a short terms solution (in the present life) when you have this all very important work of inspecting deep within you for eternal purification.
So without beating (or shall i say digging?) around the bush for long i will drive my question straight. Why the hell can we not follow a line?. From the cinema hall to passport office to ration shops our attempts at making a line are as disheartened and as ineffectual as my attempts of plotting one in my engineering design class. We hate lines so much that we even ensured that our greatest gift to world "the zero" has not a trace of linearity in it.
Obviously lack of time in this fast paced country is definitely a reason but it cannot be the sole one as it fails to explain the phenomenon of a line not being followed by a government officer. The reason for all we know maybe more phsycological than practical.
Breaking a line makes us unique (though if we do a statical analysis we might actually come to a conclusion that its actually the opposite). It separates us from the common hard working stupid people who waste their time following lines. Its almost like a movie. The "imaandaar" and "gareeb" father on one side and the rich and believing in the mantra of "by hook or by crook" son on the opposite. The perfect(and of course like most of the movies : boring) formula.
For the commoners its an opportunity, its a way of showing their clout among the peers, a perfect showcase to display their high up contacts. For the top notch's its a test to prove that all is well and flourishing.
There is also a way of breaking line without contacts. By actually breaking the line ( More obvious , more on surface and hence came a bit late to my mind).It appeals to the "adventurous you " in yourself. Just like they show in the ads ; a hero dropping some inedible pan massala or wearing some stupid (of all the things !) baniaan (seriously is ad agency an involuntarily organization?) .
It also appeals to the "18 till i die" generation . The one that refuses to grow old ( actually act with dignity would be better line) . Following a routine , being disciplined have been stereotyped as traits of old (more by heart than by age) person. Actually not following a line is just one branch. Somehow due to combined effect of media peer pressure and God knows what else a scenario has been created where doing anything including dancing naked on the busiest roads (if the recent rumors about the movies being offered to a certain individual are true than maybe we can also include raping your maid in the list too) is considered cool and young as long as it defies rules and more often than not in a counterproductive way.No wonder breaking the line becomes the beginner's task then.
So next time when you break the line think about why are u actually breaking it
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Why virtual?
A day into blogging world and i am surprised by the sheer number of bloggers. So surprised that i forgot to be surprised by the pathetic condition of my knowledge of spelling (i consulted a dictionary before writing volunteer.....(and events like this were so frequent i haven't even put an exclamation mark after the statement))
Earlier i thought that only those with nothing else to do blog. So my initial reaction was, "wow so many engineering students!". But even after my skilled manipulatons; (i got wavelength of sodium as 580 nm in the newtons ring experiment without having an iota of an idea about using a vernier calliper or whatever that creepy small scale with numerous indentation is called); the magnitude forced me to change my thinking about the college life of other streams than engineering .But its not just students, people from all ages and walks of life seems to be venting themselves out through their fingers.
And since i am not Manmohan singh and blogging is not Rahul Gandhi i can safely say that its not just blogging that has caused all the addiction. Infact the virtual world has been fascinating us from times way back of blogging..Whats with all those games we start in college. It might tke another millenium for our education system to come to terms with the recent trends but the students ensure that they have the latest version of counter strike installed. Ofcourse college life today cannot be completed without the mention of social sites like orkut, facebook etc .Right from the school days when we first fumble over the "ASL" question in the 21+ romance category the virtual world constantly keeps on pushing the real world for space.
My first encounter with this term occured while i was watching an episode of silver surfer on cartoon network. (i really think if we could just make some cartoons mandatory in school it will do wonders to save an almost extinct specie called as intelligence. Though even the levels of cartoon seems to be detoriating . Johnny Quest has been replaced by Nody)
However the episode was about a planet silver surfer encounters while searching lifeless planets for galactus. The people here were so tormented by harsh realities of their life that they decided to switch over to virtual world without caring at all about what was happening to the real planet.
So all these blogs facebook orkut really just mean one thing? The need to run away from reality.But then how can a child fell for virtual reality? As a kid from a small town my life was picture perfect.(i do not recall any relative being named as michael jackson).But yet there were always figures made by worn off plaster on walls, toys, even combs and writing pads were busy in their royal rumble matches.The longing for virtual was there even before i knew what virtual really meant.
Come to think of it i am no exception. What with all those fairy tale stories. And novels? Dont they take you in a world away from yours.I think virtual world caters to our need of exploring, our constant hunger for new roads new destinations. The inner being that wants more out of life. No! more wont be right. I am sure kids in heaven wolud love to listen to day to day earth stories and i am equally sure that the old government officer whose workload is sifar and whose pay has been recently increased by the sixth pay comission is not satisfied with his life. Its our quest for finding something different and not running away from troubles that makes the virtual world such an attraction.
Earlier i thought that only those with nothing else to do blog. So my initial reaction was, "wow so many engineering students!". But even after my skilled manipulatons; (i got wavelength of sodium as 580 nm in the newtons ring experiment without having an iota of an idea about using a vernier calliper or whatever that creepy small scale with numerous indentation is called); the magnitude forced me to change my thinking about the college life of other streams than engineering .But its not just students, people from all ages and walks of life seems to be venting themselves out through their fingers.
And since i am not Manmohan singh and blogging is not Rahul Gandhi i can safely say that its not just blogging that has caused all the addiction. Infact the virtual world has been fascinating us from times way back of blogging..Whats with all those games we start in college. It might tke another millenium for our education system to come to terms with the recent trends but the students ensure that they have the latest version of counter strike installed. Ofcourse college life today cannot be completed without the mention of social sites like orkut, facebook etc .Right from the school days when we first fumble over the "ASL" question in the 21+ romance category the virtual world constantly keeps on pushing the real world for space.
My first encounter with this term occured while i was watching an episode of silver surfer on cartoon network. (i really think if we could just make some cartoons mandatory in school it will do wonders to save an almost extinct specie called as intelligence. Though even the levels of cartoon seems to be detoriating . Johnny Quest has been replaced by Nody)
However the episode was about a planet silver surfer encounters while searching lifeless planets for galactus. The people here were so tormented by harsh realities of their life that they decided to switch over to virtual world without caring at all about what was happening to the real planet.
So all these blogs facebook orkut really just mean one thing? The need to run away from reality.But then how can a child fell for virtual reality? As a kid from a small town my life was picture perfect.(i do not recall any relative being named as michael jackson).But yet there were always figures made by worn off plaster on walls, toys, even combs and writing pads were busy in their royal rumble matches.The longing for virtual was there even before i knew what virtual really meant.
Come to think of it i am no exception. What with all those fairy tale stories. And novels? Dont they take you in a world away from yours.I think virtual world caters to our need of exploring, our constant hunger for new roads new destinations. The inner being that wants more out of life. No! more wont be right. I am sure kids in heaven wolud love to listen to day to day earth stories and i am equally sure that the old government officer whose workload is sifar and whose pay has been recently increased by the sixth pay comission is not satisfied with his life. Its our quest for finding something different and not running away from troubles that makes the virtual world such an attraction.
Friday, June 19, 2009
blogging ritual
Before starting my blogging adventure, i went through a few blogs.Generally people starting to blog begin with lines like these "Hi everybody, this is my first blog and i really don't know much about blogging." (one might think saying that this is their first blog wolud be sufficient to prove that they are newcomers but this is a cautious breed. No chance taken on reader's intelligence which if taking the present education system in account is not actually a very bad idea.)
Going into the inverted comma mode again, " i really dont know what to write about."(once again one might think that freedom of topic would be infact a refreshing change from the day- to-day life boredom. i actually wrote one stupid poem for some college festival about something related to the demand of volunteer for deciding the events to be held in it. No i won't burden you with the poem because the fact that you are reading it coupled with the fact that i am not a hot single blonde drives me to a much obvious conclusion that you are a very good friend of mine.
Anyway what i tried through that poem was to appeal to the ego of stupid first yearites encouraging them to decide events for others to take part in and thus be a master instead of being just a follower. The poem didnt work proving not many liked my mode of thinking. Ofcourse another factor was that the poem was of rhyming scheme aa bb cc, and some of the words were distorted at an unnatural angle for the purpose of rhyming but then we have to neglect some factors while going for an analysis dont we?
So what i am trying to say is that maybe people actually like following a certain format .You might be throwing your mouse by now shouting "you idiot haven't you heard of a term called rat race. Why in the name of the God did you have to write a full paragraph (Actually more than one paragraph now. A good friend of mine wisely suggested that no one is ever going to read my blog if it appears like a huge pile of words) to explain so common a phenomenon." Well the phenomenon though similar is not actually same. Rat race is loosely applied to decision affecting our career and hence people prefer going by the tried and tested formula .But this is just a blog .And if you are not disclosing about any real sexual incident involving you and some famous politician or an actor you even with all your recent dose of optimisim injected by a certain Mr Cohello can't actually be serious about it as a career. Yet people get worried.
So maybe we follow the beaten path not because its safe or convenient but simply because we find it more fun.Why? i dont know, maybe u can help me out with ur comments.Quite a novel way to beg for comments on the blog isnt it?.)
So these were the two common lines i found on first time blogs. While pulling out your hairs and at the same time being conscious of the obscene amount that needs to be paid for hair implants you might be wondering why i chose to write about these two lines.You see i thought that maybe there is an unwritten book on rules of blogging passed along from generations (Hey dont raise your eyebrows i have been growing up in an era of Da vinci code and priory of scion) that tells about the two golden lines that are needed to be included in one's first blog and i didnt want to risk not following the beaten path!
Going into the inverted comma mode again, " i really dont know what to write about."(once again one might think that freedom of topic would be infact a refreshing change from the day- to-day life boredom. i actually wrote one stupid poem for some college festival about something related to the demand of volunteer for deciding the events to be held in it. No i won't burden you with the poem because the fact that you are reading it coupled with the fact that i am not a hot single blonde drives me to a much obvious conclusion that you are a very good friend of mine.
Anyway what i tried through that poem was to appeal to the ego of stupid first yearites encouraging them to decide events for others to take part in and thus be a master instead of being just a follower. The poem didnt work proving not many liked my mode of thinking. Ofcourse another factor was that the poem was of rhyming scheme aa bb cc, and some of the words were distorted at an unnatural angle for the purpose of rhyming but then we have to neglect some factors while going for an analysis dont we?
So what i am trying to say is that maybe people actually like following a certain format .You might be throwing your mouse by now shouting "you idiot haven't you heard of a term called rat race. Why in the name of the God did you have to write a full paragraph (Actually more than one paragraph now. A good friend of mine wisely suggested that no one is ever going to read my blog if it appears like a huge pile of words) to explain so common a phenomenon." Well the phenomenon though similar is not actually same. Rat race is loosely applied to decision affecting our career and hence people prefer going by the tried and tested formula .But this is just a blog .And if you are not disclosing about any real sexual incident involving you and some famous politician or an actor you even with all your recent dose of optimisim injected by a certain Mr Cohello can't actually be serious about it as a career. Yet people get worried.
So maybe we follow the beaten path not because its safe or convenient but simply because we find it more fun.Why? i dont know, maybe u can help me out with ur comments.Quite a novel way to beg for comments on the blog isnt it?.)
So these were the two common lines i found on first time blogs. While pulling out your hairs and at the same time being conscious of the obscene amount that needs to be paid for hair implants you might be wondering why i chose to write about these two lines.You see i thought that maybe there is an unwritten book on rules of blogging passed along from generations (Hey dont raise your eyebrows i have been growing up in an era of Da vinci code and priory of scion) that tells about the two golden lines that are needed to be included in one's first blog and i didnt want to risk not following the beaten path!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)