An Exercise in Writer’s Block

Recently, I’ve been meaning to write many many things, but every time I try, things don’t come out right. I’ve been trying to stay patient, thinking ‘somethings going to happen, it’s bound to!’ (also said the man with erectile dysfunction. SNAP), but nothing did happen. All I ended up with was a chunk of meaningless Paulo Coelhoesque dribble.

So finally, I decided to just fuck it and write about what I’m doing. Can’t really hurt can it? And the fact that I’m perpetually doing something also supplies sufficient material. So here goes, the unedited continuous nonsense centering around my current activities:

The plane hurtled through the air, but on account of its almost excruciating tininess, it was more like a little capsule hurtling through the long intestine that is the stratosphere. It was one of the smaller planes, without all that ‘jet engine’ metrosexual poofy nonsense that’s all the rage these days. Instead, it had little black exposed rotors that suspiciously kept the plane in the air.

Anirban Chakraborty sat on the window seat at the rear of the plane looking through the window and half expecting the wings to flap.

It was a plain plane at best, without any class distinction as such-everybody got the same kind of seat. They still however wrote ‘economy’ on your ticket so you would know your place in the aero kingdom.

Anirban yawned and stretched as they cut through the sky elegantly, appearing to be motionless against blue pastel background, but actually moving because planes usually have to go somewhere. I’m guessing.

‘This is a no smoking flight’ said the hurried, heavily accented voice of an air hostess over the communication system.

They all are, thought Anirban. They all are. He played with the ashtray that was in his seat from days when that announcement did not have to be made. A happier time.

‘..Smoking in the toilets is also forbidden’

Well they’re part of the fucking flight aren’t they? Thought Anirban. He returned his attention to the corpus of the ashtray. Yes. He gingerly pulled it out of the the seat- it opened slowly. There was no ash inside. Just emptiness. Half expecting a burnished interior but finding-

‘Smoke detectors are installed in the bathroom-’

FUCKING REALLY? WE GET IT said Anirban. Perhaps out loud. Judging by the looks of the passengers around and the man sitting next to him slowly edging away, it was probably out loud. Or maybe he’d just grimaced. Or maybe they had traced the source of erstwhile occurring flatulence. It could have been anything.

An air hostess stopped in the aisle by the row he was sitting in.

‘What would you like sir?’ she asked in a softly lilting voice. She smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes that no prosaic language can express. Well truthfully, he wasn’t sure, but she was wearing what is best described as an upside down blue tin on her head. Such things can only bring sadness.

‘Sir?’ she asked again and she continued to smile. She was well proportioned; quite buxom. A fine ribs-to-funbags ratio. She looked at Anirban, her smile fixed. He felt a rush of feeling toward her. Most of that feeling was concentrated in a particular region, but at the same time he felt a hint of disgust. A hint of disgust that had no place being, yet was.

And suddenly- there was silence. He pondered his ambivalence, mulling it over in his mind, oblivious to the silence, the hum of the engine, the vibration of the plane-

‘Sir can you stop typing?’ she said finally to Anirban, who turned and flashed her a charming smile while continuing to type with one hand. A feat he could accomplish, because he was fucking awesome.

‘Yes m’lady’ he replied handsomely. This is also possible to do.

She tittered at being addressed in such a fashion. She was, after all a waitress in the sky and he, a liberal serving of man candy.

‘What would that be?’ she asked Anirban, who hadn’t replied yet because it takes much longer to type with one hand.

‘A whiskey’ breathed Anirban, dangerously.

‘Sir, we do not serve alcohol on domestic flights’ she said. Her mouth was probably wry, but this fact lay unverified on account of the aforementioned ribs-to-funbag ratio, coupled with the fact that Anirban had only two eyes.

‘Ah’ said Anirban, leaning back in his seat, stroking his chin with his free hand.

‘This is a domestic flight?’ he asked.

‘Yes sir’

‘I see’ said Anirban. This complicated matters slightly.

‘And where does this flight go?’

‘New Delhi, sir’ said air hostess funbags.

‘Dash it all!’ exclaimed Anirban for no particular reason, striking the tray of the person to his left, as his tray was occupied by his laptop, and no one hits the Macbook.

‘FUCK!’ screamed the man next to Anirban, whose groin had been splashed with hot coffee caused by table-banging. (The boring kind of table banging. It is also useful to note that there is no interesting kind EDIT: OMG yes there is.)

The air hostess was quick to begin to mop the spill. And leant over the man, undoing her scarf-

‘Sir, could you stop doing that?’ she said to Anirban, who was now loudly humming 70s porno music, while winking at her.
People are ungrateful, thought Anirban and resumed typing with both hands.

The flight landed in Delhi and Kanan sat in the airport terminal, having a few hours to kill before his next flight to Bangalore.

Now Anirban sat at the airport, with an hour more to kill. He proceeded to the smoking lounge, doing his best to look business-like. He struck up a conversation with a middle aged man, who was looking into Anirban’s laptop screen and was OVERWEIGHT and beginning to lose his hair and possibly the function of his genitals

“Hello” said the man, smiling benignly.

“Top o’ the mornin’! ” replied Anirban cheerfully.

“Uh..”

“Yes.”

“I’m [not paying attention and even if I was, I’d have forgotten by now] ” said the man. “Saurabh, actually” said the man, who Anirban had forgotten was still looking into his laptop screen the motherfu-

“I’m a business man” replied Anirban stiffly, brushing off the shoulders of his Spongebob T-shirt.

“Of course you are” said fucking douchebag who was wouldn’t stop looking into Anirban’s screen.

“Lets cut to the chase shall we? Who are you?” said Anirban, in an business-like fashion.

“I just told you I’m [still not paying attention]

“So you are” said Anirban. “Listen, what do you want? I’m kind of in the middle of something right now”

“Uh. You started a conversation with me, and then pretended like I started it. I can’t help but notice that that fact is not reflected in whatever you’re writing” said the pretentious douchebag who continued to eyeball fuck Anirban’s screen because of his general ineptitude and lack of understanding of PERSONAL SPACE.

“I try to be as accurate as possible” snapped Anirban.

“Can I ask you why exactly you’re doing what you’re doing?” asked the man, who we may now note had stopped looking into Anirban’s laptop screen. Bitch.

“I have writers block” said Anirban woefully. “This is a desperate attempt to overcome it”

“Ah. So you’re a writer!” said the man.

“Very much sir. Very much” said Anirban, moving a little closer to the man.

“So you write, books, screenplays, articles, what?” said the man.

“I..er. I have a blog.” said Anirban.

“Oh” said the man. “thats..uhm..”

“I’m a student!” cut in Anirban, quickly.

“So you’re studying writing then? Or just some general English litt. course?”

“Umm. Kinda. Well, in the sense that it’s less writing and more engineering”

“So you’re an engineer” said the man, with a trace of disappointment in his voice.

“Engineering student” replied Anirban, feeling continuously worse as this conversation proceeded.

“Don’t feel bad about it” said the man, who it appears had begun to look into Anirban’s laptop screen again, the nosy little bitc-

“I’ve stopped looking” said the man quickly, causing Anirban to stop gritting his teeth ferociously.

“Think about it bro” said the man, who for some reason felt that he had reached bro status. “Writers get writers block, musicians the same, creative fields are dominated by words to express a lack of creativity, but really they’re just general slumps. And slumps happen in every field. Even engineering” he said, with unnecessary drama.

“Achieve to be the highest you can be, and persevere through the slumps, that’s just life. Be all you can be, reach the highest possible platform, the zenith, rise up to the sun-”

“SUN BLOCK!” said Anirban. “Sorry. Necessary joke, but too easy. Carry on”

“I’m going to leave” said the man.

But Anirban beat him to it. He may have failed to push the man down the stairs. At that might also have been a completely different man. He may also have spent the next hour hiding in a coffee shop till they called for his flight’s boarding. Prove it.

As he boarded his next flight, he realized that weird nosy laptop screen staring man had an extremely valid point. Maybe writer’s block was like sun block. It shielded the skin from writing and prevented rashes and tanning.

That’s what life is really about.

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No Clue Why This Was Top Trending in 2016

Last week, a rather unsettling email — which questioned my commitment to my religion (also known as the internet) — landed in my inbox. It claimed that a certain video was the top trending video in 2016 in India and suggested I take a look. Since the year had stopped pretending to be nice or bearable, I assumed that I may have missed it while sobbing about the year’s many tragedies.

This particular episode has 22,883,227 views. To put it into perspective, it is more than the population of Sri Lanka. And what exactly is this video the country has been going nuts over? An episode of The Kapil Sharma Show which had Salman Khan and Anushka Sharma.

Pic Courtesy : YouTube & Sony LIV | Shown Here : Brain Assault

Now there are several reasons I steer clear of anything that has Kapil Sharma and one of the biggest reason is the ‘casual sexism’ it promotes. The permanent fixtures on his show are two cis men, dressed as women. And these characters are meant to be caricatures — foolish, over-the-top, embarrassing and vulgar. Sharma’s ‘best’ jokes involves retorting to their stupid comments with his own wisecracks.
Salman Khan is introduced into the show as soon as it begins, but before that, of course, we have Navjot Singh Sidhu. Sidhu, who can laugh uproariously at everything from air to mosquito bites, opens the show doing just that. Salman Khan enters soon after, looking bored as hell. I never thought I will say this one day but it seemed that he got me.

Four minutes into the show and Kapil Sharma has already cracked a fat joke. “Achcha inki (Salman Khan) body hain, yeh utaar bhi saktein hain…yeh Pandey hain na humara drum wala paaji (the drummer of the band)…achcha ek din usne shirt utaari, pata nahin chal raha tha drum kaun hain, Pandey kaun hain (He {Salman Khan} at least has the body, he can take off his shirt…but our drummer, Pandey…once he took off his shirt, we couldn’t tell which was the drum and which was Pandey).” Navjot Singh Sindhu’s laughter booms, Salman Khan looks tortured.

The jokes then begin to move to some dangerous territory, namely the langot. The very inquisitive Kapil Sharma wants to know what is the reason behind Salman Khan denouncing his pants? Is it the ‘demand of the script’ or female fans? I tried rolling back my eyes farther, I had to dig it from the back of my brain with a scoop spoon.

Five minutes into the show and we have the first homophobic joke.
And voila! Five minutes into the show and we have the first homophobic joke. Salman Khan says, “Demand toh script ki hi thi. Aur, I think female fans se zyada, male fans isko appreciate zyada kar rahein hain. Samajh mein hi nahin aa raha (It was the demand of the script. But I think more than female fans, male fans appreciated this look. It was all very confusing)!” Everyone laughs like they have stumbled upon the best joke of the century.

Yeh kya ho kya gaya hain tumko bhai? Achche bhale toh the (What is happening to you? You were fine till a couple of days ago), ” he adds. “Ulta zamana aa gaya (The times have changed),” says Navjot Singh Sidhu, carrying this atrocity further.

Then out of nowhere, Rochelle Rao, part of The Kapil Sharma Show cast, trots towards Salman Khan, loudly wishing him Eid Mubarak. Kapil Sharma calls her stupid and shows her how to actually wish — he goes and hugs her and she tries to escape his clutches. Just some casual, comical harassment. Don’t we love it?

Kapil Sharma calls her stupid and shows her how to actually wish — he goes and hugs her and she tries to escape his clutches.
Shortly after this, Kiku Sharda appears in a pink costume and after some nonsensical chatter tries to feed what he claims to be ‘stale kheer’ to Salman Khan. Sooooo funny that I could actually feel my brain crackle and burn up.

Again, Khan seems to be the person you will be able to relate to on the set. He laughs, clearly because he has to and has realised that he has a long day ahead of him.

After some good seventeen minutes, Anushka Sharma is introduced. She is a sight for sore eyes and ears. There are some jokes cracked at her expense. Oh you know, those really funny ones on how women can’t drive? Those.

Navjot Singh Sidhu sees an opportunity and does not let it go. He says, “Jinki zulf ko dekh kar banda madmast baadal ho jaaye, Roop aisa qatil ki aashiq bhi pagal ho jaaye, Zaroorat kya hain mohtarma aapko kushti akhare ki, aap muskura do bade se bada pehelwan ghayal ho jaaye.” In all fairness, that seems to be the plot of Sultan.

The most trending video on YouTube, in all probabilities, took a subtle dig at the outrage around the ridiculous analogy.
Describing the experience of kushti, Salman Khan says “I felt like…” and Anushka interrupted. “What?” she asks. As an afterthought he says “…killing those guys.” Kapil Sharma says, “Bada soch samajh ke bolna padta hain aaj kal…aap bhi soch samajh ke hansiye. Sab phasenge (One really has to think before speaking these days…you all should also think before laughing. Or you all will be in trouble).”

If you are wondering what prompted this epiphany, you’ll have to be reminded of that unfortunate moment when Khan compared the rigorous work-out involved in getting a wrestler’s body to that of the physical trauma a raped woman has undergone. The most trending video on YouTube, in all probabilities, took a subtle dig at the outrage around the ridiculous analogy. Yup, what did we tell you about 2016?

Next comes Ali Asgar, dressed in a salwar kameez and jewellery. He makes a pass at Salman Khan, who knows not what to do. I assume we are supposed to find the idea of a cis man, dressed up as a woman, and hitting on another man, funny. At least from the raucous laughter on the sets, I am compelled to feel that I am in a minority.

The next couple of minutes is salvaged by Sunil Grover playing a funny know-it-all doctor called Dr Mashoor Gulati. Those were the actual few minutes in the episode that I stopped wondering who finds this nonsense funny. I think I had Anushka Sharma for company — she was pretending so hard to convince people that she was having fun that I could cry a tear or two for her.

Sometime later, at one point, Sunil Grover and Chandan Prabhakar, dressed as a woman, start a mock wrestle. They pant, they make faces, their wigs come off and the audience sounds like they are having a hard time keeping their stomachs from splitting. Understandable, I was almost in a similar space — only my head was the one at the receiving end of this extreme experience.

TiG Review : Ae Dil…

Note : This review contains spoilers. If you haven’t watched the film and are here, I suggest you don’t watch the film. 

If only real life were like Karan Johar’s movies.

I too want to live a carefree life in London (err, okay, perhaps a city with better weather) where I can be a student but have access to a private jet, hop across to other parts of Europe at will, and go to posh clubs and restaurants. Sure, there are people who have this in reality, but in Johar’s films, people are given professions for cosmetic reasons, the way dressing is added to salads. Everyday realities aren’t always taken into account.

So, in his latest film Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, Ayan Sanger (Ranbir Kapoor) is purportedly studying for an MBA degree, but secretly harbours dreams of being a singer. Yet, once this is established, it never really comes in the way when Ayan embarks upon impulsive European sojourns with Alizeh (Anushka Sharma), a girl he meets at a club. What does Alizeh do, you ask? There’s some line about working at yoga studios, but mostly she’s a full-time, Bollywood-loving sass (who can be a trifle annoying, truth be told). They meet-cute like Kapoor and Deepika Padukone’s characters in Imtiaz Ali’s Tamasha, a film that Ae Dil… has much in common with. There’s plenty of, ahem, classy self-referencing — Johar harks back to lines or moments from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and Kal Ho Naa Ho multiple times, with no attempt at subtlety. There’s enough self-awareness as well — when two characters speak in chaste Urdu, the script has the good sense to make someone ask, “Have you guys rehearsed this?”

The most controversial film of the year, one that has fought tooth and nail to get to theatres, is perhaps also its most generic. Aside from Tamasha, there’s more than a whiff of Rockstar in here, a pinch of Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani, and — this may be a bit of a spoiler but unfortunately it merits a mention here — a dash of Katti Batti. Once again, Kapoor plays an immature, entitled, and tortured lover who learns that heartbreak and suffering will benefit his art. Once again, Sharma plays a fast-talking, fully filmi patakha who becomes the object of the leading man’s affection. And once again, the phrase ’till death do us part’ acquires too literal a meaning.

As is the case with all of Johar’s movies, the usage of background music torpedoes the film quite a bit. Pritam’s score sounds like a brief has been followed to the T, with peppy Cuban playing music during allegedly funny scenes (a double-date sequence that attempts to find humour in slut-shaming), and heavy duty strings during emotional ones. Every ebb and flow of emotion is underlined, which ironically ends up diluting the actual impact of the scene instead.

Perhaps the only surprising thing about Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, aside from three starry cameos (one offensively bad, the second satisfactory, and the third absolute disastrous), is Aishwarya Rai Bachchan. She plays Saba, a poet from Vienna, whom Ayan meets on a flight but waits three months to call back; perhaps it’s because she’s annoyingly fluent in shaayari and he isn’t? Anyway, the point being that Bachchan, after a long time, is poised and completely reined in — this may be her best performance in years. Ayan seems completely taken in by her and moves to Vienna to live with her, whilst occasionally dabbling in music so that Pritam’s catchy, hit songs can get great — albeit somewhat unrealistic — picturisations.

I know what you’re thinking: why on earth would anyone look for realism in a Karan Johar movie, right? But it isn’t as much about realism as it is about world-building and honesty. For instance, I have no complaints with choreographed numbers, like ‘Cutiepie’ and ‘The Breakup Song’, because if done well, it’s a form of its own that fits the situations well (one is in a wedding; the other in a nightclub) and don’t really require justification.

But when you deliberately skimp on characterisation in order to simplify your script (i.e. not work harder at it), it shows. For instance, Ae Dil… wants us to think of Alizeh as a free spirit, so it goes out of its way to never really introduce us to, say, her parents or any other friends. Later in the film — don’t say I didn’t warn you about spoilers earlier — when she falls terminally ill with final-stage cancer, she continues to be inexplicably alone, so as to make it easier for Ayan to re-enter her life when the right time comes.

Speaking of the big C, that is the point at which Ae Dil… nosedives. We’re treated to visuals of Kapoor and Sharma wearing fake-looking prosthetic scalps (he ‘shaves’ his head out of solidarity), looking like a cross between Ouro from Paa and the characters from the TV show Alien Nation. A scene in an ambulance makes a valiant attempt at redemption, but for me, the damage done was irreversible. Not only do they look ridiculous — why couldn’t they have actually shaved their heads? — but also because it makes the entire story take a painfully sentimental and predictable turn.

Up until then, it’s generic but mostly harmless fun, with some watchable chemistry between Kapoor and Sharma, and later him with Bachchan. A scene where a drunk Ayan peers into a mirror and fantasises about marrying Alizeh is one of the best scenes, and Kapoor, who is now a bona-fide expert at portraying the emotionally fragile millennial, absolutely nails this part of his performance. Fawad Khan (in a seven-minute role) plays the rakish Ali, a scruffily handsome professional DJ whom Alizeh ends up marrying, is effortlessly charismatic. What a pity we may not get to see him on screen again for a while.

The Harry Potter World Is Weird

Now now, before you all begin to hate me without reading what I have to say, please know that I’m a huge fan of the series, and I believe it is one of the most captivating books of this century perhaps. But that being said, it doesn’t overshadow the fact that the Harry Potter World doesn’t make any sense from time to time. Even to a fan like me. I’d explain.

See, I’ve been introduced to Harry Potter pretty late. I was in middle school when the books came out and I thought to myself, “oh a book about wizard, okay”, and that was that. Then my friends read it and started telling me all about it, and I came to know about Harry Potter and his owl, which surprisingly did little to appeal to my interests.

I came around in my teens when I actually started reading the books, courtesy my girlfriend who was a huge Potterhead and made me read them when she found out that I didn’t find them interesting enough to start. And I loved it! I loved how easy it was to imagine yourself in the world, and I really enjoyed some of the characters… but there were problems. A lot of problems. Brace yourselves, its going to be a long post :

Hogwarts produces Level 1 wizards, if that. I’m referring here to the shorthand for approximating relative power levels between characters in role-playing games, but to translate: Wizards spend 7 years in school at Hogwarts, and at the end of it, most of them can’t do anything more impressive than momentarily animate someone’s boogers. And we think modern education in the real world teaches nothing.

The power balance makes no sense. This folds into the last item, but ridiculously powerful artifacts and spells are everywhere and frankly not all that hard to acquire. The main characters routinely find, use, and create them; mysteriously, no one else seems interested in bothering. For one example: the time-turner is the kind of magic that could break reality — I guarantee you Tom Riddle would have enslaved the planet in a matter of a week if he’d got his hands on it — but the school freely lends it out to Hermione, and then all she can think of to do with it is take extra classes. And I haven’t even gotten into how Britain’s most intelligent, most ruthless, and overall best wizards can be handily defeated by simple ruses, elementary spells, and “love.”

Also, the Harry Potter World is peopled with too few wizards who are potently deadly duelists. Try to make a list of the 10 strongest wizards. What do you have? Dumbledore, Voldemort, Grindelwand? Then what? Snape or McGonagall? That’s a huge drop off.

The wizard economy makes no sense. Apart from a very narrow industrial sector for wizarding goods and a few service-oriented businesses, what markets does the economy even have? How does anyone get a paying job? (They may not be congruent with book canon, but the movies depict hundreds or possibly thousands of people working at the Ministry of Magic — so is the whole thing underpinned by deliberate maintenance of unnecessary layers of processing and bureaucracy, like Japan taken to an insane extreme?) It’s not a post-scarcity economy because there are rich people and poor people, somehow — and money MUST have a value, or else Gringotts wouldn’t have such ridiculous security. I would surmise that the only economy in popular fiction that makes even less sense than the Harry Potter economy is the Hunger Games economy, but that’s another post.

What happened to wizard academia? Dumbledore published magical research papers in his teens and bonded with Grindelwald, a similarly accomplished young man of powerful intellect — then they fight, and then it’s never mentioned again! Where did all the wizard researchers go? Were they the only two? Does anyone even care by the time Harry comes around, or has wizarding suffered an anti-intellectual devolution across Dumbledore’s lifetime? Maybe this ties into the repeated demonstrations in the books of wizards’ willful stupidity about the non-wizarding world.

Why is there NO collaboration between the wizarding and muggle worlds at ANY level, even in secret? No mudbloods bring their families into the fold at all, not even with an eye for criminal activity? The SAS doesn’t have one wizard special forces unit? (I could believe that MI5 and MI6 keep that stuff way under wraps.) Rufus Scrimgeour is content to just tell the PM a bunch of cryptic BS about the war and peace out, not to petition for any kind of help?

The plot is totally predictable. The only real surprise in the plot is Snape’s backstory.

Almost none of the major conflicts are between well-matched opponents, so few of the conflicts have any tension or excitement. Sometimes there’s something like the fight between Voldemort and Dumbledore, but most of the time the heroes have been loaded up in advance with every possible ace against the much more powerful bad guys, or you know they can’t lose because it wouldn’t make sense for them to lose for narrative reasons. The only attempt to balance this out is with good guy deaths, most of which are non sequitur, offscreen, or both.

The four Houses of Hogwarts actually exist to delineate story roles. Forget all that hooey about personality traits. Gryffindor is good guys, Slytherin is bad guys, Ravenclaw is Gryffindor’s B team, and Hufflepuff… occasionally produces a human shield for Harry (RIP Diggory and Tonks).

None of the romances are believable. Characters just get together at random. Very often there’s never even a hint about why any two characters are attracted to each other. (Before you say “it’s a children’s book,” read almost any other children’s or Young Adult book with a love story.)

But really, in my opinion, the single worst thing is:

The main three characters are the most boring characters in the books. I couldn’t get enough of Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius, the other Blacks and the adult Malfoys, Gilderoy Lockhart, and lots of other B and C list characters who are colorful, interesting, and well-realized in the story. But for most of the series, Harry is just a thing being pushed along by the adults around him and by revelations about the past; the narration gives us his immediate reactions, but it takes him a very long time to grow any personality. I found myself somewhat bewildered as to why any of the adults were so fond of him, apart from pleasant memories of his mother (couldn’t have been because they missed his asshole dad). Meanwhile, Hermione and Ron hardly rate any individuality. Hermione exists to provide trivia ex machina that instantly solves problems, and Ron exists to provide random solutions ex machina when Hermione’s been overused. And Ron’s demonstrated abilities aren’t even consistent with his behavior (he’s brilliant at wizard chess, yet he’s the dopey idiot in every other situation)?

It’s a testament to the books’ power that in spite of all of the above flaws, they’re still great fun to read and I don’t consider my time spent on them wasted at all. If nothing else, they’ve led to lots of fun discussions and arguments with my girlfriend!

(Most of the ideas here were actually her’s).

The Art Of Killing Mosquitoes

Day 9

Mosquito hunting with the electrical bat can surprisingly be quite therapeutic. Especially during study holidays when one frequently feels the need to maim or seriously injure.

It also comes with a LED torch in case you need something bigger than a mosquito, hiding behind the closet, to electrocute to death.

I don’t know what function the torch has in electrocuting mosquitoes to death.

And I’ve only broken one glass so far.

I actually think they should make it into an Olympic sport. Send in a guy with a fully charged mosquito bat, and give him +10 for every dead mosquito and -5 for every bite. And a disqualification for breaking anything, just to keep things interesting.

The Laws Of Study Vacations

Day 13

Over the past few days, I’ve made a remarkable observation – the laws governing study vacations are as fundamental as Newton’s laws of motion. Here is a comprehensive guide :

Law of diminishing returns – During the study vacation, there is, on average, a 10% decrease in the total amount of studying that is done on any given day, as compared to the preceding day.

This trend, however, is abruptly reversed and accompanied with a sudden surge in both vigor and panic, at a specific point in time (the “break point”) which usually occurs no earlier than 48 hours before the start of the exam (by which time, of course, the outcome of the examination has become inevitable, and the probability of altering it tends to zero).

Law of failed adherence – No timetable, without exception, however well-planned and seemingly practicable, will ever work as planned or be successfully implemented. This holds good for timetables that extend over months, weeks, days, hours, or even intervals of 10 minutes.

Law of extraneous influences – In the process of attempting to study, all things unrelated to the study material become supremely fascinating, and the student feels an obsessive and compulsive need to stare at blank walls, update blogs and play Criminal Case.

Law of successful recollection (applicable primarily to science students) – If the student possesses the ability to recollect, with reasonable accuracy, just one paragraph from one page after intensive reading for one hour, then the period of study shall be deemed to have been sufficiently productive.

Law of wishful thinking – Every student begins to incessantly replay some impossible fantasy in his/her mind, always ending with some disastrous event (like a gigantic asteroid hitting the college) that results in the cancellation of the approaching exam.

P.S. No asteroid did, unfortunately, crash into my college. I checked.

Final Exams : Because No One Deserves To Be Happy

Day 6
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This picture has been shared around a lot on Facebook. But from what I saw over the last week, I’ve realized that this is a gross misconception. The actual last five minutes (or the last thirty, in my case) were spent thusly:

ragecomic

I even tried asking one of the invigilators what was causing my fellow classmates to make such obvious physical effort in filling out the answers, while I was counting the number of fans on the ceiling. Perhaps there was some kind of a secret puzzle that had to be cracked in order to reveal another question or something. On the first day, I even tried putting all the letters of each line together to see if that would lead me somewhere, only to get “EDSHUI SSATPP MPPW”. How intriguing. It actually didn’t sound a whole lot different than the actual question they had asked, like “What is GQMWP?”

I finally decided that the most effective way to spend all my free time would be to take a quick nap. You’d understand my astonishment when everyone came out of the examination hall and told me that there was no time to finish writing everything they wanted to.

The way I see it, there are two possible explanations here. Either I’m selectively blind to some kind of invisible ink that they use to print the back of the question paper, or I’m just plain dumb. I’m not too sure about the invisible ink.

Anyway, that was a week ago, and then we went on to watch this random B-graded Hindi movie. After a week of not sleeping, you don’t usually care much for such things as quality when you select a movie. Plus, after this ordeal, my mind wanted something titillating.
But unfortunately for me, the one we went to watch got me worked up all the more. Rather than having actresses dance in the rain amidst a jungle, or censored impromptu sex scenes peppered adequately with flashes of cleavage, this one had some strong advice for the audience, delivered in typical Tamil-movie-style ; advice that no fresh-out-of-the-exam-hall college student wants to hear. Advice on the importance of education and studying hard.

Who Should You Date?

Google about how to find perfect guys and you’ll find numerous articles on who to date and who not. But tragic enough, there would hardly be articles telling you what kind of girls you should date. Therefore, I take it upon myself as my responsibility to enlighten the world about what kind of girls, if they actually existed, would have been perfect for guys. The Perfect Woman. The mystery unknown. The ultimate piece of Godliness. Here they come :

  • Date a girl who’s well-read : Yes, guys, being well-read is important. Being well-read doesn’t mean having read all of Blyton’s books. Not even Bhagat’s. It means having a rich taste of good books. It assures you that the girl has a taste, a preference, that she won’t take shit. And that if she agrees to date you, it means you’re something. How’s that for confidence? This also assures she’d prefer a hi to a hieee every time you meet her.
  • Date a girl who’s funny : Almost eighty percent of the girls, when asked what is that one quality that they want in their dream man, says ‘sense of humor’ or ‘someone who can make me laugh’. While they easily pass on the difficult baton to us, since humor is, by no means, an ordinary talent; they forget to realize that even a man could desire some fun. Now don’t twist your heads, I’m not talking that kind of fun. In this multitude of sentimentality, it’s a rarity to find a ‘sense of humor’ in the fairer sex. However keep your eyes open. Some woman with the fragrance of Nitrous Oxide may pass by. That’s laughing gas, dumbass! ( Pardon my pathetic sense of humor! )
  • Date a girl who’s not so gorgeous : While most of us desire, or even fantasize dating the most gorgeous girl on the planet, let me tell you that almost 99% of them are very fussy. They make your life hell. Trust my experience. A not-so-gorgeous girl is perfect. She’ll listen to you, treat you like a teddy bear rather than a pet dog and you could even make your friends with gorgeous girls jealous by letting them know how teddy-bearish you feel like.
  • Date a girl who has an ambition : Now this may sound preachy but it definitely helps in the long run. The woman must have something other than you to keep herself engaged with. From being a painter to having a desire of writing meaningless, traffic-less blogs – anything flashy enough to keep her occupied, give you some breathing space and keep her happy without extra effort on your part.
  • Date a girl who likes you rather than admires you : Liking doesn’t need a reason. Admiration does. Admiration creates walls, makes you larger than life. Liking breaks walls, makes the liker likable. Admiration is for your qualities, liking is for you. I’m assuming you’re not a total loser. Pardon me if I erred. Did you like this piece of advice? The sharing buttons are right below!
  •  Once, for a few days, date a girl who’s rich and spoilt : This is guy’s side of the story. There’s no such thing as a free lunch for those who haven’t seen this part of the world. Make sure you date atleast one rich girl, with a big car and a Louis Vuitton purse, so that later you could atleast tell your grandson than you were nothing less than Superman when you were young. Tell your little-tittles about how you once dated a hot chick, who had a Bentley and who smoked pot, and dumped her when you got bored of her concern about the greenery in her purse rather than the redness of your cheeks. If you ain’t a celeb right now, follow my advice and you’d get a huge young fan following in your old age!
  • Date a girl who’s not too senti-menti : It’s a heartbreaking statement but yes, a hefty percentage of girls are sentimental cry-babies. If you’re a girl and you get offended by this, you clearly know what I mean. Such girls spend the majority of their time drooling over some random crush of theirs, who might already be committed; getting fascinated by some random celebrity so much that even dreams are haunted by them; getting all emotional about some random crap that some lunatic guy said about their weight or dressing sense and in the worst case, for not being able to share bitchy stories about their acquaintances to their friends. Date a girl who’s opposite to all those, who sheds tears only when she cuts onions and you cook!
  • Date a girl who’s got some talent : Talents are interesting. Encourage her to pursue them. Make sure that she never gives them up because of any reason whatsoever. Appreciate her. It’ll make her happy with herself and in turn, make you happy, because your nights would be awesome. And nothing is greater than happiness. Thank you. Now you can clap.