When I was one and twenty

As twenty-two nears, the poem below becomes clearer.And today when one of my closest friends turns twenty one,I proffer her the same advice as the wise man in the poem below.

By A.E.Housman

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
'Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
'The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.


I feel more than ever as if the words penned above were custom made for me..sigh.

And yet someone would remind me- In hope we live! :)

a quickie

First things first- I can't believe I lasted a year in the blogger world!
An anniversary post was something that I'd planned to write on the fourth day of April, but apparently the bsnl guys chose that very day for their annual dig-meddle-fill spree.Ah, never mind. The blog has turned one, and I'm delighted!


It's unfortunate that my reading and writing moods are mutually exclusive. A good enough reason why the blogging is at a low ebb. I'm reading these days. Extensively.One of those mad drives that people get at times.The appetite at such times is insatiable, and one is rendered helpless in front of the cravings.I'm sticking to my all time favourite, foul-weather friend genre: Crime. I'm a voracious reader of crime novels. And I fail to understand, how can anyone who can read not be!
Oh, how ardently I worship thee,O queen of crime!


For the love of god! Go, get married. You can also consider eloping.And then go into hiding (will be very well received by the hoi polloi of India, can't speak for the media though).Please save us from the dinner time 'breaking news'-nikah se pehle nach le, or something of that effect. This Sania-Shoaib-Ayesha saga has to end.
How revolting and utterly dishonorable it is to provide a front page coverage to the matrimonial controversies of certain celebs/wannabe celebs, while a tragic news of 75 slain CRPF jawans is pushed into the background. Are we as a country more interested in knowing the colour of Sania Mirza's bridal lachchha than mourning the loss of the brave sons of the soil?
I guess we are. And that's just so sad.

Good news for the blog. The dry spell is almost over. Will write often now.
So long!

Little Women

Statutory warning : A painfully long post

If there has been a lapse of over a month between my last post and this one, I have little to blame it on the nonavailability of time. For I have only been moderately busy, and could have always got down to blog if I wanted to. But I didn't. Lack of inspiration can be a vile thing indeed.

So I attribute this sudden whim to blog once again to two extraordinary women- one fictional, another real. I refer to the inspiring and individualistic Josephine March, and the brilliant authoress Louisa May Alcott who created her.

I was a little embarrassed in the beginning to have started reading a book that I ought to have read when I was fourteen or fifteen. I have neither any idea as of why I didn't, nor any memory of being suggested to devour the great work. But having read it now, I think it is better that I discovered this book at one-and-twenty and not in my early teens. Reason being my absolute quixotic temperament back then. I'm not denying that my traits have not changed one bit, and I'm still as quixotic as I was, but with age comes a little pragmatism.

I grew fonder of Jo's character as the story progressed. I couldn't figure out while reading who of the four charming sisters was the main protagonist as the book gave all the four little women equal measures of attention, but couldn't help picking a favorite. Your favorite is the one you can relate to. Now that can be really tricky, you know. Because no two persons are entirely similar, and any girl can find one or more similar characteristic between her and any other female counterpart. So look for a character for whom your heart- celebrates when her efforts are acknowledged as they rightly should have been, mourns when she doesn't get what she wants for it reminds you of some of your own missed buses, defends her flaws for it knows that you have the same ones, seconds her decisions, desperately wishes she must not have the damned fate that looms somewhere around, is relieved to find that the bad spell is over for her. Yes, that's your protagonist! A person after your own foolish heart.

So, yes I rather liked the obstinate yet devoted tomboy, who turned out to be the main protagonist after all, but it was only after I finished the book and researched a bit about it did I come to know that Jo March is often recognized as an extraordinary literary heroine, very much like Elizabeth Bennet of Pride and Prejudice. But unlike Jane Austen who-much to the sentimental joy of her readers- penned a fairytale ending for Lizzy and Mr. Darcy, Louisa May Alcott broke many a hearts when she didn't unite Jo and Laurie-or Teddy as only Jo would call him. Of course she didn't keep her an old maid and brought to her world more happiness than she deserved( in Jo's own words) by getting her married to Prof. Bhaer, whom she tenderly loved. And Laurie after nursing a wounded heart from Jo's blunt refusal, began to ardently love and admire Jo's youngest sister Amy, who subsequently became his wife. Even though the ending was perfectly merry with the comforting presence of a big happy family, I felt felt there was something amiss. With little self-absorption I found what. I discovered that I'd have rather had Jo accept Laurie's proposal, for they were so meant for each other! For backing my feeling I began the research, and by Jove! did the whole world echoed my views or what? For they did, and passionately so! I read how Louisa.M. Alcott was harried with heaps of letters from fans requesting to change her mind about Jo and Laurie, and how she remained perverse about it. But then it was the love, response and demands of her fans that made her script Jo's marriage because originally she was to remain-as I understood-a literary spinster, like herself, as the character itself was loosely based on her.

Now, here is where the good thing about my reading the book at twenty-one instead of fourteen should come into picture. My teenager self would have vehemently protested and would have never understood. I don't claim to understand the reason entirely even now. But the only difference is that I can and I shall try. Both for the sake of perusing a swell piece of literature and because I daresay I need to make some discoveries about myself.

There are two ways of looking at it. Both diametrically opposite.

First: It is utterly selfish of the readers (including myself) to demand an alteration just for giving vent to their own unfulfilled romantic dreams. Deciding every character's fate is entirely the author's prerogative. And say if we leave that aside, isn't there something called platonic relationship? Even as I type this, I can imagine all the cynics of the world unitedly scoffing. Maybe I'm the wrong person to orchestrate this as I never really had a guy as a best friend. But with the experience of having many a close friends and confidants of the opposite sex, I can certainly answer in affirmative . Sometimes you're too good friends to be anything else. This, I vouch for. These things are so to-each-his-own types that a general conclusion is hard to reach, but if I speak for myself, I, even in my most coquettish days have never once flirted with a friend. I can't! And it's amazing how so many people can. Now, if some old friend is reading this and saying-"you hypocritical vixen, you so can!", all I can say is that I never flirt till I fancy, and if I fancy I don't put you in my friend's domain. So if I ever burst into peals of laughter at your codswallop that you called joke, it was probably because I didn't consider you my friend then and was merely flirting in good faith. Apologies.

The point I'm trying to make is that what Jo shared with Laurie had it's roots in the most uncorrupted days of their lives, when playing outdoors was the most important thing in the world. So, if they promenaded arm-in-arm and called each other 'my boy' and 'my girl', it was because the two buddies thought ( although Laurie did in a different way) that they owned each other, like a family.

So why my dear fellow readers of the book, do you take Jo to be stonehearted? I think it was immensely remarkable of her to not have acquiesced to her lovesick friend because she knew she could never love him the way he loved her, which would have been mighty unfair to him. Do you not think that it takes courage to look at a despondent face knowing that it is you who made that face look like that? And excruciating is the pain when it happens to be your pet face. May lord save us all from such agony.

Second: Then we can always see it in a different, though not so unexpected light. The stupendousness of the romantic tragedy. It isn't in the least surprising that by being denied a tangible union sincere love always achieves an eternal one.

Some wishes should remain unfulfilled for the feeling to linger around forever. For that 'idea' of the fulfilled state of wish to always stay alive. Sometimes it is million times better than its granted form. The history is strewn with such plentiful examples that I would make a poor display of my awareness if I attempt to cite a few. The yearning to yearn is passionately strong in us humans from the very incipient stage. Have you not seen how a child yearns for the very toy that is forbidden for her/him? It is psychological, I believe.You're halfway through making a sand castle and the surging tide sweeps it away, and you lament for you think it was to be the best sand castle ever made and nothing could have made you happier.Not pausing to think that it could've been the most hideous one ever made in the history of sand castles, but you wish to believe the opposite. And this cheers me up, as I sense optimism even as we pine away. It is our devout desire to make perfect endings but when we can't, be happier as it is ordained to have something better than a perfect ending. Everlasting existence. If you believe in this you probably can enlighten me more comprehensively and I'd be much obliged. If you don't, what are fan fictions for!

As I was chatting with my friends, while ambling down the road in the precious one hour break this afternoon, we all bitterly agreed on how time flies with miraculous speed. How we're very much into our twenties now and yet feel and behave every bit like carefree sixteen year olds.

But then there's also something I always secretly believed in, and which was wonderfully put into words by the Little women's mother or Marmee- "Children should remain children as long as they could".

I wish I could a little longer. It is ironical how while reading the pen picture of the tomboyish wild girl, a hazy face of a cheerful, messy girl just floated into my mind. Now, if you don't know how Divya Nair was you probably will never understand the irony, but never mind. While our novel's Jo never wanted to grow up, our precious Tayar was the one who made us grow up. I was a little scandalized at such a reflex action of my subconscious mind. Because no two girls have been more dissimilar. Why, she had no proclivity for literature or writing (or academics for that matter), was more ripen up than the whole lot of us, and flirted unabashedly. So totally un-Jo-ish. So, what made me think of her? Hmm..the curly hair could be one, outspoken audacity the other, always monkeying around could be a contributing factor and so could be her on-your-face ruthlessly honest comments. Now, wait! Am I disparaging her? Hell no! She was one of the sweetest persons I'd ever had the fortune to meet and also the vividest of all. The funkiest joker of the class who always kept us in high spirits. And whatever I wrote, I mean it in the most revering way imaginable. For who but she could perpetually rag the fellas, use their slangs on them, and keep us ever entertained. The guys scowled at her, as they always hypocritically do, at girls who can give them a dose of their own medicine. But she couldn't care less, and I loved her for that! She educated us about the facts of life much before and better than our biology textbook did, she taught us swear words so that we'd be able to recognize when somebody spoke them. She taught us that if you have a fervor for playing for the house sports cup or dance for the cultural award, don't let the uneasy days of the month deter you.And most of all she taught us how wonderful it is to laugh together even if it is at your own expense!Oh! what would we do without her. So, can you gauge my shock when I got to know that she was the first birdie to fly out of her nest? Maybe, you can. But you have no idea how near-fainting experience it was to see her coyly standing next to her hubby at their reception stage. Visibly docile, exuding feminine grace. Part astonishing, part revolting. Yes, revolting! Where was my partner in crime with whom I used to have capital times? One with wild mane, silly grin, mallu accent, reckless spirit and dollops of spunk.Who was this saree clad, eyelash-batting, children-loving, dutiful, domesticated belle? It was like watching my childhood dwindle away in front of my eyes. I started framing sentences in my head to say to her as I queued up for going to stage, for I thought I could hardly be able to stutter anything except congratulations to this intimidatingly stranger woman who was strangulating my girlhood. It was best, I thought to let Anu and Vandita to do the talking, I'll just smile, congratulate, give the gift, get snapped, grab a bite and get the hell out of there lest she formally thanks us for coming and requests us to 'please eat'. So as per my on-the-spot plan I smiled, gave the gift, muttered congrats and was ready to get discomfited by her formal smile and thanks, when she teasingly said- " Basu, tune bahot powder lagaya hain" :)

Atta girl! Saved my childhood memories. :)

I sometimes wish I had never reconnected with some of my old friends on social networking sites. Then I'd have forever cherished the sweet imprints that those lovable people left in my wistful eyes, but damn you facebook! You show me what has become of them, and now I don't adore them half as much as I did in some ancient time.

P.S: Phew! Unleashed. Finally. Feels so good :)

MNIB

My name is Basu, and I am not totally impressed.

I anticipated MNIK to be a for sure sob story. I, thus, very carefully folded a handkerchief and kept it inside my purse. Khan always makes me cry. Each movie of his evokes pathos in me every single time I watch it.But surprisingly it wasn't as much of a tearjerker as I expected it to be! Not that I didn't wet my eyes-of course I did! But then I am mawkishly sentimental while watching soppy tales. I cry at almost every movie! But, in this particular movie others didn't cry as much as was expected of them. It was an SRK movie for god's sake, it is imperative to cry!

Anyway, my friends didn't like it much. I did. I'm a die hard SRK fan. I'm a die hard romantic movies fan. I love the surname Khan. Obviously I liked it.

And about Khan, the surname I mean. It can be said that the movie is loosely Khan centered (both the actor and the title). It is shown that circumstances arise when people start getting discomforted by it . But why? I love it! There's so much weight in it. Those who have this last name must be thrilled (or so I expect) to carry such incredible history and lineage with them. Now, I understand that the antagonism for 'Khan', as shown in the movie, has to do with the religion (that bears the brunt of terrorism) and not with anything else. But that's a topic which I refrain from touching now, as it requires a lot of time, blogger space and the right frame of mind.

Movies affect me. More than I think, that is. Every time I watch I watch a new movie, I think about it, in terms of it. I stay wholly/partially immersed in it for at least a week. Maybe that is one of the plausible reasons why I'm so unrealistically filmy in my real life. I daydream a lot about how my life would be (mark the words-'would be', not 'should be') someday. I concoct tales. About how something extraordinary would happen to me, how it would be a bolt from the blue for me, how I would rise to the occasion(it's my movie so I get to be the protagonist, right?). And then I just love weaving these imaginary characters, who always play the roles I chalk out for them, always speak the lines I want them to speak, and always wear clothes that I mentally design for them. Freakish though it might seem, but I usually don't rest till I find the right dialogues, or right introductory plots, or right dressing for my imaginary characters. Even as I type this I'm smiling to myself thinking of how a medico friend of mine would react to all this. I suppose he'd vociferously begin to diagnose my 'condition'. I can actually hear him say-"You might be affected by muggawuggawugga (uff, these medical jargons! unpronounceable i tell you!) neurological disorder". And that would be follwed by citation of hazzaar abstruse theories (not to mention the explanation of each one) that support the claim. Oh, I'm a psycho alright. :)

The nation wide V-day hoopla is finally over. Thank god. No, I'm not being cynical. I deal with facts here. I talked to eight different people yesterday, and couldn't help noticing that they were not half as cheerful as they usually are (and mind you they're all exceptionally jovial people). Status messages of many people only resonated the not-so-high-spirits. It's strange, isn't it? How come a day dedicated to love and happiness ends up making so many feel miserable? If I speak for myself, I get a little put off by the predictable nature of the day. As Oscar Wilde had put it-'Uncertainty is the essence of romance'. Nothing about Valentine's day is entirely uncertain. But that doesn't mean, I don't wallow into the mushy atmosphere of the day :) I read each and every V-day special article in the papers, even the message columns! Most of these messages are silly to the core, and asinine are the nicknames that people resort to for avoiding recognition. To gulabjamun from laddoo, to bakbak from chupchap, to jaadu cute prince from chaku- it's idiocy in print ! However, in this sea of unknown people with fake names and internet-acquired rhyming couplets, there was actually a message that I liked. I don't know who it was for or from, but it was nice-Hmm..now what was it..like an autumn leaf I withered in your arms...oh I wish I could remember it. It wasn't a poetry, but was very beautiful and meaningful.

I should seriously stop posting stuff at nights. My head gets inundated with thoughts/incidents I want to include but I then get all drowsy after a while and decide to make all the left out things into another post someday. That almost never happens; a fresh new day, a million new thoughts!

suitable,indeed!

Neelanjana Basu is violently in love with a suitable boy ;)

Well..that makes me sound like the foolish girl Lydia of Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice'. Ugh!

Maybe I should consider,

Neelanjana Basu has finally laid her hands on a suitable boy ;)

No, no..that would appear unnecessarily bold.

How about, Neelanjana Basu has finally found a suitable boy ;) ?

Umm..but that statement might as well have come out of the larynx of a conservative girl with

marriage-is-the-mission-of-my-life etched upon her forehead.Nayh, I will give it a skip.

Of course I can play the honestly card and simply stick to,

Neelanjana Basu is reading the book- a suitable boy.

But that would eliminate the double meaning from the statement, take away the fun part!

No, I'm not a fan of talking (or even writing for that matter) in third person. I stopped doing it ever since I turned five. I was trying to contemplate an appropriate status message for my facebook account. But then the nature of responses that this status message might have drawn had I most imprudently put it up discouraged me hugely.Hugely.Thankfully. It both amuses and appalls me at the same time- the way most people are unable to put two words of sense together while commenting on status messages. A friend had once put up a status of 'just woke up' .Three people 'liked' it. Worse still, a few went on to type-" hey, me too!"

Anyway, I'm so sick of these networking sites that I'm almost certain now that my days on such highfalutin territories are numbered. One of these days...oh, one of these days for sure..

I'm in a rather acerbic mood at the moment. And this, after having multiple mood swings since morning. Cheerful, when I woke up. Dreamy, when I went for a walk. Hopeful, after having walked several footsteps. Responsible, after father left me a job to get done. Temporarily relieved, after talking to a friend. Despondent, after talking to another. The despondency lingered for the entire afternoon, for it aggravated my grievance. Crying doesn't always lead to catharsis. Lost, while watching the random television programs. Impatient, when the repair person had still not arrived. Anguished, when my mind kept drifting to the reason of my downheartedness. Indignant, at the sheer unfairness of life. Doubtful, of my seemingly cursed fate. Slightly appeased after deciding to go to Crossword. Calm, after being transferred to a fictitious world of fictitious people. Annoyed, after returning to mine. Silent, while dining. Indifferent, while watching a re-run episode of friends. And acerbic now. But I've already written that, haven't I? Not the best of the days. Yes, it was a very unhappy day indeed.

But the few happier moments were the ones that I spent at the bookstore. This is the reason I love that place. It has an uncanny calming effect on me. Not just the books, the bookshop too. So, I picked up a book that I wanted to read for a very long time. I'm barely through one-tenths of A Suitable Boy, and already I'm getting this feeling that there's a distinct possibility that this might

become one of my favorites. I didn't purchase it. I mean, well..I know it is worth seven hundred rupees but of late I've been withdrawing a lot of money from my account and consequently a bit short-handed at the moment. Besides, that place has such a charm that I'd have wanted to sit there and read even if I'd bought it. It is blissful to visit on weekdays. No garrulous people, who after their unrestrained shopping spree at a mall nearby think it to be their moral duty to bring their kids to a 'worthwhile' place as well. Some sights are rather cute. Mommies reading out to their kiddos, or daddies explaining their darlings the meaning of a word or another. But the store attracts a good deal of pretentious crowd as well. They're the ones who bother me. Oh, but never mind those fakers. I don't pay much attention to them as long as I've got a place to sit and read peacefully. As I made my way to a comfy couch, my book clutched in my hand( well..that's not entirely true. It is so bulky that you need both your hands to hold it!) I realized that I was thirsty. I chose to ignore it. After reading a few pages, I read the word 'Ganges' and I felt thirsty again. The more I thought of thirst, the thirstier I got. When it could no longer be ignored, I headed for the cafeteria that is within the store. Now, these are exactly the kind of social situations that I feel awkward to be in. Going to an eating joint all by yourself and that too when all you want is a glass of water. To make the matters more awkward it was totally deserted.

"You don't have to order something only because you want water to go with it. It's perfectly OK to ask for just a glass of water. A lot of people do that, so what?It isn't a crime for god's sake!" I kept reminding myself. But even before these instructions could properly sink in my head, the counter-opinion side of the mind blurted out-" What a cheapskate! How ruthlessly you would shatter his hopes of finally earning some money. If it is deserted in such a beautiful evening, there's no chance he'd have had a single customer during the day". But before a rational conclusion could be reached between opinion and counter-opinion, I found myself saying,

"One cappuccino please".

As he began to brew, I added- " Can I have a glass of water please". Nicely done, thought I.

"Erm..You have to buy a bottle" replied the aproned guy.

"Oooh..kay, gimme one then". (Goddammit! :x)

Yeah, so I ended up paying rupees sixty and two for a sip of water.

I hate it when I'm like this. Too much uptight, too much of what-would-they-think-of-me types. This always coincides with my unhappy mood. I'm so much cooler when I'm happy. Totally unworried, even flaky at times. I love my happier, confident self. Wish I had a control over my mood swings.

A character in the book reminded me of a totally irrelevant person. Not because they bear any resemblance, but because my mind is a wandering freak. There are times when you're reading something particular and you randomly think of a person, to your own surprise. Later, every single time you read that particular thing you would be reminded of that very person who was a random selection of your brain in the first place. I don't know how this stuff works. But it does, at least it does for me. So, this person (not the character, the real one)-I despise him and I don't know why! He's just a random college guy I happen to know by chance. He isn't a friend or classmate or not even an acquaintance. We've never spoken, not even indirectly. And yet every time I see him I'm overcome by a feeling of resentment..for it has to be resentment. And call me a psycho or whatever, I think he reciprocates my cold gesture. There are vibes you can just feel. When someone doesn't like you, you know. Just the way you know when someone does. I've tried, not in vain, to extricate myself from the pool of such negativities. Have been half-successful. Now maybe because I've somehow got myself to believe that bad things would happen to me when this person is around, they actually do! And as a cover-up for my own shortcomings I pass the buck to him and convince myself by saying bitterly " Only because He was there". No, this won't do. Blaming random people for my own faults won't do. Also, I can't afford to prevaricate anymore.

I had to edit the previous line four times, which means I'm quite drowsy.

I hope Ms.Sullen Mood departs for good,

And pray, make haste, if she kindly would.

I hope she sets up her dwelling far far away,

And if she tries to creep back, may she go astray.

:-)

life aaj kal

My ears continue to pain even as I type this. I have little idea of how many decibels were actually pounding against my ears last night.

Had gone to Chaos :)

Chaos is the name of the annual cultural festival of IIM-A, the most coveted B-School of India. By just stepping inside the institute one can actually feel the brainwaves pervading the air. The people in there must be oh-so-smart. Indeed, that's why my attention kept drifting to the dozen insti students standing lazily at the upper hallways of the buildings surrounding the famed Louis Kahn Plaza, than the huge crowd that was thronging the LKP.

I just love the Joie de Vivre of concerts. It unites people. People who don't even know each other. And the best part is that you don't have to know the other people for bonding with them. You need not know their identities. Not before, not after, not even during celebrating music. When hundreds of people are cheering and clapping for the same music, swaying to rhythm of the same music and when the same source is making all of them euphoric, then at that moment a magical string ties them together in a way that is next to impossible in the real life domain(now see, how similar it sounds to real time domain..but never mind that now.) But it's beautiful, isn't it? We're all strangers, there comes a moment when suddenly we're not, and when the moment's over we again go on to be strangers.

Music is magic. Magic is might.

And yet music remains to be the most underestimated power. How sad.

Now because Sonu Nigam (What's with this Niigaam-numerology anyway?) was performing-obviously Uttara had to mail Sonuji to say how miserable she felt that she was not in a'bad and obviously he had to reply to his biggest fan alive. And obviously she decided to listen to his voice on phone because she was obviously more excited than the entire crowd put together. So obviously she called.And obviously stayed on phone till we were there. And obviously I had to use 'obviously' an obscene number of times to make it obvious that-hey, it's Uttara we're talking about. It's passion at it's best with no destructive obsession-obviously!

The final semester has begun in full swing. And this one is so different from the ones we had till now. Because it's not the regular college sem. It's a project centered sem. I'm doing my project faaar away from college-that makes me happy. And it happens to be verrry close to home-that makes me happier. But what makes me happiest is the fact that I'm doing it in a place that will ensure tremendous exposure in terms of knowledge and learning. For those who're interested in instruments and electronics Space Applications Centre , Dept of space, ISRO is the finest place in the country to be in. I had always heard that as a kid, when mummy-papa log used to talk. But some things can be understood well only by experiencing. Plus walking by the lush sloping gardens makes me so nostalgic. I remember the days when we'd play and roll on these grass slopes on Kaumi Ekta Diwas (Communal Integration Day) while waiting for the results of the Drawing Competition :).Vikram Sarabhai hall was where the presentation ceremony and quiz session took place. That too, comes in the way of the department I do my project in.

And the fact that I have my friends around is like an icing on the cake! Since all of our respective projects are at incipient stages, we can afford to wander about a little as of now. Breathe some fresh air, amble to each others' departments, stare at the lovely peacocks, eat in the cafeteria, share our experiences. Of course, we get just one hour to do all of this-but that's OK, for we make the most of whatever we get! But this carefree life isn't going to last for long. A few days into feb and we'll see a sea change..(*gets tensed*)

Republic day went fine. Saw President Pratibha Devisingh Patil hoist the national flag at 10:18 A.M on Doordarshan. It's extremely shameful that most of the Indians don't know the exact time at which it should be hoisted and the significance of this time. After the school got over, I never sang the National Anthem everyday. Just two days per year. Despite this 'Jan gan man..' never fails to instill a feeling of immense pride in me. I don't understand why people refrain from watching this ceremony. Some think it's boring. Well, of course watching the brave soldiers being felicitated and decorated with Ashok Chakra is boring! Why don't these people combat the terrorists/naxalites on their own then? That would be pretty exciting.Huh! Shameless ingrates.

We don't do anything for our country as such. The least a person can do is heartily applaud the people who do. Went down to the Vikki garden next,where Republic Day is a big event-rightly and rightfully so.

Apart from this, the only new news is- I got a haircut :)

Mother wasn't too pleased. God knows why! It's not even that noticeable. I and mamma have always been at loggerheads regarding my hairstyle since my childhood days. As a girl, I always wanted to have long hair like her, like Kajol in the second half of Kuch kuch hota hain, like Hema ma'am, like Divya Rangarajan, like Divya Nair, like the ladies who advertised for hair oils (*dabur aamlaa kesh tel, resham sa ehsaas lage, chehra kitna khaas lage, dabur aamlaa kesh tel*), but inspite of my severe pangs of desire to grow it long my mother would firmly tell the barber "Rasna cut" or at the most "Baby cut". In rasna cut I would have fringes covering the front of my forehead like the little girl in the ad of rasna ('I love you rasna'), in baby cut I won't. But in either cuts my hair would not reach beyond my ears. My mother's reason for having my beautiful hair chopped off? (yes, in those days my hair was actually beautiful. Jet black and dense) Well..according to her there was not one reason but many.A) Aunties have long hair B) Little girls look good in short hair C) Divya Rangarajan, Divya Nair and the other girls in your class have a horrible infestation of lices, and if you get it from them, it is easier to use an anti-lice shampoo on short hair. D) Look at the brighter prospect, you don't have to tie your hair like other girls in school. You can always keep it untied.

Reason D) was the only reason I used to agree to the brutal hair-shortening session. All others had to tie theirs into ponytails and plaits..haha..and I would look different and stylish in my untied, embellished-with- cute-clips hair. Plus they can't punish me. I'll just say- "Ma'am, it's too short to be tied up" :D

But it's a total opinion reversal now. The thing is when I came to college I started growing my hair against my mother's wish...and she started liking it! So much so, that she frowns even before I speak 'Haircut'. Now her reasons are A) You're a big girl now. B) Big girls should have long hair

C) There's no Divya Rangarajan or Divya Nair in your class now, who carry generations of lices on their heads. D) Hair of appreciable length looks good with almost everything.

Option D) always appeals. It's my secret manipulative plan cum mission to tell her the best way of instant hair lengthening-hair straightening ;) Oh, she'll agree sooner or later.

Only if one could type at the same speed one thought.

Anecdotes of some great scientists

I absolutely love compiling such stuff. These are a few personal favorites:-

Who's the creator?

The story is told of an atheist scientist, a friend of Sir Isaac Newton, who knocked on the door and came in after he had just finished making his solar system machine(i.e one of the machines like one in the science museum where you crank the handle and the planets and the moon moves round). The man saw the machine and said "how wonderful" and went over to it and started cranking the handle and the planets moved round. As he was doing this he asked, "Who made this?"
Sir Isaac stopped writing and said "nobody did". Then he carried on writing.
The man said "You didn't hear me. Who made the machine?"
Newton replied, "I told you. Nobody did".
He stopped to cranking and turned to Isaac, "Now listen Isaac, this marvelous machine must have been made by somebody-don't keep saying that nobody made it".
At which point Isaac Newton stopped writing and got up. He looked at him and said, "Now isn't it amazing. I tell you that nobody made a simple toy like that and you don't believe me. Yet you gaze out into the solar system-the intricate marvelous machine that is around you-and you dare say to me that none made that. I don't believe it".
As far as the record goes the atheist went away and he was no longer an atheist. He was suddenly converted to the idea that God was behind the laws that were found in the creation.

It's 'relatively' easy

Here's a story about how Albert Einstein was travelling to universities in a chauffer-driven car delivering lectures on his theory of relativity. One day while in transit, the chauffer remarked: "Dr. Einstein, I've heard you deliver that lecture 30 times. I know it by heart and give it myself."
"Well, I'll give you a chance", said Einstein. "They don't know me at the next college, so when we go there I'll put your cap and you introduce yourself as me and give the lecture."
The chauffer delivered Einstein's lecture flawlessly. When he finished, he started to leave, but one of the professors stopped him and asked a complex question filled with mathematical equations and formulae. The chauffer thought fast. "The solution to that problem is so simple," he said, "I'm surprised that you have to ask me. In fact, to show you how simple it is, I'm going to ask my chauffer to come up here and answer your question."

Srinivasa Ramanujam:1729

Srinivasa Ramanujam was a mathematical prodigy. "I remember once going to see him when he was lying ill at Putney," the mathematician G.H. Hardy once remarked. "I had ridden in a taxicab number 1729, and remarked that the number seemed to me a rather dull one, and that I hoped it was not an unfavourable omen."
"No, ' he replied, 'it is a very interesting number; it is the smallest number expressible as the sum of two cubes in two different ways."
[" Every positive integer," Hardy later remarked, "was one of his personal friends." Despite receiving little formal education, Ramanujam was discovered by Hardy, to whom he sent some of his first papers. Hardy later gave Ramanujam a rating of 100 on his own scale of "pure talent". Hardy's own rating? 25.]

Beating the drum

In 1996 the famed Nobel Prize winning physisist Richard Feynman, a passionate drummer, was asked by a Swedish encyclopedia publisher to supply a photograph of hiself "beating the drum to give a human approach to a presentation of the difficult matter that theoretical physics represents."
Feynman's reply?
Dear sir,
The fact that I beat a drum has nothing to do with the fact that I do theoretical physics. Theoretical physics is a human endeavor, one of the higher developments of human beings, and the perpetual desire to prove that people who do it are human by showing that they do other things that a few other humans do (like playing bongo drums) is insulting to me. I am human enough to tell you to go to hell.
Yours, RPF.


I have loads to write on life these days, but my old foe, one of the seven sins-sloth-is preventing me to type any further.
Peace out!
PS: The blog looks much better after adding a couple of fun gadgets. The fish pond is the best :)
PPS: That's precisely why blogging at blogspot is better than doing the same at wordpress, bigadda etc :) :)