the drifter chronicles - episode 2 - the fountains of youth

Prologue

"who is this guy? jayaprakash....come here you idiot!"

JayaPrakash or JP, one of the few crossbreeds between a nerd and a drifter (yeah, they do exist) walks slowly up the dais to meet Zach Sir (fake name, of course!)

"you wrote this answer? what are you made of? poop?"

JP stands silent, ever mindful of the giggles and titters behind him. Rage slowly simmers in him but he knows he can't bait him anymore than necessary.

"you should be named parajay andhakar not Jayaprakash!!"

Zach sniggered and the frontbenchers duly joined in...Well, to be fair, so did some of us. It was not a bad effort by Zach sir as the funniest thing he ever did was flatulence!

Part I - The Plan

To say we hated him would have been an understatement. He was a jerk (to us adolescents) and always on the lookout for the slightest of vagrancy which he punished heavily. Girls alone escaped his wrath, though the price they had to pay was to see his slobbery girth planted on their desktops (the wooden one not PCs!) while he delivered sermons on mitochondria. Among the guys only Chandu was spared as his dad was an influential PWD Contractor and this slob had some underhand dealings with him (or so we heard)

I was a scapegoat to his mid-class heroics a lot and have come close to being his bete-noire after JP. Did not bother me much as being BN to all other teachers, it was a refreshing change not to be one. Like Dhoni sitting out at Colombo test.

Soon we decided that we had to deal a blow back to him. Not explicitly of course. The Gilt Attack fracas (or rumpus or whateva!) has actually made us lie low for a while.

We decided that our blow would be subtle, dark and blackly funny...like the horses head on your bed when you wake up in the morning. I had been recently struck by the lightning called God father and my brain usually worked in a very Sicilian way. I had gone so far as to respond to my moms questions about wasted dinner by saying "its not personal, is business"

Anyway, the horses head idea was wildly cheered upon but the problem was:

a. Zach did not own even a dog let alone a horse
b Who would cut whatsoever head and deposit it in his bed?

Finally, me and nub hit upon a brilliant idea...far more subtle...more jolt per drop (pun intended and you'll know why, later...) and classy!!

We will spray his shirt with something stinky and smelly so that he stinks the whole day. By the way, he had acute sinusitis and was stone smell blind. So our revenge would be a double blow to him. To anoint him with stink and also humiliate him by making him stink all day and not realizing it.

We had decided on the delivery medium to be a 15 ml syringe with a needle attached which would give us the precision surgical (pun!!) strike at our target viz; the lower left back of Zach's shirt. The problem was to decide on what to spray. There were no intense juvenile delinquents in history like us who could solve any problems of general mischief-mongery in a flash but this had us stumped. What to get? Where to get? How to get?

The solution was given by Sandy and unlike most of his other ideas this was simple and easy to acquire. Three simple words: "Use Your Pee"

Part II - The Preparation

[a minute of silence for you to let out that gasp of shock and also to assimilate the degree of evil that pre-pubescent are capable of]

To cut a long story short, the plan was approved and we proceeded to utilize the hour before his class to put it into action. It was a SUPW class and well, treated with mild disdain by us.

We three, long before Al Qaeda or Mossad we had perfected the idea of small independent cells working on a specific attack, so that's why there were only 3, went to implement the plan which was simplicity in itself. We had the syringe, the needle and a plastic bottle as the reactor cascade (ahem!) for the bio weapon (ahem!)

Barring the fact that it is a tough task to direct the discharge of the weapon from the reactor to the cascade is a tricky one (ahem, i prefer talking in terms of nuclear science rather than anatomy so that the modesty of my readers is not affronted) and that performance anxiety prevented the other two members in an effective transfer and I had to step in, all went well. We soon had the liquid in all its golden glow en consed in the syringe.

Part III - The Execution

We had already selected the suitable point of deployment and when Zach, his usual obnoxious self, was lecturing in full flow to the female side of the class, I released the liquid and saw it as it made a satisfying patch on the designated area. The team members gave me silent nods of appreciation as the target was unaware.

Words fail to explain the warmth that spread in our hearts seeing that warm yellow spread over his cotton off-white shirt. The sarcastic jokes, caustic comments and various forms of torture we had been subjected to disappeared like the yellow fluid from the syringe.

We were soon struck out of our reverie by this exclamation from D, one of the girls who was close to being labeled class enemy by us were it not for the fact that she was really cute and most of the drifters had crushes on her.

"Sirrrrr.....there is something on your shirt"

Zach was nonplussed and he touched and rubbed the spot to feel the change in texture. We waited with bated breath as the inevitable happened. Any member of human race have some distinguishing traits that mark them different from other mammals. I mean, a chimp would never, ever proceed to do what Zach proceeded to do. He slowly rubbed the insulting wetness between his fingers and smelled it in a long drag.

There are limits to sinusitis as there are limits to a mosquito coil in stopping a velociraptor attack. Same thing happened here as his the pungent ammoniac compound that forms a major part of urine attacked his nasal system. The first wave of casualties were the dense growth of Zach's nasal hair which either proceeded to do two things. The least brave of them were charred beyond recognition while the more robust ones curled in distaste into small furry balls into the roof. The next wave happened when his unsuspecting mucus membrane was exposed to it. Years of smoking and a penchant for snuff would have desensitized it to a point of indifference, you think? Well no, the flinch of his upper nose was evidence enough for that. Soon, his brain registered the inevitable and the 4 gene sequences, Messers. Shame, Embarrassment, Incredulity and to a small part, Rage swung to work and there were fleeting glimpses of their handiwork in his face.

The warm glow blazed into fire of retribution and slowly into dread. The gilt incident had kind of exhausted our already meager bank balance of repute and if this got out we would be doomed. What happened next is engraved in our collective minds.

Zach regains his composure in a flick, swats off his hands in a gesture of exaggerated nonchalance, flicks imaginary lint from his sleeves and says:

Part IV - The Escape

"it must be the sulphuric acid from the chemistry lab"

bangalore mudde update

its a puzzle...
there has been an update to the status of the pack who made the pact....
answer these questions and you have the answer...
actually, answer any one and you have the answer...
oops...you already have the answer!!

1. The tragic and true story of a family dealing with AIDS is re-told in this heart-wrenching made-for-cable drama. Amy Madigan and Dennis Boutsikaris star as Roxy and Vinnie Ventola, a successful television screenwriting couple.

2. In some versions the seventeenth and eighteenth lines read Two little Soldier boys playing with a gun; / One shot the other and _____________

3. Organized into several chapters of two-column text and complemented by attractive full-page charcoal drawings, the book is similar in style and format to the author's recent volumes on hibernation and symbiosis. Facklam is adept at raising questions and providing clear, smoothly paced, interesting narrative. Her well-crafted blend of information and ideas makes for pleasant read-aloud material--a rare feat for nonfiction. Which book?

....finally!!!

xkcd

Megha and I first met at a party at her friend's. We hit it off with a bang, right away, opened up to each other, shared secrets, and talked about everything. Around us, the party waxed, but we hid from sleep together, talking through the deepest hours of the night. The dawn found us curled up on a couch, asleep but still together.

That experience, connecting with a stranger and falling recklessly in love is one of life's greatest joys...And now that you're married, you'll never experience it again. It's the price you pay for everlasting love. It's a small one, but I hope it stings a little. Anyway, I wish you and Megha best. ...Hey, man, you ASKED me to do a toast!

bangalore mudde

in remembrance of the pact...
sep 2004...



church street, bangalore

me, mush, guldu.....because:

One Bro makes a solo attack, A second Bro provides a crutch, A third Bro rounds out the pack, But a fourth Bro is one too much

the drifter chronicles - episode 1 - the gilt attack

[The inspiration for this post came from two places. Me inadvertently stumbling on the ever funny SImpu Singh clips on You Tube. It used to feature the simple school teacher Simpu Singh Sodhi and his antics. The phonetically challenged guy had his way of shouting “Pankazzzzzz” to my eternal amusement. I still roll on the floor laughing watching them and find it more amusing the one track demented antics of Lola Kutty fare that they dish out in Channel [V]. Believe me, they have stretched the “zimbly” and “temble” more than a stressed mallu’s lungi!

[If you don’t remember any of the Simpu clips refresh your memory here]

Anyway, if you had noticed closely, you would realize that the school that featured as Simpu’s haunt was Kendriya Vidyalaya, my alma mater! Indeed, in this clip, they actually have the school song featuring in it. The translation goes like this “India’s golden honor will be lifted up further by us KVians…” I remember hearing this bleated out by the school choir while tasting my first cigarette and feeling a (slight) pang of guilt.

And the second inspiration was from Pavi, who would never say die till I became a regular blogger, as regular as her. So I dedicate this to you Pavi!

We learn the lessons late in life that nostalgia is woken up more by the dulcet tones of mundane stuff we did back more than the blaring beats of all the supposedly awesome stuff we did. Those clips and the subtle hints of KV life hit me harder than a two ton truck and the memories came flooding back.

Well, enough of nostalgia and tear stained sighs….let me get back to my groove and take you through some of my memories of those days.]

Episode 1 – The “Gilt” Attack!

It was one of those god send weeks at KV where all we had to do was make exhibits for the upcoming Natioanl Level Science Exhibition. Classes were going on at a lackluster pace and as usual, our class, VIIIB, was abuzz with activity. At these times, you see the caste system in full force there. No the one that makes Arjun Singh drool and dole out quotas like extras in a Sreesanth over, but the sects and subsects of the adolescent group dynamics (phew!). Briefly, you had:

Nerds – Wasting valuable time sitting and trying to find out the 17^th root of irrational numbers.Conversations with them usually turned out to be like this:

Me: Me: So what was your score in the Class test?
Nerd: … my marks are equal to the 4^th root of killers’ coefficient minus the irrational l part
Me: (Nervous Laugh) talk about being lucky!

Ass Kissers – The ones with the most displayed enthusiasm fighting it out in the classrooms to make the most profligate displays just to get a good word in with the teacher. They have their heads so far up the teachers backside that most of the do resemble colonoscopes

c. Jocks – For want of a better name, Jocks run of to the stadium at the drop of a hat to engage in their favorite sports all of them which involved hitting harder, running faster or stretching more with macho grunts at the closest proximity of any member of the female species. (Actually, the scientists have discovered that the shortest measured unit of time is the jock second or the amount of time lapsed between the teacher announcing recess and the jock reaching the tracks/stadium/gym)

d. Drifters – These were the dregs of the class. The members of ABBA (All BackBenchers Association) and various other entirely ineffective gangs who had one thing in common sheer abhorrence to any mental or physical activity and united by the cult motto having fun in the most wackiest way possible. Ah, I see you smirking and mouthing the word “LOSER”. Nay, usually, the toppers, athletes, school captains and the people who achieve the best in their life comes from this group. True Story!

Now, yours truly was a member of the drifters (obviously) and lingering around the class watching various groups battling it out. A sight that would put the building site of an Egyptian Pyramid to shame! Seats pouring over brows that are tightened while applying fevicol to cardboard, hands moving in unison to cut thermocol in the right possible shape (that of the roof of a garbage plant, what a waste!)

At that time, we were engaged in building the easiest of things to make in a science project, The Ecosystem! Cut thermocol, make shapes of mountains and rivers (go wild here!) and fix some figures of animals, PRESTO! Your ecosystem model is ready. You see, being a drifter did not mean shirking from work but trying to achieve maximum gain in the least possible amount of effort and with the major part of time left for trivial pursuits. The above mentioned thermocol pieces were juxtaposed between the wild raging bull figure and a 2 inch tall hyena (well, in our defense if the continents hadn’t drifted the world WOULD have been witness to such marvels in our ecosystem)

The effort had tired us and we were glancing around and commenting generously on our esteemed classmates work. I looked at what looked like the model of an Oil Rig and commented to the nerd – ass kisser hybrid (of the mutations in these species are too many) next to me,

“Nice Work, so you building an Oil Refinery?”

(Gnashing teeth) “No, it’s the Eiffel Tower”

“Oh, speaking of which, the Video Library guy asked me to remind you that you haven’t yet returned Rebecca in Paris cassette”

Loud guffaws from my partners in crime and giggles from the girls around made him look like the Pope at an IPL Cheerleader concert.

I was piling it on. He wanted to punch me. But how to with one hand! (His other holding one small card board strip precariously perched on a slice of thermocol)

While passing time like this, Sarun’s eyes fell on a shiny packet in the class store cupboard. The protagonist of this pots a nice thick packet of Gilt Powder

Gilt Powder (Scientific Name: Giltifera Nevagonnawashoff) One of the most sticky and potent material known to man available in different colors and luminescent in nature. It has been known to attach itself to the human body and nothing short of one of those laser hair removal treatments would take it of (The ones by Alana of New York…or is it Rebecca in Paris?)

Anyway, it used to be an unavoidable part of any science project in KV. In its various forms, it was gold in ornaments, metals in mines, sparkling sea, oil spills. In effect, it was the Aamir Khan of stationery; Versatile, Handles any kind of roles and Interferes too much!

The word he said after that to me still sends a shiver down my spine, even after 10 years:

“Ten bucks says I can throw this pack through the blades of the fan”

The scene after ten seconds of this statement was utterly chaotic. It was like the end of space and time and gilt was ll that had survived. Thank fully the fan had a slight tilt and the whole pack had been carpet bombed into one corner of the class and its occupants, the nerds where now looking like the entire cast of Ramanand Sagar’s Alif Laila.

Unfortunately, the perpetrators, us, where right in front of them (a grave deviation from our usual modus operandi wherein we are far away from the scene of crime when it happens and enjoying the view from a previously decided vantage point) and more so unfortunate was the fact that it wasn’t the only pack of gilt in the wardrobe!

(The author of this post would like to draw a curtain on the proceedings for the next 15 minutes so as not to offend the readers with a display of primal attack instincts and brutual violence)

The bedlam ended when the gilt was evenly distributed as per the laws of demand, supply and rage and everyone settled back into their seats. Like Sunil Joshi missing any catch higher than 3 feet, what missed our view was the sparkling state of affairs. Soon, the hour ended and the next one was Physics taken by Ms BM. This business like lady would never miss a class and rumor has it that she actually delivered her baby a week late so as not to miss the extra lectures for the clas XII board exams.

She breezed in and started to take attendance. Unmindful of the fact that the whole class was now covered evenly in a thin layer of guilt and thinking only of converting the potential energy of a trapped stone in a tower to kinetic energy. It would have entirely escaped her notice had it not been for SK (I cant take his real name here coz he is a well respected surgeon now!) or to be more exact his complexion.

He used to put Curtly Ambrose to shame with his dark toned skin and on him, the gilt was having a field day. It was like the international consumer exhibition of gilt and they were basking in the glory and sparkling away to glory on his ebony skin. The speechless expression in her face was one to behold and soon, like a patient detective ( Hercle Poirot with a touch of Isaac Newton, if you will) she unraveled this whole episode and needless to say, we 4 of the Drifters were found guilty as charged.

The punishment meted out (16 rounds across the athletic track in hot sun) was totally worth for the fact that we could see the “shining” visages of our class for the next whole month. More than 4 guys from our class could not walk together due to the blinding glare the synergy of gilt produced and even, it was said, ten of standing together for assembly prayer resulted in ruptured corneas for 6 of the senior staff.

(Next: Episode 2 – The Cracker Menace)

(PS: Apologies for the over use of cricket metaphors as I have been watching too many IPL matches)

knowledge

over a hundred years ago a university student found himself seated in a train by the side of a person who seemed to be well-to do peasant. he was praying the rosary and moving the beads in his fingers. "sir, do you still believe in such outdated things?" asked the student of the old man. "yes, i do. do you not?" asked the man. the student burst out into a laughter and said, "i do not believe in such silly things. take my advice. throw the rosary out through this window, and learn what science has to say about it". "science? i do not understand this science? perhaps you can explain it to me.", the man said humbly with some tears in his eyes. the student saw that the man was deeply moved. so to avoid further hurting the feelings of the man, he said: "please give me your address and i will send you some literature to help you on the matter." the man fumbled in the inside pocket of his coat and gave the boy his visiting card. on glancing at the card, the student, lowered his head in shame and became silent. on the card he read: "louis pasteur, director of the institute of scientific research, paris."

dot in love part ii: conspiracy theories and car chases

[this has been in pipeline for long and after a year, I decided to do it justice by posting it. Part one can be found at http://harishc.blogspot.com/2004/12/dot-in-love.html ]

may the groom's heart be filled with hope and the brides feet filled with lead."
allan kent (mr. trout) in runaway bride

“you want to know why i am like this.”
“you told me. family problems, right?” i said.
i couldn’t resist a tiny bit of sarcasm in this. of course, when a guy whom you have known for a year and more starts acting funny and hides things from you kind of get pissed off. he pretended not to notice the sarcasm and continued.
“you were right, it’s her” he said.
i couldn’t help but nod in acceptance. though i had doubts about this for a long time it was weird hearing the confirmation from dot’s mouth. i dragged on the dying cigarette and started thinking about it. the more i thought about it the more tangled it became…
“dude…” i blurted out, more to fill the silence than anything else.
“i know, i know, it’s complicated”
“complicated is not the word for it… the wedding has been fixed”
“don’t you think i don’t know about it? i want to go there and get her.”
suddenly i was scared. it is during times like this when i miss mush or josh. i mean, not because they are some kind of problem solvers but at least they could say something and fill the awkward silence. still, dot was really in love. i mean only love can make a guy who used to “fart bike” (don’t ask me what that is!) thru the mscc floor act like a chihuahua on sedatives. i talked to him a lot that day, trying to reason and change his mind. again, we decided to postpone the discussion from there to forum the next day. he said he will call josh also. i nodded in agreement thinking that two of us could convince him against this. this act of sheer madness. i couldn’t think of the alternative, of him going all the way to her house and telling her parents about it. i knew that i would have to go with him, maybe josh also or nattu even. sending him alone there would be sheer insanity.

the next day we agreed to meet at forum around 2. i was late and by the time i reached the food court josh and dot were sitting and chatting. josh was flabbergasted. i could tell it from the way he was acting hyper.
“did he tell you his plan?” he asked me.
“yeah”
“man, this is crazy. have you thought about what is going to happen? you guys going there and getting her in front of her parents. what if they complaint to police and they come chasing you? you’re going to get arrested and her parents will convince her to turn against you. you will be convicted of kidnapping…”
“whoa, whoa, hold it there mr. optimist” i stopped him before he could continue with this conspiracy theory story that would put any tabloid to shame. his thought train has a problem of accepting reality unless its something technical. but again i couldn’t make fun of him as i would have done on another occasion as
a the guy was dead serious and
b. i had to dissuade dot from this runaway bride idea.

what transpired that day was that we managed to convince him with a lot of arguments and conspiracy theories (one of which included us going at 120 km/hr in his ford ikon chased by a van load of her dad’s ruffians and two or three police jeeps, yeah, josh was on a high that day!) that he going there to whisk her off was a bad idea and a better one would be to take his dad with him and try to convince her parents. the chances were remote that her family would agree as the engagement was already over but this was better than us going there and whisking her off, car chase and all.

the return of the cup

[never forget where you’ve come here from, never pretend that it’s all real, someday soon this will be someone else’s dream – from “never forget" take that ]


there are some objects which, even though are lost, come back to haunt us as memories. little did i know when i wrote the final chapter of the cup that the story was far from over.

one day, i was coursing through the drudgery of reports, analyses, feedbacks and monitors, which i call work. mush was online and i was chatting with him intermittently. i got a ping from him. “dude, nishant was asking for my blog address”, he said.” wants to read my poems” nishant was our operations manager in windows xp. he was the guy responsible for making the project what it was and someone who was there from the day of its inception. above all, he was someone who we all looked up to. even though mush had left the company months ago he still chats with him regularly. i said that was cool and thought nothing of it.

later i saw him standing near andy’s cube. he, dee and andy where talking. i went over there and we were just chatting when he said that he read my blog. he then went on to give me insights about the previous post and was generally pulling my leg, which he does often, about me being the tree etc… in between the conversation he asked,” where is the cup?” “oops” i thought to myself, “will that thing never leave me?” out loud i said, “its still there. where motu took it” “hmm ok, i am taking it” that was his style, that made us name him tiger. i took the cup and gave it to him and he took it home. kind of was relieved. at least it’s away from me now.

prudence stops me from saying that this is the end. nishant was saying something about the cup looking the right size for sandy to punch him. maybe that would make another interesting chapter in the story. till the next one……..

dot in love

[All our young lives we search for someone to love. We choose partners, change partners... all the while wondering if there's someone, somewhere, searching for us - Bertrand Russel]

I promised you that I would be writing about this. Do didn’t seem to mind too, but now I am having second thoughts about it as the situation is still precarious. The clear day that was supposed to come never did. But it would be unappreciative not to say that things are better. Still its been 3 months and I guess it would be okay to write about it.

Am I not making sense? Well, I suppose not. For this to make sense I have to go a long way back. The days when Dot used to be preoccupied. Not to mention that he was losing wait like a bucket with a large hole at the bottom. After one of the Coffee Day meets when he seemed to be tensed more than the usual amount and when Mush also asked me what was wrong with him I confronted him. I mean, a guy whom you know to be a certified workaholic and hates to get up to pee for 2 minutes takes leave for 3-4 days you gotta assume something’s wrong. The gang was slowly walking down from the Bombay Store to Church Street and I managed to get him in private.

I asked him, “So, Whats up?” Needless to say I am not much of conversationalist when it comes to prying. Dot said, “Nothing”. “You sure?”, I asked, “You seem upset these days, Dude. You are losing weight and can’t see you in office like it used to be”. He said, “I am fine”. That “I am fine” would have convinced me if he hadn’t sounded like he wanted to put hands through his throat and rip his heart off. I had a hunch, a pretty good one as hunches go and decided to play it, “Is it her?”. He asked, “Who?” When I said the name he blurted “ What?? Noooo Way Dude!! I have some family problems, that’s all!!”

It would have ended there, if he had not called me to the rooftop cafeteria at work. But that’s the second part…Right??

..and then there were none

[ Hitherto shalt thou go and no further - Job 40 : 5 ]

I guess this is the final chapter to the story of the cup. In case you missed it you can read about it here. I am sorry if the blog reminded some juvenile delinquent of their inane school days. Hmm…wonder when those people will understand that the matter that constitutes us is what makes everything in the world and its their conformist attitude that prevents them from seeing the soul in everything.

Anyway, as I was saying before this mundane affair caught my attention, at last I said goodbye to the cup that was a permanent fixture on my desk. Motu was the lucky (?) guy. When I returned from my weekend, I found that it was resting on his desk instead of the corner of my document tray. Bad riddance to good rubbish?

Hmm…Have I told you about the document tray I cant seem to get rid of? Whoa! I can see the look of horror on your face. Ok, I am not putting that story up here.

why doesn't anyone want the cup?

[ that’s the trouble with you sad-city types: a place has to be miserable and dull as ditchwater before you believe it’s real - salman rushdie (as blabbermouth, in haroun and the sea of stories) ]


i see it sitting at the corner of my desk, on an empty document tray. The white china mug that I got from Whizz when I developed the pics I took while on the 5 day drive (Now that’s another story, isn’t it?) I don’t know why it’s bothering me. Is it that my mind cannot accept the pointless existence of the empty cup?

i remember Josh grabbing it from me the moment I took it out. I had bought the picture books in my backpack and while taking them out, I inadvertently took the cup out and he pounced on it, “Hey, I want this!” I could not think of doing anything with it so I let him have it. He used to use it as a penholder in his desk, diligently locking it up with its contents inside, in his locker. Then the day he was packing all his stuff he said, “Hey, can’t think of doing anything with it. You can have it back” Then I realized that probably he had just borrowed it, to give it back later. I said “Fine, I’ll take it probably use it as a penholder”. However, I never took it. There it would have ended and I would have never seen this porcelain thing but for Sai.

one fine day, about a week after Josh left, Sai came down from his new “dwelling”, which was now at the edge of the floor (he was banished there due to his non-interactivity with the team). He had the cup in his hands and said, “Duuude” Sai has a funny way of saying that word, elongating the “u” to a squeaky level, “Josh, asked me to give you this” .I said nothing and just took it. He was saying something about the resolved ratio but my mind was somewhere else, looking at a white shiny round cylinder. The Cup.

that is how it came to its current residing place. I usually do not trust anyone with my pens, having lost quite a few of good (and expensive) ones to friends and hence didn’t have any to keep in the mug. Many people expressed interest in it. Poo (That is Poornima, one of the Managers) once came and said, “That’s Nice, Where did you get it from?” I offered the cup to her and she said “Sure”. However, it transpired that the cup was to remain there; maybe she forgot about it. Even Girish said he wanted a penholder and I promptly offered it to him. As always, the offer was accepted and forgotten.

its still there, standing forlorn. Unbelievably, right now Arvind (Argan, one of the new STs) came over and asked me about it. I just said, “That’s a gift”. Yes, I guess that is what it is. What else do you call something that comes back to you however hard you try to shrug it off? Maybe, it is not empty. Not after passing through so many hands and minds.

(Hmm….Notes to self: 1. Try to use time productively rather than writing irrelevant crap!
2. Get rid of the cup! )

The Night of November 7th, 1997

[ life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, - but it returneth- percy bysshe shelley ]

growing up is never easy. You hold on to things that were. You wonder what's to come. But that night, I think we knew it was time to let go of what had been, and look ahead to what would be. Other days. New days. Days to come. The thing is, we didn't have to hate each other for getting older. We just had to forgive ourselves... for growing up. The fault was within us. Maybe we grew up faster since we found each other, found that elusive thing called love. Or did I think the fault was within us because that’s what the people around us made us believe? We were kids, but we were not fools.

we knew it was not puppy love, not a whim of adolescence, nor was it in anyway momentary. I would have been derided (as I was at that time) if I had voiced these thoughts then. When I look back now, the feelings, the discernment I felt then have remained unchanged. This is the first time I am putting these things to words or even voicing out to people. I know it’s confusing to the reader but that’s the way I feel, even now. How can something that has remained unchanged for 7 years labeled as flippant? Oh, how I wish I had talked to this “me”, who understands what happened then so clearly, at that time. How I wish I had someone who had the perception that went beyond the small-town Puritanism to explain it to me. Then that night would not have haunted me for all these years.

that night, when it all ended. When we decided that we will never think of each other, never meet, never talk…Just because the people around us where obscure in understanding. I don’t know if its just me who feels the same way. Has she forgotten all about the time when we were together? Sharing everything, where words where not necessary to convey thoughts. Maybe she has, then again, maybe she hasn’t.

only tech. leads can handle windows

[ any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic - clarke's third law ]

people often say to me: "Harish, as a Microsoft Tech Lead, you have a job That requires you to process large quantities of information on a timely basis. How do you manage?"

(I am kidding, what they really ask is," Why don't you get a real haircut?")

I tell them (as the answer to the first question, of course!), "Get Windows XP!"
It was invented by Bill Gates. He is now one of the wealthiest individuals on Earth - wealthier than Queen Elizabeth; and do you want to know why? Because he is the only person in the world who can understand Windows.

Every day he gets frantic phone calls like this:

BUSINESS EXECUTIVE: Our entire worldwide corporate accounting system is paralyzed, and no matter what we type into the computer, it replies, "WHO WANTS TO KNOW? (Signed) 'Windows'

BILL GATES: Ha-ha! I mean, sounds pretty serious.

BUSINESS EXECUTIVE: We'll give you $17 million to tell us how to fix it.

BILL GATES: OK. Press the "NUM LOCK" key.

BUSINESS EXECUTIVE: So THAT'S what that thing does! Thanks! The cheque is on the way!

I have spent countless hours trying to get my computer to perform even the most basic data-processing functions, such as letting me filter data in MS Excel so that the stats for the team appears in a month wise with agents performance in Pivot Table. I have personally, with my bare hands, changed my "normal.dot" and "CONFIG.SYS" settings. This may not mean much to you, but trust me; it is a major data-processing accomplishment. Albert Einstein died without ever doing it.

("WAIT a minute!" were his last words. "It erased my equation! It was "E' equals something!")

I am not the only person who uses his computer mainly for the purpose of diddling with MS Excel. There are hundreds of others. I know this, because I encounter them at work and in Messenger, they are called Tech Leads (or STs) which is a giant international network of intelligent, informed computer enthusiasts responsible for the overall technical health of Windows XP Techs, by which I mean, "PEOPLE WITHOUT LIVES"

While you are destroying your mind watching worthless brain-rotting drivel on TV, we at work (and in MSN) are exchanging, freely and openly, the most uninhibited, intimate and (yes) shocking details about our "setupapi.log" and "MSInfo32" and ripping "Winsock" apart. In War rooms, Flash meetings...et al

This debate has been raging, soap-opera-like, for months now, and I have become addicted to it. I tune in every day to see what the leading characters are saying. You probably think this is weird, but I don't care.