Life hasn’t exactly been a bed of roses for me. Especially over the past month. The going just got tough all of the sudden. Before I knew it, crisis loomed large and engulfed me in a veritable storm of sorts — a storm that’s quite likely to stay on for a long long time.

This isn’t the first time things have gone bad for me. I’ve lived through worse situations. Can’t say that I came out unscathed all the time. Each bad phase has left an indelible scar. Some scars still hurt, pain bringing back memories from the past. Each bout of pain has one startling similarity with its predecessor — the element of surprise. But that’s the beauty of life, it hits you on your belly right when you’re gaily indulging yourself.

One thing I’ve realized while swimming through a vast ocean of problems is the potency of optimism.

Optimism is a powerful sword that can cut through life’s many adversities with ease. It’s a rejuvenating principle that charges you up, and equips you for the worst while expecting the best. Optimism is all about seeing opportunities in every problem. Yes, every crisis is an opportunity in disguise. Even the most seemingly-dismal of adversities could turn favourable in the long run. But how often do we realize this? We fret more about our problems, doing little to solve them. We beat about the bush in careless mourning, wasting valuable time instead of taking control of the situation to make our ends meet.

Being positive when the going gets tough helps us focus more on our problems. Just believing that greener pastures aren’t far away is all you need to do. Trust me, happier days aren’t far away. All your problems are temporary, it’s only a matter of time until they ward themselves off. Days, weeks, months or years later, you’ll look back at your problems and smile at how silly they were. Nobody can make a lock without a key; likewise, every problem has its solution. To smith the key to your lock, you’ll have to mould it with patience. And patience has a direct relation with a positive attitude.

As someone rightly said, the happiness of your mind depends on the quality of your thought. Negative thoughts pull you down, deep down into the ditches. Positive thoughts lift you up, high up, onto the pedestal of happiness and inner peace.

So, be positive.

Like me.

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I’ve been in a dilemma ever since I was ‘enfranchised’  - The dilemma of choosing the right candidate.

Image Courtesy: lakelandlocal

I’m a sucker for elections. They bring out the news-junkie in me. Normally, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about politics, but the ‘citizen’ in me gets a wake up call the day they announce elections. I used to closely follow elections be it local, state or even national right from childhood. I’d keep myself glued to TV and keep myself updated about election proceedings. The democratization of internet made things easier for me.

When I collected the Voter’s ID card (which had my name misspelled and my address wrong), my hands trembled in excitement. I didn’t mind having a wrong address or a wrong name printed on a prestigious identification document — I was too ecstatic to notice.

But the ecstacy didn’t last long; I now had a major responsibility on my head — I had to choose my leader. And my vote did make a difference. Now, that unnerved me. I was never a man of quick choices. I had to analyse things down to the last detail before I take any decision. ‘Voting’, essentially a ‘decision making process’, wasn’t really my cup of tea, I realized.

Before I knew it, I was part of the process – The 2009 General Elections had arrived. But thankfully, my constituency was endowed with an intelligent and charismatic candidate and I heaved a sigh of relief. The elections were over, the candidate I voted for won and went on to be a Union Minister. I was happy.

Only until the dates of the Local Body Elections were announced.

Now, I was in a fix.

Especially considering the fact that I do not owe allegiance to any political party as such.

Technically, choosing the ideal candidate for a local election is way easier than the same for a state or parliament election, since the representatives would be friends or at least acquaintances. I knew one of the candidates, the incumbent – she knew me from childhood and used to strike an occasional conversation with me when I was a kid. Apart from her, I hadn’t seen or heard about none of the candidates before. Hence, I thought I’d make an informed decision.

Thus, I commenced the process of background-search.

The brief stint with journalism helped. In classic Tehelka style, I conversed with as many people as possible, in my quest to find the right candidate. I had narrowed down on three candidates, avoiding many of the independants. Independant candidates were either people with deep pockets trying to evade tax, or jobless passers-by trying their hand at a political career.

Mine being a ‘women’s ward’, all candidates in my ward are females – and three of my ‘choices’ were poles apart. From a ‘practicing lawyer’ (read: jobless housewife with LLB) to a ‘people’s mascot’ (read: yet to pass tenth grade), the spectrum was quite wide, indeed. Despite the differences, I couldn’t reach a conclusion regarding whom to vote for.  Conflicting opinions, conflicting evaluations… If one candidate had a good point, she would have a vicious negative too. If another candidate had good track record, glaring allegations of corruption propped up.

The end result? I was as clueless as a third grade kid as I woke up on the election day.

All the research and the thought-process went astray. I wasn’t this confused when I started. I’d have made a better decision, had I not gone for the lengthy evaluation. Lesson Learned: Too much information spoils the vote.

As we stepped foot into local government school, I slyly asked mom:

“Who’re you voting for, Amma?”

“You know who, mone,” Mom smiled. Mom was going to vote for her friend – the incumbent candidate. I decided to follow suit. After all, this person was educated, young and had enough experience ‘representing’ our ward before. We waited outside the voting room.

After Dad and mom cast their votes, it was my turn. Excitement and patriotism filled every cell of my body — it was my ‘responsible citizen’ moment. I airily walked in, flashed my ID Card (even though they didn’t ask for it), got my finger ‘marked’, signed. The lady at the desk pressed a switch. A beep button emanated from the Electronic Voting Machine. It was all set to receive my vote!

Picturing myself as Ranbir Kapoor from ‘Rajneeti’, I walked to the EVM in slow motion. I could hear the Mortal Kombat Theme playing in background. ‘Choose your destiny’, I almost heard that weird voice giving me the options, as my eyes focussed on the gleaming-white panel of the EVM. It was time.

I pressed the button.

The beep sound was music to my ears. My vote was registered — I was a certified ‘responsible citizen’. Treating myself with a smile, I gave another look at the EVM just to see the red light blinking near my candidate’s name.

The light didn’t blink.

Is the machine faulty? Has it been tampered with? I’d only seen reports of widespread rigging on tv, as I was stepping out. I was enraged. Why do responsible citizens like me have to suffer all the time? I’m going to file a complaint with… OMG.

A light did blink. Another light.

It was the second light from top – the light beside that candidate whom I’d eliminated from my list.

I wasted my vote.

If it weren’t unconstitutional, I’d have ransacked the whole room that very moment. My face turned red — I could actually feel the heat in my cheeks. I was a  criminal. I wasted my vote. I WASTED MY VOTE!

I looked helplessly at the presiding officer. She glared back at me. I asked myself, could this be a mistake with the voting machine? But I knew the answer myself. It wasn’t. I pressed the wrong button, in all the excitement.

Dejected, I trudged out of the room. Another person walked in, as I stepped out of the door. I felt envious – that guy’s going to make the right choice. I was not.

Dad and Mom quizzed me about my vote?

I remained silent. I had the right to do so. Secret ballot.

P.S.

The results came today. The candidate I vote for won – by a miniscule margin.

Yours truly is King Queenmaker.

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It’s been a week since the demise of Malayalam music director M.G. Radhakrishnan.

Image Courtesy: mathrubhumi.com

Brother to singer M.G. Sreekumar, Radhakrishnan was a stalwart in the Malayalam Music scene. His tracks had the simplest of tunes. Yet, they would capture every bit of your aural presence and take you to another level. The down-to-earth music director started-off composing music for the All India Radio. After the success of many songs he pioneered for the radio (including a popular radio show teaching music for listeners), he was invited to do the music for the Malayalam movie ‘thampu’. Soon, offers came pouring in, and Radhakrishnan churned out mellifluous tunes for many movies including ‘Manichitrathazhu‘, ‘Agnidevan’, ‘Devasuram‘, ‘Advaitham’, ‘Ananthabhadram‘, et al. He’s bagged the state award twice for ‘Achaneyanenikkishtam’ and ‘Ananthabhadram‘.

I’ve forever been a fan of the musical maestro. I find immense solace in some of his tracks, in times of despair. My favourite MG track is ‘Sooryakireedom‘ from Devasuram – a haunting song that talks about the transcience of death and the uncertainity of life. The news of M.G’s death came a day late to me. M.G. is one of my favorite Music Directors, right after Raveendran. I actually had plans to interview M.G. for the papers, and a friend had even given me his contacts. In that context, the news of his demise pinned me down with despair and shock.

I could not help but offer my tributes to the maestro who has continue to amaze me with his tracks. Here’s my cover a favourite M.G. Track.

Song Name: Vande Mukunda Hare.

Movie: Devasuram (1992)

Singer: M.G. Radhakrishnan

Vande Mukunda Hare | Music Codes

The video of this song has Oduvil Unnikrishnan‘s character (Peringodan Shankara Marar) bids his adieu to buddy Mangalasseri Neelakantan (Mohanlal) – A feudal landlord,who stands wounded and decapitated after an ambush. Marar can’t bear the sight of watching his once-healthy mate now in tatters. The lyrics of the song make references to mythology: Kuchela is bidding goodbye to Lord Krishna, who meets death by a stray arrow after the destruction of Dwarka.

Rest in peace, Radhakrishnan Sir. I know I haven’t done justice to your original rendering, but I’ve tried my best here. We’ll miss you!

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Couple of weeks back, I was playing poker with my buddies. Poker is a newfound fascination, and I must thank  Sumesh for introducing me to this hugely-engrossing game. For, once you start off with poker, there’s actually no turning back. And you’re damned if you’re playing for money; you’d end up being hopelessly-addicted to gambling! So that day, Sumesh, Ashish and I  were indulging ourselves to a game of poker at a Cafe Coffee Day. Half the crowd (if you can term the three-odd distracted couples assembled at perhaps the worlds most-impoverished CCD as a ‘crowd’), was staring at  our blatant act of using CCD for our infamous (and partly-illegal) card-game. We’d ordered coffees and chocolate brownies, but the food was just namesake; our minds had nothing but Poker!

Until the food was served, we were mostly quiet – except for Sumesh’s occasional hyperactive winning-exclamations. After we had stuffed our tummies, our lip-strings loosened, before we could even notice! A normally-quiet-and-pensive Ashish set the ball rolling and soon the two of us joined in the conversation. Within no time, the three of us were so engrossed in tête-à-tête, that we’d almost forgotten the addictive game of poker! The game was still on, but the conversation-bit had a clear edge over the the former. As we conversed, we dug our fingernails (and our teeth) deep into the munchy food, relishing the natter along with the food. Evidently, we needed chocolate brownies and Cafe Mocha, to take our conversations to the next level.

It can rightly be said that Food is the best lubricant for conversation – like alcohol. Many proclaim that alcohol is the ultimate bonding-pill – and it’s actually right. Alcohol loosens your mind’s inhibitions and sets you talking, sometimes to the extent of you revealing your deepest darkest secrets. There’s this college-buddy of mine who blurted out his year-long secret affair with my classmate during a booze party atop a houseboat! Another friend is still being ridiculed; he was caught bawling about how he lost his first place in English Recitation in his third grade! Some try getting stoned to talk, but then the ‘high tide’ would wash over the dialogues.

Now, I can’t pass first-hand comments on smoking up or even boozing, simply cause I’m yet to try either of these. But I can assure you something; food doesn’t land you up in such uncomfortable situations. Food nourishes you – makes you healthy, and adds on to your grey matter (and some flab, if you don’t mind). The taste and the eventual satiation of a full tummy have resulted in many ‘done-deals’ – some corporates even employ secret recipes to get their counterparts/clients to sign that odd-document! Now, that’s not a conspiracy theory; work two years in an MNC, and you’d learn on your own!

The nuances of this strange ‘algebra’ aren’t baffling. The inherent logic is quite simple – words flow out of your mouth, proportional to the stuff in your tummy! The nourishment and the relishing experience soothe the human mind, to produce great conversations – a simple play of hormones! From family-dinners to corporate-brunches, food is the best networking interface. ‘Food-Book’ might be slower than Facebook – but good-food works long-term. unlike the latter! A date at a great restaurant, or an enriching buffet with co-workers is all it takes to ensure lifelong relationships!

That said, food is a double-edged sword; every coin has its flip side, and food is no different! It all starts from bad cuisine. This friend of mine admitted that her biggest turn-off is appalling food! A habitually-calm-person, she would throw the biggest tantrums after an appalling meal! Even culinary habits could turn people off – not everyone is blessed by good eating skills! A few odd souls (myself included) show surprising levels childishness when it comes to ‘eating’. From spilling eatables in a meter-radius to giving whole new definitions for the term ‘ripping it apart’, bad eating habits could be disgusting, even disastrous! To make things worse for foodies who might pass these attributes, there’s always the ‘dieter’ who refuses the tiniest morsel, to cut down kilos! In such unfavourable situations, food simply does not work!

But come to think of it, there’s nothing called a ‘free lunch’, pun intended! Such situations demand the presence of light-refreshments like a cup of coffee (works best with caffeine addicts) or even a glass of wine (best for ‘romantic’ nights); just carry yourself with grace and you’d end up having the time of your life!

Now you know, why they give out  ’food for thought’!

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Last night, I was pursuing some long procrastinated work. The job was quite tedious and I had to sit up late into the night to get it done. As always, Amarok was blaring my favourite songs through my Creative 4.1, while I worked away. I’m in love with the Amarok shuffle algorithm – it beats the shits out of every other audio player in the market, even iPod/iTunes player, for that matter. My recently acquired the habit of putting all songs on shuffle comes from using Amarok – the song selection is eclectic in the best possible way. Hats-off to the community for the brilliant work on the music player!

It was roughly 2 AM in the morning, and I still had miles to go before I sleep. Nevertheless, I saved my files, switched off the monitor and flopped onto my bed, with music still on – albeit in low volume. It was time to call it a day. The ending notes of “Wish you were here” were fading away, probably taking cue from my sleep-deprived eyes. I’d almost slipped away into the valley of deep slumber when the Floyd song had concluded.

That was when Amarok decided to do a back-flip.

The psychedelic notes of Floyd gradually crossfaded to early-nineties jazz beats – complete with trumpets. Any Floyd fan would die for an encore of the favourite track – hence, the crossfade proved jarring to my ears. Enraged, I woke up with a start and rushed to the keyboard to plus the “Ctrl+V” shortcut for the next song.

I stopped, midway.

The jazz beats gave strong deja vu. The trumpets, the generous use of nineties’-electronic guitar; it was one song I thought I’d never forget – yet, I couldn’t place it fully. I sat down on the bed, as my head lowered itself involuntarily, as my mind raced through the portals of my long-term memory, in search of the track. (I could easily have walked upto the monitor and switched it on to check the track out, but somehow, I didn’t.)  That was when the jazz beats paused momentarily, and a resounding male voice ensued.

The same voice that muttered “Aal izz well!” – the voice of Aamir Khan! I listened in silent recognition, involuntarily smiling in the process, as I listened to Aamir’s (famous) monologue from his debut-movie “Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak”:

Doston (Friends),

Aaj college ka aakhri din hai, (Today’s the last day of college)
aur aane waale zindagi ke liye sabhi ne kuch na kuch soch rakha hai. (And all of you would’ve thought what to do with the rest of your lives.)
Lekin maine apne liye kuch nahin socha hai! (But I haven’t done that!)
No, really I mean it.
Aur aaj, aaj mujhe baar baar, ek hi khayaal aa raha hai… (And today… Today, I this thought repeatedly comes back to my mind…)

As Udit Narayan‘s voice took over from Aamir to sing the rest of “Papa kehte hai bada naam karega…” (My dad’s told me that I’d be famous.) - I couldn’t help lip-sync and sing the entire song, prancing about the room – in elation and goosebumps!

As the song concluded, I realized that I was smiling incessantly. I felt so ironic and overjoyed. Turns out that even I’m at the fag end of my college life, and I’m still at crossroads regarding what to do with the rest of my life, while the people around me have more or less zeroed in on their futures.

And the best part is, there used to be a time, I emphasize, there USED TO be a time, when my ‘Papa’ used to constantly reassure me that I’d have a “bada naam” in life!

Not having a clue about life used to bug me big time – it used to inculcate this huge wave of depression in me. Having already chosen the wrong career option three years back, and struggling to escape from it, I couldn’t make another mistake with my life – this fact used to plague me badly. Constant thoughts about careers barraged my mind with needless anxiety and I was confused. Even though I’d reached an interim conclusion about the career that I’d (hopefully) be pursuing post-B.Tech, the daunting task of preparing myself for it still scares me – considering the fact that I’m a habitual procrastinator afflicted by the ‘lazybones-syndrome’.

But this song, made the confusion seem ‘fashionable’ and actually inspiring. The first stanza of the song literal translates to: “My dad reassures me that I’d do well in life, but I’ve no clue where I’d end up.” But unlike Aamir Khan, I don’t have an inspired, teary-eyed dad watching his happy-go-lucky son sing glory about his long lost father’s belief in his capabilities. In my case, well, circumstances (many of which were self-made) made my dad openly retract his assurances, which is the worst thing a dejected son/daughter could get. But the song kindled sweet, long-lost memories of doting-praise and patient, endearing-encouragement – I got my much-needed recharge!

Perhaps, my dad was watching at a singing-dancing me through my room door’s peephole, silently-inspired, with tears welling in his eyes!!

P.S.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…
The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives,
Some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.

- From Baz Luhrman‘s Sunscreen

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Classrooms – the rightful abode of modern education, worldwide. The word brings in a plethora of assorted images to the mind of any adult who’s been through school/college. High aired ceilings, black/white boards, an assortment of educational aids and paraphernalia that includes ergonomically designed furniture with slant panels for easy writing and niches for bags .

Apart from these usual suspects, there is another entity common to all classrooms worldwide. It doesn’t show itself at the outset. You’ve to keep your eyes open to see it. But once you get a glimpse, the discreet quality of this item metamorphoses into a totally different one. Into something glaring and in-your-face.Your reaction would, essentially, be binary. Either you’d grope all about your torso, as you roll over the floor in in-suppressible laughter, or you’d find your face quell up all red, in deep anger. There’s a worst-case scenario – you could even be transmogrified into a living-breathing straight-face smiley!

True, the graffiti that adorns all our classrooms are universal paradigms of modern art, with oeuvres of shock-value to boot!

Image Courtesy: Good schools Pensylvania

The reasons behind such works of art are myriad, but the key lies firmly in the locks of youthful exuberance. The human mind, as they say, is a receptacle at its best, in the heydays of youth. From suppressed rage and existential angst to mind-numbing boredom rooted from lack of satiation, the causes are numerous. Kindled by the blitzkrieg of incomprehensible knowledge, imparted through droning voices, floodgates of inscrutable emotions are let loose. Having waited long for the cue, forearms bustling with raw talent transform, cheap ball-point ink into two dimensional objet d’ art. Ta dah!

There’s a strangely common feature among all such works of art. Despite the spontaneity, despite the supposedly-amateurish feel, there is an innate professionalism in these works. Hidden deep down in the most illegible of graffiti, there’s angst and passion, and that makes it original. Unlike toilet graffiti, which comes out of an urge to deface a public place, classroom graffiti has nobler intentions. It’s more of an outpour and rightful employment of the freedom of expression right enshrined in the constitution. Most graffiti are texts. Abuses top the list, followed by names, nick names, crushes, love-you lists and the like. Some even engrave rib-tickling jokes. The common writing instrument is the ubiquitous ball point pen (blue/black). Whiteners are also prefered for the exclusive ‘contrast’ effect they provide. In times of need, even pencils fill the void. Dividers and compasses serve the purpose with an irreversible ‘engrave’ effect.

The lesser minds (or higher authorities, as they so self-respectfully term themselves) aren’t quite enamored with such graphical brilliance. Their craniums fail to interpret the dexterity and the artful panache of such works of art. For them, the full blown proclamation of ‘mech-spirit’ emblazoned in stylish font is but gibberish. The spectacular curves of female anatomy magnificently compressing three astute dimensions in two, is pornography! Phone numbers, “call me” signs, email ids, nostalgic farewells, historic proclamations, in-your-face truths, defamation of lesser mortals, – all are absolute sacrilege! Once discovered, a red alert is sounded. Heads roll. Codes of conduct are imposed. Notices are read. The random victim is pulled up and grossly fined.  Inexperienced local painters, armed with low quality sandpapers and cheap, glossy distempers devastate hours of careful craft with pale, staid disfigurement. The entire room – benches, desks, walls, stare back at you with a pale blankness. An absence, a void, as if beseeching for more graffiti.

The nameless artist is never deterred  by such acts of forced-removal. He displays his wares in the classroom canvas, within days of the gagging act. Soon, many more are inspired, and normalcy is restored. The classroom is a full-fledged art gallery, once more. The lecturers, blissfully unaware of the art-gallery metamorphosis, due to the discrete nature of the act, go about doing their duties, until a very deviant artist portrays a rather outrageous piece of art (a laughably poignant piece, for the students) that suitably enrages the guru.

The cycle repeats itself, and hopefully will, for the rest of eternity!

P.S.

23 days without posts – yes, I had an eventual month. Very bloggable. BRB with a post on what actually transpired.

No related posts.

Apparently, two of my latest blog posts got deleted for no valid reason that I can comprehend. Those posts were intact, when I’d logged in early in the morning, to switch off downloads. When I visited the blog at around 11:30 AM today, just before I left for college,  I was dumbfound – two of my latest  posts,  the latest – ‘ഞാന്‍ ആരാ’ one  and the previous ‘iM dA NeRD’ had vanished into thin air. I did everything possible, downloaded my Blog’s database and queried it like a madman using all SQL commands I knew – to no avail. Lost an hour of valid last-minute-prep time to the lost posts. Not a good decision from a future-’manager’, but yeah, the blog comes first anyday! \m/

CC Credits: vramak

After I got back home after today’s exam, I did a bit of research myself. I knew for a fact that WordPress doesn’t delete posts on its own. Then how could the posts  go? Quite likely to be a server-side issue. I must send a support-ticked to my friendly-neighbourhood WebHost (which has been working awesome for me, apart from a few minor glitches like this ).

The incident caught me unawares and bang, I’m in one of those ‘desperate’ moods today. I’ve tonnes to mug, and I’m looking up a few slides at the moment – but this mood-swing (complicated by delicate ‘matters of the heart) has terribly killed my interest to learn.

Now, that has left me thinking. How would a seemingly simple, mundane external event leave me depressed? More than ‘how’, the question could be rephrased into ‘why’. Can’t I ignore the whole damn thing and be happy again? Is happiness an easy choice to make? Theoretically, yes. But at times, it’s way more than a choice. Happiness is a state of mind which has a lot to do with external stimuli, I sadly realized. And stimuli weren’t exactly in my favour. So I had to do something intellectually stimulating so as to rejuvenate my mind. No, I can’t do a song again – two songs a month is way above my quota and, not all the reviews are positive! I can’t post on a dedicated topic for want of time and patience.

So, ta dah, here I am doing another arbit-post. \m/

If you ask me, arbit posts are a lot more fun than a carefully thought-about post. The thought process itself requires significant time and mental effort, not to mention finger-crunching at 75 WPM – but arbit posts are exercises in mental-outpour. I just open my mind to my fingers – which do the typing. So, rest assured, this is a straight from the heart post! Besides, the satisfaction of seeing the vagaries of your mind printed out in nice typeface, in grammatical perfection (not always! ) is satiating to a great extent.

As regards to ‘matters of the heart’, well, I’m in a dilemma. I have to take a decision, an immediate decision on a very delicate issue, a relationship. Yes sir, being a ‘young adult’, I’ve all rights to engage myself in feminine company – which I’ve actually not had for a while now, sadly.   Somehow, the stars don’t seem to be right for me, it seems. I deliberately suppressed my feelings for the fairer sex, after a very embarrassing debacle, and lived as if they didn’t exist – I refused outright to get closer to girls, but I did keep existing female friends and sisters. Maybe its high time I found a person who completes me, I guess. Hopefully, I’ll get the girl of my dreams, soon enough. (Girl, if you’re reading this… lol, you know what to do! )

He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.

Ah, time out. Nightout Phase 1 begins!

See, I told you, blogging is the best way to recharge your mind. Wish me luck for tomorrow’s exams. Until then I’ve miles to go, before I sleep! Adios!

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My room was dark for most parts – lit sparsely by a conglomerate of the flickering lights from my router and the blinking ‘HDD’ light from the PC’s cabinet. Yes, bits and bytes from Peer to Peer connected computers at some remote corner of the world were streaming into my PC’s hard-disc, as I lay idle on my bed. The ceiling fan whirred incessantly, the emanated sounds carefully following a pattern established by Christian Doppler’s rules, sending a wave of cold deep into my spine, making my teeth rattle. It was raining outside. I could hear the faint sounds made by forlorn drops of water splattering onto the surface. If I would go out, maybe I’d get the smell of fresh earth – the aroma of the first rain of the season. But it had rained earlier today, and the stingy attacks of mosquitoes would be the only thing greeting me if I’d venture out onto the terrace.

I was lounging, immersed in thoughts. 2:25 AM, and I had not found my sleep.

The sleeplessness could rightly be attributed to the Nobel Prize winning author, Mr. Orhan Pamuk and his tedious, but deeply inspiring novel – My Name is Red. I had finished reading it only an hour ago; Perhaps I was a tad too stirred by its simple and elegant poignancy. A simple meditation technique from the YES+ course I recently attended would get me back to Morpheus’ arms. But I chose not to. I hadn’t spent time with myself in a while. Soul searching? A part of my cerebrum muttered a silent ‘Yes’ to billions of n

I saw my life flash by my eyes. From those wee days of childhood to the angst of today. I reminisced every moment that had left a mark in my memory. All the countless setbacks, the occasional bouts of joy, the random moments of euphoria, the wild streaks of suppressed anger, the countless crushes… All of them rushed back into my memory with surprising agility. My mind was in a quest, a Quest beyond eternity (with due regards to blogger extraordinaire Amit Vijay). I was maniacally unnerved – I had no reason to be so! I’d never had such a wonderful day in the recent past. Today, I met up with my siblings and had a very wonderful lunch! We spent a few hours together and it was total fun – the three of us shared such raucous laughs, and I momentarily forgot that I was actually a lone wolf. Their love and care was so endearing. Yet… a discordant note of dissonance resonated deep within my mind!

I still had decisions to make and enormous problems to solve.

Everytime I face a dire constraint, I control myself with the usual burst of obnoxious optimism. Obnoxious, yes. Only consistent hours of strenuous work, suitably assisted by an agile mind, would solve my issues, and I still had miles to go before I sleep. I’ve never found real satisfaction and happiness, till this very moment. Art of Living brought me closer to it, and I had some of the happiest days of my life during the course and I’m a new man thanks to it, but… I still have targets to achieve.

For a while now, I’ve been doing my best to get into an IIM. I wouldn’t call my preparation satisfactory, for, the work I’m putting in isn’t at par with what you’d expect from the ten lakh-odd CAT aspirants in the nation. Maybe, I need to put in more hours of work. But, with acad pressures looming large, it’s getting tough by the day!

But again, like all obnoxious optimists around, I comfort myself and my mind and soul drifts to soundless sleep…

P.S.

The post was written on August 17th, at about 2 AM. I slept off and forgot to publish it. Since I don’t have anything new to update, I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to publish it!

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Have you been watching the latest Vodafone ads that have taken the country by storm? I’d say, these are the kind of  ads that represent an advertizing marvel of sorts, something that would make anybody switch over to Vodafone, despite their mundane, not-so-good schemes!

If you didn’t know these cute, white, odd-shaped characters are actually living breathing human beings! The ads were shot fully in South Africa at a minimal cost. Check out the making of Vodafone ZooZoo ads here in this video from CNN-IBN.

In fact, inventive ads like ZooZoo actually make you sit, see and think – so much to the fact that you’d switch over from your favourite reality show to watch it! (Trust me, I’ve done that!) Great work, guys!!

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There’s a ruddy heat wave down here in Trivandrum! Coupled with  the sweltering temperatures in my room, it’s virtually impossible to spend time here.

As I sit here in my room and type out this post, I’m sweating from head to toe. Going by an approximate estimate, the temperatures in my room might be anywhere between 32 and 36 degrees celsius!

Ever since I got this room all for myself some six years ago (after the renovation of our house), I’ve been suffering the damn heat. Strangely, the other rooms in my house are comparatively insulated while my room bears all the brunt. For most parts of the day (and night) the room’s scorching hot. There’s a vicious heat radiation, apparently emanating from the slopy roof (the top of which is painted red), searing me unto the skin. Dad kindly allocated me an air conditioner some three years ago, but miser that I am, it remains mostly unused.

CC Credits: Carlo Nicora

In a way, my perennially-hot room has gone a long way in moulding me. Left with no choice, I was forced to live with the temperatures. Six long years of heat, and I’m still here. Something about the room holds me back, and I manage to overcome the temperatures by going topless most of the day I spend here. Interestingly, there’s something intellectually stimulating here too! I dunno what/why, but some of my best ideas/decisions have come to me, while I’d be lying on my bed, sweating all through, during sultry summers. Every summer, an idea would strike me, and I’d implement it somehow to sparkling success! (This blog is a living breathing example.)

But this year, nothing worth-noticing struck me, yet. Perhaps it’s due to my phlegmatic temperament induced by the ‘horoscope’ and its after effects. The summer would be over in hardly a month, and it’s high time I got my idea. Hope to get it soon.

In other news, another set of university exams would commence in a couple of weeks’ time. No, unlike previous years, I WON’T stop blogging during exams! Exam time again unleashes my creativity, and sometimes great ideas hit my mind during studies. So, I’d be posting more frequently this summer, just for a change.

P.S.

No, that wasn’t a hot blogger’s heat rant!

P.P.S.

On second thoughts, well… leave it!

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