When the gig is over....

A post after a long time, and my first experience of blogging from the college computer centre, which sucks.
Anyways, so many things happened since I last blogged. I had my first hospital experience, which sucked, too. An ICU is a very queer place, and is queer in a very bad way. When you are strapped with about thirteen wires of ECG, respiration measurer, pulse rate, heart rate, blood pressure measuring devices which run around your chest and arms, and you want to scratch your butt, well, that ain't gonna happen. And the continuos beep-beep sound of the machines is all that you hear, in my case, for four days. Your life becomes an ICU. Your life becomes a succession of beeps.
I recovered and after a few days came back to my college. Two things which affect the life of every BITSGian awaited me- Waves and test 2( in the latter case, afflict.). This time Waves was more tiring than fun, you know. Infact I had more fun in the pre-waves week than in Waves itself. Had an amazing time right before Waves though. Painted after a month or so, and that felt real good, courtesy the new improved Kala room with a wifi and an A/C, the easel and the free live music provided by the music club. Had an unforgettable trip to Panjim, which consisted of visiting my two favourite shops in the world- Furtado's music shop and the Art shoppee. I played a mexican handmade acoustic guitar worth 35 grand, which was kickass. And Art shoppee is always a bliss to visit. And I got myself sanguine and bistre( they are colours. Sound so amazing don't they.). And I had food at Daily Bread, courtesy Sammy which, again, was kickass.
I will never forget the running around I did for the inaug performance and nearly everything else. We were so damn stressed that a couple of nights before Waves, 3am, Sammy and I endedup laughing our heads out rolling on the floor for no reason as if we were high.
The actual Waves was hectic. I could not watch any events except a couple. I didn't go to the DJ nite, I never do. KK was good. And I missed Parikrama, because I was so tired on the last day that I ended up sleeping at 9.30. The exhibition we'd organised was a hit though.
And then there was Test2. Though I dont want to write about it. It came and it went away.
I don't know if they actually mean it, but the brochures proclaimed that in Waves, the 'winter was never this hot', and it being an amazing culfest and shit like that. I don't know about any of that. What I know is that Waves was a realisation of responsibility. It was a realisation of reality too, stark reality.
I have this queer way of judging how good a programme was. You know, when you experience something truly good- a mindblowing performance, an awesome concert, your mind goes into a high. You forget the reality. Your life becomes the performance. It happened to me while watching Hariprasad Chaurasia and Birju Maharaj, what the heck, even when I saw the Pink Floyd Pulse concert on my laptop, I got 'the high'. And then when the gig ends, you slowly come back on the ground. You suddenly start remembering your problems. Your crappy CGPA, your personal problems, the underlying lack of direction in your whole life. Now the more time it takes for you to 'come back to ground' the better the gig was.
I am still high on the Waves experience...

From Doodism to Noobism and (as)many things (as can be put) in between!

So, I am fresh from reading the first three and a half chapters( okay...two.) of Russell's 'History of Western Philosophy',( By the way, Russell is Bertrand Russell. A guy actually asked me if it was Russell Peters.) and I haven't written anything on the blog for a long long time. So long that I am having trouble typing in the dark. Anyways, spurred by the highly intellectual and clever sounding statements in the book and the fact that I am back home and having troubles trying to adjust my body clock so that it matches humans( atleast my parents.), I have decided to let my mind wander a bit and document its proceedings as it, well, wanders.

I had begun blogging a few months ago with a post on the CGPA induced discrimination on campus. There is another kind of apartheid- more on a socio-cultural basis, which flourishes on campus- especially a closed one. When you dump a thousand teenagers from different backgrounds inside a 200 acre space with books, laptops and DC++, you are bound to have differences of opinion which evolve into certain ideologies and lifestyles. Spurred by the innate cultism which is the hallmark of the IIT/BITS system of education and the seemingly never ending enthusiasm of the students, these ideologies thrive in the campus soil. Thus, being a student on campus makes you, voluntarily or involuntarily, and to some or the other extent, an ardent follower of some or the other ideology. If not, then you become a saturaday night philosopher, trying to unravel the mysteries of the vast plethora of a mini civilisation the campus is. A few of of such ideologies studies and documented are Doodism, Dudeism, Godlikeness(This is not much of an ideology because you cannot follow it as such. You either are God or you are not. And it is not for you to decide.) Proism, Cultism, Noobism, Gamerism, Magguism/Ghotuism, Special friend(ism), etc. Let us look at some of them in brief-

DOODISM( and not 'dyoude') -

I have decided to elucidate this ideology first not because it is more important than the others, ( it is not) but because it is one of the more recognised ones. And the reason is quite simple- Doods are seemingly some of the easiest species to spot around the campus. Even a noob(we will come to that later.) anthropologist will be able to spot a dood with his designer slippers, shorts, ipod and sack attire roaming around with the least care for the existance of any fellow mortal in proximity. But then, he is a noob. A real dood is not characterised by what he wears. If that were so, then every lousy son-of-a-bitch would get up everyday, NOT take a bath, wear his sundass slippers and 'Reejok' shorts( greeen with red stripes.) and roam around campus hailing "WazzZZaaa" to every other lousy son-of-a-bitch he met and be called a dood. But, sadly, especially for the wannabe doods, that is not how it works. Imagine a campus where every person would own an 80 Gb ipod filled with Alice in Chains and Nine inch nails and the like and puma slippers and nike jerseys. And when I say everybody, I mean everybody. Then, a dood on that campus could( and this is an arguable hypothesis.) wear burgundy pleated pants with maroon and blue checks shirt and hum 'Teri pant phatri, teri sandal phatri...' or 'Sonava ke pinjde me band bhaaiii...' with the same attitude as in the regular case. This is because a dood is characterised by his attitude( a very very important word for anyone who wants to be a dood.) The 'least care for the existence of any fellow mortal in proximity'. This is precisely why they wear so much deodrant-least care for the existance of any fellow mortal in proximity!! Doods generally have a good fluent english accent and are not afraid to speak out in front of authority. Even if the 'speaking out' consists of heavily drunk and very heavy renditions of ' come crawling (hic) faster! Obey your MMMMASSSTERRR!!!', trying to be in sync with the ipod while the Chief Warden is trying to interrogate you about you being late and drunk outside the college gates.( The matter ends with the dood passing out. Before that he has politely asked the Warden if he(it) is the dog from the Hutch ad, and whether his kids are humans by day and puppies at night and then sung a quite ingeniously derived version of 'Master of Puppies').

Its not hard to find a dood on the omlette pav gaadi saying" Can I have one Mirchi bhaji and a palti to go please?" while the baffled goan guy ( I mean to say that he is originally baffled. God sent him on earth that way.) becomes more baffled.( I have seen this happen guys. The dood was acting as if he was standing in a friggin burger king.)

On the whole, doods are hated on campus. But one has to understand that some part of the hatred is because of jealousy. Many are jealous of the doods. Some who give it the status of hero worship become sidekicks. They are usually made to stay on the side and get kicked. They hang out with the doods( as much as the doods let them.) and laugh at their crappy jokes.

Then there are the wannabe doods or the dudes( pronounced dyoudes. This is because a 'dude' is just another ordinary guy!). You can seldom differentiate a dude and a dood. The trick is to find out who fulfills the dressing characters of a dood more. The one who looks more doodlike is usually the dude.( Have you read the 'idiot's guide' series of books? I keep wondering how come no dude has come up with the idiot's guide to become a dood. Maybe they like to keep it a secret.) Another and a surer way to differentiate is to go and ask the guy something about rock music. Because, I am sure, through personal experience, that some dudes seem to think that Lamb of God and Judas Priest are actually choir groups. They tried to listen to some metal, but they found it made their head woozy. They tried headbanging and it was horrendous. So then they for settled the 'rock' of Linkin Park and Nickelback and Avril Lavagne. So, you know, just start talking about Porcupine Trees and see if the conversation leads to thorns- literally.

Today we studied, albiet briefly, the characteristics of the dood family of ideologies. Next time, when I have insomnia and a few hours to spare, we will look at the other interesting lifestyles on campus. The above observations are completely emperical and done for the purpose of elucidating. Interested insomniacs can gtalk/gmail/ or whatever me to discuss the theories presented above. Thankyou.

charcoal never dies....

A couple of sketches I did a about a week ago-

This one is of a guitar, eviedently. My guitar. I was just starting off to sketch when I wanted to warm up a bit, and I find that the best way to do it is some rapid sketching. A teacher of mine once taught be about contour sketching- he called it sketching with your eyes. What you do is sketch an object without looking at the paper, but following the lines on the object with your eye and moving your hand on the paper correspondingly. What I observed was that a contour sketch of an object had an amazing feel to it. You never get the proportions right; it takes years to do that. But it looks beautiful in a much more sublte yet energetic way than a regular sketch done by overdrawing and paying attention to detail. Maybe thats what it is- too much attention to detail, which goes wrong. A good artist is not one who paints something exactly as it looks like. If that were true, then the signboard painters who thrive on painting Amitabh Bacchans and Hritik Roshans and Angelina Jolies( occasionally) would be milloinares. I am not saying that what they do is not art; infact, what they do is one of the most difficult things you can ever accomplish, and hats off to them. But art, in its bare sense is a way to express yourselves. And every individual has a different way to do so. It is that original style which an artist has to find, and once he finds it, nurture.

Okay, so we went a bit off track( some call it 'train of thought'. I call it a 'paranoid rambling'.) Anyways, so the sketch. It is not a contour sketch, but it is close enough to it. I was sitting with a charcoal in my hand looking around the room when I saw 'her'. I rushed through the sketch as fast as I could.

The next one I did was supposed to be a study for a painting of a blues guitarist I had in my mind. But halfway through it, I decided to go with the flow than with the plan. Inspired by painting I'd seen before once, on some blog I think, don't quite remember where. But heres how it is-

Again, its charcoal. Anyways, tell me how they are!

The ballad of Curtis Loew.

After I saw the new reference pic of the Different strokes by different folks challenge, I suddenly remembered this beautiful Lynyrd Skynyrd song- The ballad of Curtis Loew. The song is amazing and one of my Lynyrd Skynyrd Favourites. Its a proper country song, with a beautiful story. Thats the best part about country music- its stories. Music is nothing but an effort made to express yourselves. And when the stern tailcoated classical maestroes composed concertos and symphonies in their ivory towers, it was these freespirited country musicians who 'played the guitar just like ringing a bell' sang their ballads telling stories of the people to the people.

Anyways, heres the reference pic-

The song is about a small boy who loves to listen to the dobro( which is a guitar with a resonator, and has a very beautiful sound to it, by the way.) played by an old black man named Cutris Loew. He collects empty soda bottles and cashes them in the country store to give old Curt some money so that he would play for him all day. This small kid is apparently the only audience which Curtis Loew recieves, his reputation among people being that of a worthless drunkard. But the small boy loves him for his music with a loyalty which is fierce and innocent at the same time so much that he calls him the best bluesman ever.

When I saw this pic, I immedietly pictured Curtis Loew sitting on the chair, the dobro in his hands, while the small boy looks on with awe and wonder. I set out to make it with some basic sketches to study the postures of the boy and the man-

I wasn't quite getting the boy's posture right, so I asked my little brother to model for me( he stood mooning at me first, deeply amused and elated at my voluntary request, but then I made him stand the way I wanted to.)

Once I got that right, I started off with the sketch (I decided to do it in graphite.). Heres the end result. How do you think it is?

I am thinking of doing it again with monochrome watercolours. Hope that turns out good.

Of water and colours!

Long time since I blogged. I've been working on a few techniques lately. Especially watercolour. I recently went outdoor painting with an artist in Pune. It was a lot of fun and I learnt quite a few things. Outdoor on the spot sketching and painting requires you have a very good eye and a great command over the medium you are using. You need to be swift and loose while sketching, taking in as much of the detail as you can in a sweep, but not trying to make the sketch look very grand or precise. I decided to use watercolours as my medium. I am a complete illlterate( if you can call it that.) when it comes to watercolours, having worked most of the time with charcoals, pastels and pencils. But after seeing some outdoor watercolour studies of some awesome artists, I decided to give it a shot.

I was pathetic. My brushes were wrong, perspectives crappy and when something seemed to turn out fine, one loose brush stroke sent a gust of water on the good part, ruining the effect. One of the reasons watercolour attracts me is because it is such a lightening fast medium. You have to work with the flow, fast, mixing colours on paper. And there was where I was going wrong. Being accustomed to work on detail, I concentrated more on one part of the painting, the result being that some entities on the painting would be reasonably good, while the remaining parts went wrong.

Flared up by the eminent failure in the task, I went on practising. The first thing I did was changed my paper and brushes. I got a handmade watercolour paper which holds water for a longer time. My brushes were old and starting to fall apart, so I got new natural ones. I went on observing other watercolour artists, and concentrated on the technique more than the end result. Here are a few studies-

Landscapes are a beautiful genre and watercolour landscapes are amazing to work upon. And exceedingly difficult. After many attempts, I did this one for the Different strokes from different folks challenge, but didn't post it because the challenge ended before I could do a version which satisfied me. Here it is-

One more landscape which I did yesterday, to study some wash techniques-

These are some of the paintings I did in the last few days. I was too bored to upload them then. But today I decided to do it atlast. I'm having a lot of fun with watercolours nowadays and I can't wait to go back to Pune again and do some more outdoor painting.

Some old paintings.

A couple of old paintings-

The first one, is of a bird( evidently(hopefully(:P))). It was done while I was sitting in a biology lecture the in september the last year. Its done with a ball pen in about 5-10 minutes. The other painting is done with watercolours again in about five minutes. I tried to give it a hazy feel of a ship caught in a storm. I was a bit alarmed and a lot pissed off when there was an unexpected power cut right when I was in the middle of it, but I did it in the light of the laptop screen- I was too engrossed to go look for a flashlight or a candle; plus I don't think I had a flashlight or a candle....

Anyways, I have been visiting a professional artist and taking some lessons from him over the summer. He has been giving me some nice studies to work on, so, nowadays you can find me on College road and areas around with my sketchbook, headphones and a can of Mountain Dew.

Will post pictures and sketches if something good comes along. Meanwhile, tell me how these paintings are....

H.

It was night time. Not the have-your-dinner-watch-your-television night time. Well past midnight. The time when staying up is supposed to be obscene. The lights were out and even the late night pubs where the regulars had their regular pints were shut off. Everything lay quiet and content and undisturbed.

At this time, there walked a man from the shadows. One look and you would know that this guy was not used to taking strolls at this time of the night. His every action personified meekness. Dressed in a drab fraying suit with his shirt untucked, he hobbled up the road towards the train station. This, my friends, is the unfortunate and very unlikely hero of our story. He has a name, maybe, but it is of no importance to us. And he would have liked it that way. So let us address him with a common noun with a capital letter in the beginning- In the manner we describe God- Him. He would have liked it that way.

From the time He was young, He showed an extraordinary prowess over everything that required brainwork. A three year old kid solving sudokus in under a minute, now thats not very common, is it? But He did it. He did it when he was two. And He did more important things too. Some really important things which had baffled the leading physicists and mathematicians. They called Him 'gifted'. And He raised His arms for someone to hold Him up and hug Him, but what He got was applause instead. They called Him 'gifted'. The called Him different. His life became a blur of IQ tests and counsellings and numbers. More numbers. He was hailed as a supergenius when He couldn't even tie His own shoelaces. As He grew older, His prowess grew too. People called Him to fix their problems. Huge important people. Physicists, engineers, economists, government officials- Oh they dug on him. They called Him in with their fancy badges on their chests and smirks on their faces- Oh, He cannot possibly crack this one! I've been working on it for the past ten years! And He would come and calmly find a solution and go away. And they would stand there, pulling their hair with a mixture of icredulity, jealousy and relief. He was a whizkid. He was given top protection by the government so that the enemies could not find out about Him. People fought over Him. The scientists demanded Him to fix up some hitches which Einstein had created. The technologists tried to pull Him to build some huge rocketships. And the investigators tried to catch hold of Him to grind His nose for the location of some terrorist. He was put in a top secret government facility. He was their secret weapon.

But he wasn't a weapon, you know. Not atleast in the strict sense of the word. He was a man, an individual. And He began discovering this. Maybe for the first time in his life, He started thinking for himself- for satisfying his own curiosity. And boy He was curious. He leapt into the metaphysical universe and dug deep. He read more and more, He would sit for hours, days at length thinking. One subject especially held his wonder. The idea of God. He read that the buddhist Monks gained the answer of this ultimate question in the universe by not actually thinking. He couldn't believe that one could find a solution by 'not thinking' about it. Maybe it was a cretain amount of overconfidence He placed on His own abilities, I don't know. But He was confused, that is for sure. He knew that He possessed the most powerful brain ever seen by man, and He thought if someone could find an answer, it was Him. A worthy challenge.

Now what happened was, He denied to solve anything but His current predicament. He wanted all His attention on His own problem. He stopped working for the government. They begged and they threatened but He was caught by an obsession. He would'nt eat, He wouldn't sleep and He got fits of paranoeia. They had to let Him go. And in a way, they were happy to see His back. He was relocated in this quiet place with a monthly pension. But He was obssessed. He travelled around the world- to India and China to study the oriental philosophy which, He thought was closest to the answer that any other. Years and years He travelled. He met saints and monks and rabbis, but none could answer His question. They would give a religiously political answer which would be enough to fool anyone, but not Him. He would look right through it. Sensing a fear of failure for the first time in His life, He grew scared. The people who had admired him, deserted him. They called him a wasted genius.

His obsession grew bigger. He decided to try a different path- the path of physics. He had read physicists saying they had experienced God in their quests. The subject proved ideal for His extremely powerful logical brain and He immensely enjoyed it. He delved deeper and deeper, into its boundaries and beyond them. But then again, He was stalled. He felt like He was being eaten by the space around him. He just couldn't find the answer.

He came back to His home a dejected man. Everyone had forgotten His name now. He was not even the wasted genius. He was nobody. He didn't care though. All He cared about was the answer and it drove Him mad. For the first time in His life He was on the verge of failure.

And then one night, sitting in front of His desk, He decided He had led a wasted life. So He got up and went out of the house. He walked, skulking in the shadows, and for the first time in His life, He felt tired. Tired of thinking, tired of living.

He walked up to the railway track just outside the town and calmly waited for the train. He gave a small chuckle, maybe because it occured to Him that this was the first time ever He was waiting for a train; and not going anywhere. As He heard the horn, He walked up, fumbling a bit- not out of fear, but out of habit- you are bound to fumble when you have done nothing in your life but thought. He stood on the track and closed His eyes and waited. For the first time in His life, He did not think.

And a miracle happened. He did not think, yet thoughts came to Him. They say your life flashes in front of you when you are about to die. His life did not flash in front of him. No. But somthing else did. Something that He was least expecting. Not on the verge of death. Not when He had lost hope. Not when He had abandoned His quest. But it did flash. The answer. And a strange smile appeared on his face. More so of relief, by the looks of it, and of gratitude.

Then the train knocked him out. Dead.

Pink Floyd and poems

A fellow blogger asked me to describe Pink Floyd in ten words. I did not realise how difficult the task was until I actually started thinking about it. stayed up the whole night thinking. And the next two days too. Its so natural to like something. Like a reflex action. But its really difficult to give a reason why you like something. I like Pink Floyd because...well, you just like something. I love the philosophy their songs possess. I love Gilmour's blues inspired riffs, and Wright's jazzy piano, and Water's lyrics. And I love it when all this come together. And the mystery of all of it...

But this is how I would describe them. A lot more than ten words, but I hope thats understandable. This is not at all the best of my attempts. I dont know if this can qualify the barrier for being a poem, too. Its just four lines which rhyme, incidentally, maybe. Here goes-

Songs of wonder, songs of pain

Songs of unsung martyrs insane

Songs untarnished in time remain

They take you down that memory lane....

By the way, this is my first attempt ever to write poetry (if you can call it that; but please do, just for the heck of it. Feels good :P). I thought a lot about their songs- they have some recurring themes. Themes like war, absence, madness, anarchy- most of which have the common feature- the pain. The psychedelic Pink Floyd takes you to a journey full of wonder around the universe with songs like 'astronomy domine', 'interstellar overdrive' and 'let there be more light' ( most credits to Barrett.). And Barrett himself remains the legend who was taken away by insanity, and a recurring theme in their songs. And there is no doubt that they were miles ahead of their time in terms of their musical ideas and experimentation.

This is how I would describe Pink Floyd, well, as concisely that is possible for me, atleast as of now. Whaddaya think?

Stalled.

I am at my wit's end. All my resolve and determination to do something, well, worth mentioning in this summer is melting like ice in this dreadful heat. ( I call it dreadful, but I am usually the one who calls the guys for a game of cricket at two in the blazing temperature.) Thats one thing which is going well in all the fiasco. For cricket has this amazing ability to make you forget all your insecurities when you are on the ground. The whole world waits and watches the ball that grows bigger and bigger as it falls off the sky striking perfect unsion with your Adam's apple which falls into the pit of your stomach. And after a tiring game comes the time for Goti Soda. Of all the drinks that are drunk in this world, Goti Soda might just be the most worthwhile drink of all. At just five rupees you get the most refreshing glass of fresh soda with a flavour of your choice. It is a bliss. And you can have it again and again because it is so cheap.

Anyways, apart from that and maybe guitaring, nothing is going to well. All I am doing nowadays is stay up online in search of some inspiration and typing cheap profile headers like 'Kaushal is deeply plotting to kill the elusive fly that keeps buzzing on his laptop screen without damaging the display' on my facebook account. After coming here I have done only one painting which I am proud enough to upload online-

This is David Gilmour- Lead guitarist and vocalist of Pink Floyd. The sketch is done in mixed media- oil pastels, watercolours and a bit of pen here and there. I had a lot of fun experimenting with the two main media- oil and water, which behave unusually with each other. This was originally done for the theme which I was talking about in my previous post- writeups on music accompanied with sketches. But the idea is either too difficult to materialise or I am a dim witted mutant monkey. Though I wrote in my previous post that I would start the series with Rock, I later realised while thinking that Blues and maybe Country music would be sensible before Rock because its roots are based there. My notebooks are filled with flowcharts and notes about the subject but what is lacking is that one stroke of inspiration by which I will get some fluidity in my writing. I don't want the writeups to look like Wikipedia articles. The aim of the series is to look at various genres of music through the point of view of a common listener and a hardcore fan. But I don't want them to be like- 'Duhuude! Pink Floyd is just awesome dude! Its just ... awesome!!'. And that balance between light conversational writing and a deep understanding of the subject, its history and overall social impact, is what I seek. Desparately.

So, I'm stalled as of now. And I know why. There are too many things going around. College exams are over but they didn't go quite well, and I am shit scared what I will get in the CGPA card, which, by the way is one its way home throught the post and will reach, well, anytime. And then there are a few other problems- A few personal; a few too personal, if you get my drift. But I am hoping like hell that things will be better in the near future. And they better be. They better be.....

Summer of '09

In three hours, I am going to board a train which will take me home ( Yieee!!). I have a long vacation of two and a half months, which ( I hope.) will be sufficient for all the retrospection, introspection and self seeking, etc., etc. I am supposed to do in that time( whatever...). Supposedly, I have to take some life changing and awesomely ( am I using this word a lot? like, a LOT?) important descisions during this time ( a bigger whatever. Believe me, a lot bigger). All I can think about right now, is that after about sixteen hours, I am going to be sitting in the kitchen at my home, eating, I don't know what, but definitely something delicious. ( Yeah, this and maybe about the three bedbugs which I can see from the corner of my eye, apparently racing to reach the top of the window sill from the table- thats all there is in my mind right now.)

Ohkay, to be serious. The thing is, I am supposed to do a lot of introspsection, retrospection and all the other things mentioned above in the holidays. It is really really important for me. For my life, my career and just about everything I can think of about me. It is gonna be a long, and hopefully fulfilling summer.

But it is not all going to be so serious though. Its going to be packed with sketches and paintings and guitars and more importantly, friends and family. I'll meet my best friends after a long while, so I think it will be quite a reunion- whiling away the time as we watch the sun set with a chicken cheese roll and iced tea in our hands and swapping stories of what all we did this semester. ( Yeah its gonna be grand.)

They are calling it the ' summer of 'o9 '. I know it is a cliche and all that, but that doesn't make me stop hoping that this summer would do something, well, nice ( I'm not hoping for much.).

By the way, Lord of the Rings is without any doubt the best and the most awesomest book and trilogy of movies I will ever hope to see.

*************************************************************************************

The supremely untrustworthy BITS net failed me once again as I was typing the above post in my empty room ( everything was packed and closeted.) while the others sat outside making jokes about me, who they thought was apparently chatting with 'someone'. (That is like the limit of imagination of us people. I might as well could be programming a droid which looks like Hobbes and which can destroy all life in the radius of the Kuiper belt.....). Anyways, so I couldn't post it that day. But, now that I am in Nashik, and I have overcome the 'jetlagged' feeling which I was having because of the sudden change in my schedule ( no staying up at three at night and cooking maggi.), and I am back in business! Well I did meet my best friend. Infact, in about a couple of hours I am going at his place with my guitar and we'll be doing some nice jamming there. He's a keyboardist, and a very good one too. And I did have the iced tea and the rolls, and it was divine.

I have some nice stuff planned for the summer. And it combines three of my countless passions- music, art and writing. I am thinking of writing about various genres of music and accompanying the posts with a painting or a sketch related to it. And I want to start with a bang, so my first post on that string will most probably be on Rock(!!!!).

And here I state again, for I cannot underline how essentially true and important this statement is-

Lord of the Rings is without any( and by any, I mean any(stressed as much as is humanely possible)) doubt, the best and most awesomest book and trilogy of movies I will ever hope to see in my deepest dreams.

I was just reading the above draft, and I think I have used the word 'and' in an unnaturally large amount in the post, have I?

Sweet home Alabama!

Long time since I've written anything. The compres( comprehensive exams- highest graded exams in a semester at BITS) are upon us, which has led me to give away my laptop power cord to a friend so that I would'nt waste time messing around on it. But then I got really bored and took it back for a while just so that the blog would'nt be completely lonely. Everything else except studies is on hold. No sketching, painting- though I did a huge charcoal sketch of the campus with Sammy for Kala; it was our gift to the passing out batch- they had their farewell a couple of days ago. I'll put up a pic as soon as I get one. A bit of guitaring here and there, thats about it. I can't wait for the exams to end. And I really want to go home now. Every night, as I cook Maggi or munch on some crappy biscuits, the sheer thought of my mom's food haunts me. I can't stand the sight of the mess plates with their dozens of compartments and weird smell. I dunno how many ideas I've killed in the past few days. Seriously- I had some really awesome( why have I started to think that this is the only adjective today's generation knows?) ideas to write and sketch. But I had to stifle them because I need to study, atlest for the next fifteen twenty days. I hereby take a solemn oath that I will spend my summer holidays doing nothing but sketching, painting, guitaring, writing, playing cricket and most importantly- eating; in short basking in the glory of pure awesomeness and nothing else.

Yeah I miss home. Love that song- sweet home Alabama by Lynrd Skynrd. They're one of my all time favourite bands and this song is one of my all time favourite songs. Nice lyrics- especially the take on Neil Young- another one of my favourite performers, is incredible. Beautiful music; the last time I went home, after the first sem here at BITS, I had this song playing all night in the journey. It touched chords- Its really wonderful when some song, some music, or for that matter any art as such- a painting, a poem, a story brings exact same emotions you are feeling at that time- its like a resonance, and that is the real purpose of art- to emote. To emote as gracefully as possible. A two line poem can say things where a huge book is insufficient. And a photograph has a touching story locked inside it. It is one of the most wonderful feelings to actually experience it all.

Anyways, I think I should get back to studying now. I'm trying to do organic chemistry- E1 and E2 reactions. Won't write for a while now, but when I will, I have some pretty cool ideas to follow up. Exams are right in front- rearing up for an attack. So, good men, see you at the other end- if I survive! ;))

self portrait!

Thats me! And I'm playing Hotel California. What a song! Especially the Hell freezes over version is like one of the most awsome songs ever made. The slow beat of the bongos, the masterful guitar solos of Don Felder and Joe Walsh( I love that part when he plays the two chords by pulling on all the strings with two fingers!) and the raw, rusty voice of Don Henley on the lead vocals! the song's an absolute masterpiece!

Anyway, I don't want to start off on Hotel C now. I want to write a separate post about it. So. the above sketch is done with charcoal and is a self portrait. Tell me how it is.

I had gone to a trip to a nearby fort today with a few friends. I'd taken my sketchbook with me, but couldn't sketch the view because some of the guys comissioned me to make their portraits instead. So most of my time up there was spent doing portait after portrait with a black pilot pen. It was a nice practice. Can't post the sketches though, cause I gave them to the guys and forgot to take snaps. Sometime later, maybe. Well, I'm completely exhausted today. Had really long and great day( More about that later.) and today might be one of those times when I actually would sleep before three.

Yup, I'm sleepy. I seem to have gotten a temporary typing dyslexia, becuae I am tpying likthis wihtut correctoins! So I'd better nod off.

Of guitars and pencils!!

This is my latest sketch. Did this at three in the morning yesterday, after watching Shawshank Redemption. What a movie!! What a movie!!! Too good!!! Tim Robbins has done a superb job as this calm, composed guy, someone who makes his own destiny-builds it up, piece by piece with utmost patience. And Morgan Freeman's performance is absolutely breathtaking. Even his voiceover in the complete movie, as he narrates the whole incident is so stirring. Some scenes were absolutely wonderful. Hats off to the director. For example, in a scene where Red( Morgan Freeman) finishes his sentence after about fifty years in Shawshank prison, he starts working in a supermarket. One day, while wrapping groceries in paperbags, he looks up to his manager and says, "Restroom break, boss?" The manager calls him over. Red walks up to him. Even the way he walks- humble, slow, awkward- a servant' walk. His demaneor is so modest that you seriously can't believe that this is the same guy who has played the imposing and commanding Lucius Fox in The Dark Knight. So, the manager says "You don't have to ask me every time you need to go take a piss. Just go, understand?" Freeman gives an awkward nod and shuffles off. The camera lingers for a moment on the amused face of the manager. And then Freeman's deep voice narrates- Forty years I've been asking permission to take a piss. I can't squeeze a drop without saying so.

So, please watch Shawshank redemption. Its a really beautiful movie and I bet you'll thoroughly enjoy it.

Anyways, I went a bit off track here. So, the sketch- As I've told you before, I've got two guitars at my place now, so after watching the movie when I was remotely sleepy, I decided to sketch both of them. I was a bit confused on what medium to use. I was thinking about oil pastel or watercolour or inksketching, maybe. I settled on graphite beecause its been a long time since I've done a pure pencil sketch. I 've got this other idea to do a mixed medium sketch of the same thing, maybe more symbolic. Hopefully I'll put it on paper soon enough. The guitar on top is mine and the other one is Akhil's. Exams are over, which is the reason I am at the liberty to stay up at two at night blogging, watching Friends and listening to an awesome Hendrix song called Little Wing. Its one of my Hendrix favourites. Do listen to it. Thinking of sleeping, I've got workshop pracs at nine( LOL who am I kidding? Won't be able to sleep till four, atleast.) Ah, here comes my favourite riff!

.....When I'm sad, she comes to me,

with a thousand smiles, She gives to me free

Its all right, she says, Its all right

Take anything you want from me, anything!

Fly on little wing.......

VSD March- watercolour version

This is my watercolour rendition of this month's VSD challenge. I skipped the feeder and concentrated more on the birds. Its was a nice experience to do this in both charcoal and watercolour. Hopefully I didnt miss the deadline. Tell me how it is!

VSD sketch- March

This is my entry for this month's VSD challenge. This is charcoal on paper sketch on the image supplied by Stacy Rowan. I really wanted to do it in watercolours, but did'nt have time as my college exams are going on. Indeed, even this sketch is done on the eve of my linear algebra paper. But I'm going to do it in colour once the exams are over and will try to finish it before the deadline.

Some old sketches

A couple of my old sketches. The first one is a sketch of the famous Easter island statues. The medium used for it is quite different and interesting. The medium is called inksketching, in which you use a pilot or ink pen to sketch and then use water to smudge it with a brush. It gives some really cool effects- like the effect of rocks that can be achieved here looks beautiful.

The second sketch is of Lord Ganesh, which is done in black oil pastel and charcoal on paper. Tell me how both the sketches are.

Exams going on and I have my physics paper tomorrow in the morning and prob stats in the afternoon. I have two guitars in my room and my new watercolours are still unused which is completely bumming me out. I'm planning to go to Panjim for a sketching trip after the exams. Its a really beautiful city and I'm craving to sketch it.

Wish me luck for my exams!

Saturday night blues

The time is foul, my friends. Exams are approaching, leading to the addition of introducion to electrodynamics by Griffiths and introduction to probability and statistics by, who cares( why the hell do they call them introductions?) on the table, along with the new box of watercolours I am itching to try out, and I am listening to the blues! I got the blues, or did the blues get me?Seriously, I've been listening to a lot of blues lately. Ray Charles, with his ultimate 'I got a womaaan!!!' and the beautiful 'For mamma' and the amazing B.B. King with his equally amazing guitar Lucille!( You know, it just feels right when in the middle of a song, he calls out, 'Sing, Lucille!' and goes into a beautiful riff.) and Stevie Ray Vaughn, and Eric Clapton! Thats all I've been listening to, you know. The King said that he played the blues because they helped him pay the dues. And you know what, when you are listening to the blues, as the beat progresses, and it weirdly sounds slow and fast at the same time, and as Lucille gently weeps, you do feel the blues. Imagine after a long hard horrible day, you come home disturbed and depressed, and the person that you love holds you and tells you to let it out, now imagine you are alone, and you don't have a loved one, you pick up your guitar and sit in the dark, you've got the blues.
The music doesn't make you happy. You know, there is some music which changes your mood, makes you happy; no, blues don't do that. The Blues ain't makin you happy. The Blues make you comfortable with your sadness.
Practically every successsful piece of music in the sixties had the blues. They took 'em, churned them around a bit, rocked them, rolled them, jazzed them, sometimes grunged them to a headbanging intensity. But they had the blues.
You know, this is the third post I writing about the blues. Previous two got deleted when the internet suddenly got disconnected (Oh, I was damn pissed off. You write something with your whole heart, trust the blogger autosave and guess what, poof! it all vanishes into thin air. And thats not all; you do that twice.). I was very dissatisfied with the first one, more so with the second one, and I can't believe that I am going to publish this in the end. But I need to wrap it up before I can't resist giving it proper justice. There will be more posts on the blues, but now as I said, the time is foul. Anyway, Divesh got this fine idea of starting a kala blog. Kala is the fine arts club of BITS Goa. We are a group dedicated towards encouragement of fine arts on campus. We have amongst us some very talented artists, cartoonists, origamists( I hope this is a word.), photoshop artists, and most importantly a very dedicated bunch of people. So please check out the blog(http://bits-kala.blogspot.com) for updates of events we organise and works of all members.
Now, I have the whole night ahead of me with joint distribution of random (discrete and continuous) density variables, an empty stomach and joint distribution of random(discrete and continuous) density variables. No wonder I've got the blues.....

So, so you think you can tell,
Heaven from hell
Blue skies from pain
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail
A smile from a veil
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts
Hot ashes for trees
Hot air for the cool breeze
Cold comfort for change
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage

How I wish, how I wish you were here
We're just two lost souls swimmin in a fish bowl
Year after year
Runnin over the same old ground
What have we found?
The same old fear
Wish you were here
Wish you were here
- The Pink Floyd

This is the idea I was talking about- only its materialised. This is charcoal and oil on paper. The red and green on charcoal look beautiful and make a statement( hopefully). The photo was taken and retouched by Rash, as was the photo of the VSD sketch. That guy is a genius with photoshop and has a great sense of editing and retouching. I hope that I have gotten the shadow right so that it also looks like a dove. Tell me how you find it to be.

The day I chased my idea....

Pink Floyd rocks! seriously. Its 2.13 am in the morning and I am listening to 'shine on you crazy diamond', and I don't know why, but suddenly I've got this urge to write. But the funny thing is I can't figure out what to write about. Well, actually its kinda sensible, you know. Its like being hungry and not knowing what to eat. You see, sometimes you get this idea and you start writing and writing and writing till you are completely satisfied. Its like eating something just for the taste of it. I don't know if you have experienced this, but sometimes, you are just walking on the road when suddenly you have this chicken cheese roll taste in your mouth. Whats more, it lingers until you start paying attention to it, but when you do, it threatens to melt away. It feels like if you don't have a roll as soon as possible, you will completely forget what it tastes like. Now you don't want that to happen, do you? So you run off to have some chicken cheese roll. Its the same with ideas. They peep into your head at the most unexpected moments. And as you slowly begin to recognise the uniqueness, or shall we say, beauty of a certain idea, it starts seeping away(Well, that is what usually happens ot me in the exams. Ideas seep away. And slip away!). I had this great idea of a sketch today. I was sitting in a math lecture trying as hard as possible to feint attention at the prof as he rambled of in his heavily accented english about linear transformations of matrices and stuff. And like a flash, I get this idea- you see, a hand holding a bloody knife, and its shadow on the wall looks like a dove. It was so oxymoronish, and if the idea would actually materialise on paper, I knew it would look awesome. The complete picture with charcoal, black and white, except the red blood with which the knife is spattered and the green clover leaf in the beak of the shadow- dove. I could actually see it in front of my eyes! And then, ofcourse, the picture turned hazy and started dissolving into thin air. I knew what was going on- my idea was slipping away! And I couldn't let that happen! I checked the watch- 20 more minutes. This was going to be excruciating. I opened my notebook and started to sketch the picture....until, as they say, if you want something real bad, the whole universe conspires against you or something like that....(It actually is the opposite, I guess, but surely not in my world!)So this Prof makes the guy sitting beside me(the one who is drooling. Not the one who looks like he is dead and his corpse is about to snore. I think even the Prof admits that he is completely out.) and asks him a question. Now the only thing that can be as bad as a Prof asking you a question is you asking him one and expecting a straight answer( trust me, that is true.). Also, a Prof never aims a question at one guy as such. Nor does he expect the guy to answer it. The question is for the whole group around the guy to whom it is asked. It is a sort of wake up call, more of a death knell. It is a signal to the students that they have been caught not paying attention( or not feinting it) and they better do so if they don't want to face a full fledge public embarrassment. The guy next to me fumbles( as expected. Afterall, he has spent the lecture making his saliva bungee jump across his chin!). The prof shuts him up quite well, and after a sharp sweep of an eye at the other two of us musketeers, continues. The bungee jumper takes a notebook and starts scribbling down everything the Prof has ever written on the blackboard. The corpse man has come to life. He now adopts an open mouthed,disoriented posture which makes him look like one of the 'use me' dustbins with a really bright flowery shirt. And he has got a physique for it too! I straighten up, then lay low again, trying to look concentrated on the notebook I have which carries the notes of the previous class I attended about two weeks ago. Now what was I thinking? I try to remember. Some idea. What idea? this time I really concentrate, though not on the lecture( still a little bit of credit must be given to me for concentrating in the lecture theatre.). But I can't remember a thing. Nothing at all. I try to pull at the dying strands of memory I have of the idea. something about a knife. A knife? Wow! I am thinking about knives in my math lecture. And I remeber blood. Its coming back! Its coming back! The lecture gets over. And the grumpy Prof sets across the classroom towards the door where he is met by a speeding streak of light. It zooms out of the room, leaving the door to flap on the Prof's now red face. But the streak doesn't care. It glides out; swishes out of the lecture theatre, flies up the staircase, sprints through the B dome, scampers on the road, and never slows down until it reaches its destination. Its destination is my room, and as the bright folk out of the readers might have correctly inferred, 'it' is me( if you haven't inferred that, then take it from me- I'm sorry, but you are not one of the bright folk!).While my feet are running at full speed, my mind is running at fuller( wrong expression, right effect!). I skid to a stop near my table, grab a sheet of paper and some charcoal and don't look up until I've finished what I had in mind( the math prof would be in tears to watch me so focussed) And you know what, It felt just like it feels when you have a chicken cheese roll when you really want it. The same anticipation waiting with bated breath to explode! It feels great. Wait one second- this is what I was talking about! See, this is one kind of a streak- you know what you want to eat. You have an idea to work with. But, as I was saying, what if you are really just hungry. Anything will do. What do you do then? What if you have a real urge to write, but don't know what to write about. What do you do? Well, you eat anything that comes in front of you first, right. So I do the same thing here. I write the first thing that pops in my mind! And see, this works! I'm done with the post!

VSD sketch

This is the sketch I made for Virtual Sketch Date. Its done with a black pilot pen on paper, with a bit of charcoal as a highlight in the end. Most of the sketch( except the parts with trees and bushes) has been done with straight lines. Had a lot of fun while making it. I'm sketching a lot these days, not just because I love to, but also because the cultural festival of my college-BITS Pilani Goa Campus, called WAVES Summer '09 is round the corner. The fine arts club of the campus, Kala is getting ready to give a beautiful performance. And we all are working really hard for it. So, nowadays, a typical day( and night) for me consists of nothing but sketching, painting and guitaring. And you know what, I love this life! Check out the other paintings, which, by the way, are awesome, and the original photograph by Debbie Later at http://virtualsketchdate.blogspot.com.

This is the photograph of the legendary guitar recital I described in the last blog.

This old guitar

Finally.... Test 1 is over and after staying up for five nights straight, trying to figure out how to find whether a vector space is homogenous or not and mugging up theorems whose names I can barely pronounce and don't know how to spell,(you can imagine how I did in my exams with that!) I finally am sitting in front of my laptop with a plan to stay up for the sixth night in a row and watch a couple of animation movies. I don't know if you have the capacity to imagine the happiness and relief that spread inside me as I submitted my answer paper today morning. I ran up to my room after that and opened my guitar case as soon as I reached there. Not that Iwas'nt playing while the exams were going on, but you know, there's this feeling, which swells up inside you, when you know that there is nothing, absolutely nothing which is going to come in between you and your guitar now. And this feeling is precious. I always play my guitar whenever I come back from some exam. I don't know how, but it makes me feel better. I play it whenever I am depressed or tired, and it heals me. Chinmay knows this, so whenever I am in a bad mood or something, he's like "Go play some guitar dude!" and I do that. And I feel okay! Its been about a year since I started learning the guitar. And I got my own after I came to campus. I still remember how much I roamed about in Goa to get my guitar. Now the closest town from campus is Vasco. It takes about 45 mins to reach Vasco via the local buses. Now this is not as easy as it sounds. The buses here are a sight. I never have had to wait for more than....let me see...about seven seconds on the bus stop before a bus came up the road. You see them, rumbling on the road swirling dust as if it were mist about the roads which just about wide enough for the bus to move. With its murky brown body which you strongly suspect was actually green, once upon a time, and patches of paan stains and indecipherable graffiti(sometimes graphical), both which are byproducts of the passtime of generations of Goans, you start having thoughts about reconsidering your descision to board this thing. This feeling doubles when the bus comes close enough so that you can actually hear the quality and quantity of sound this machine can produce. Every movable part vibrates. every immovable part is engaged in a fierce srtuggle for freedom from its binds. And so, somehow, all the parts of the bus reach some sort of a resonance so that the whole bus vibrates with the same frequency. Its weird, more so if you are sitting inside it. Now, you can seldom sit inside the bus. You never get a seat. And let me tell you, its a relief, because the seat is not at all compatible for a 6 foot 1 inch guy like me. Its total space management. Find out the maximum number of seats you can fit in a given space. Find a way to add in a couple more, and you make an interior of the bus. That is not all, because the top is so low that you have buckle your knees all the time and every bump on the road gives a bump on your head. people are filled in like grains in a sack, and are made to stand in the aisle, each facing the opposite side, holding the bars of the overhead(?) luggage compartment somewhat like the way convicts are made to, in America. The conductor glides through the mess of people, handbags, wicker baskets, infants and an occasional rucksack of some bemused tourist like a seasoned swimmer in the rough sea. And you look at the sign on the saying '11 standing' and wonder why its there. I personally had stopped counting after 21. The point is, its a rough ride. Somehow, I reached my destination. Now it was time to find a guitar shop. I walked and I walked; in two hours I covered nearly every road in Vasco; taking instructions from people just to end up right in front of them in five minutes until I found out that there was no guitar shop in Vasco. So I rode another bus to Margao, which is a much bigger city. this time I was sure there was guitar shop here. I even knew its name- 'Fertado's'. So I scoured the roads of Margao asking for Fertado's. Now this is quite a common surname in Goa. So, in an hour, I found myself in front of a Fertado's book store, a Fertado's gift shop, and somewhat awkardly, a Dr. Fertado's gynaecology clinic. Finally, I found the shop on the second floor of an ancient dingy building, and all the frustration I had evaporated. There's this thing about a guitar shop- the scent of the wood, maybe. But it feels great. The only other shop in which I have been equally fascinated is the Art Shoppee in Panjim, but more about that later. So, I got my Hobner spanish acoustic- the most beautiful thing I ever own. Its black, with a whitish green design on the soundbox. And I loved it on the first sight. It has been with me since then. I play it day and night. Sometimes Eagle's Hotel California or Clapton's Layla or Pink Floyd's Wish you were here, sometimes chord sequences or sometimes just musical gibberish.... I play for hours and hours, until the skin of my fingers tears out and they start bleeding, then I put on a bandaid and play on. Let me tell you the story of my first public guitar recital. There was some programme in college and I called to play there. I had learned this guitar instrumental called Slash by Acoustic Alchemy, and I planned to play it. So, the day arrives and I am called upon stage. I plug the pickup wire to the guitar port and strum some chords. No one hears a thing. I check the connection on the guitar port, the amp port. everything seems just fine. But its not at all being amplified. the crowd is getting impatient. I figure out that there must be some problem with the pickup wire itself. Great! My first solo recital and I can't play because of some silly wire. The guy onstage gives me a mic which I place on my lap near the soundbox. Its awkward, but its ok. so I say this is it, and I close my eyes, and I start the damn song. Slowly, I get into the rythm and I forget that I am in front of a crowd. I smile a silly smile with my eyes closed and let my fingers do the job. The exhilaration reaches the peak as I near the end of my performance. I end with a really fast riff and slowly open my eyes, ready for the applause. There is none. I look around, and people are talking, laughing, doing everything but looking at me. And I am like, what the hell, people? Then I do something really demeaning. I shout ' I'm done!' That catches some attention. People look around, as if they just remembered there was a stage in front of them. Some of them clap. Some of them are completely clueless about whats going on. Some don't even care. And I am sitting onstage with my guitar and the mic perched precariously on my lap trying to figure out what went wrong. And then, the guy onstage comes, picks up the mic, looks at me and says, " Its supposed to be turned on, you fool!" I don't remember anything after that. There's this one song by Neil Young which I really love. Its about a guitar. It goes something like this-
This old guitar ain't mine to keep, just taking care of it now Its been around for years and years, just waiting in its old case Its been up and down the country roads, its brought a tear and a smile Its seen its share of dreams and hopes, and never went out of style The more I play it, the better it sounds, It cries when I leave it alone Silently it waits for me, or someone else I suppose!
And this old guitar of mine has been with me in some of the most defining moments I've ever had in my life. It has laughed when I have laughed, and it has wept with me. It is fascinating that something inanimate can be such an important part of your life. Sometimes even more important than some people. And then one day I will get a new guitar, maybe because it will be better, or because this one will be too old to be played, when the strings and the knobs will start rusting and there will be dents on the soundbox and it will start taking ages to tune, and it will just be cast aside.... But it knows this, maybe all the guitars do. And it understands. It won't get too attached to me even though I may. You know why? Because- This old guitar ain't mine to keep, just taking care of it now........

5 point SOMEone

Could I have had a better topic to start off my blogging or what?! Here I am, listening to 'Get over it' by the Eagles at two in the morning( couldn't have found a more fitting song) and writing the first blog I have ever written. And the only thing that is comes in my mind right now, is me being a five pointer! I study(or, do I?) in BITS Pilani Goa Campus, one of the most prestigious colleges in India. And from what the grading system says about me, I clearly suck! Its an echelon, you know, a system of levels. It is headed by people called ten pointers. So now that I don't have anything to do and I am remotely sleepy, let me explain to you how it goes-
So, as I said, the echelon is topped by a species called the ten pointers. The ten pointers are the A graders. The creme de la creme. The top guys. They are the reason why colleges are made. The whole idea is to make ranks and ranks of ten pointers and convocate them into the society, so that they work in IT companies from 7 am to 12 midnight and raise kids who become obsessive IIT aspirants. Guys like us don't usually hang out with ten pointers. And vice versa. Its difficult to decide which ones hate the other ones more. Nearly impossible. The tenps look down upon the fivers from their ivory towers and smile unpleasant smiles. And the five pointers look up and return them with equal loathing. But that is how the system works. Each of us are in their own places, happy to be hanging in there, the two extremes. The ten pointers happy that there is no upper limit than this, while the fivers thinking I can't possibly fall down below this! And life goes on. You can recognise ten pointers as easily as you can recognise five pointers. Short hair, coconut oiled(that is a must) obese, specs, and they go ambling around alone. You can guaruntee that all the places they know on the campus are the classrooms, library, their own rooms and hopefully, the mess atleast. My God these guys actually go to the professor's chambers and ask them doubts! But then, there is an unspoken mutual pact between the fivers and the tenners. We never come in each others ways, each thinking that is way below dignity. The real problem are the nine pointers.
Now these are the wannabe ten pointers. But they can never be tenners, cause you need to be perfect for that to happen, not a whisker away from it. But these guys never miss the opportunities to round off their CGPA's. Let me tell you how a nine pointer is- Take in all the qualities of a ten pointer, reduce the coconut oil a bit(maybe that is the secret ingredient of being the tenners)and give the guy a ultra proud look with an extra long nose. Viola! you have your very own nine pointer. Now the difference between a ten p and a nine p is of a guy who takes computer science because he actually loves it and a guy who takes up computer science after looking at the placements list. And what's bad is that they actually get in our way. They nose around, complain when we make noise while playing corridor football(what else is a guy supposed to do in a hostel?) whine if they don't get front seats in a lecture, ask questions, silly ones, just to impress the profs, hang out with ten pointers, borrow their notes and loose them, never lend anyone else their own ones, not even a day before the exam! Oh, I might finish this whole page writing this but I have to stop. Moral, nine ps are not very pleasant people to live with.
8 pointers are great. they have it all settled out, you know. How much time to work, how much time to play. If you ever want to be something in life but don't know what to be, get some advice from me- be 8 pointers. And you will lead a life worth living. These guys life is so balanced. They watch movies, fool around, hang out playing guitars and singing songs with us guys. They go to all the lectures. Take notes, but they don't mind if the guy next to them is playing snake 2 on his phone. A ten pointer would have freaked out and a nine pointer would have brought this thing to the professor's notice if they were in such a situation. Maybe thats why these guys never mix and mingle in classes. But the 8ps are so cool! And they let you photocopy their notes too!
The seven and the six pointers are just happy enough to be hanging around where they are. Yeah, they don't have to be in the league of those shameless 5ps with their guitars and long hair. But you know what, they envy us. Secretly. They envy us because of the fun we have. And they envy the 8, 9 and (ofcourse)the 10ps too. Because of their grades. These guys are totally clueless about what to do. Do they chuck their futures and enjoy as much as they ever can or do they grind their noses on Organic chemistry by Solomon and Fryhle until they are raw? They just don't know! And so they think about vector spaces when they are on the cricket pitch with us and play Sweet home Alabama in their heads in maths ll lectures. The difference between the 8 pointers and the 6-7 pointers is that, although each of them give the same time to work and play, the 8ps, work when they work and play when they play. These guys work when they play and play when they work. Told you, they are just so confused.
Now comes the part for which I had to write the whole crap above this- The five pointers. Now believe it or not, but we are the backbones of this system. We make ten pointers what they are. Because its all relative(I wish old Al was here to see this moment). We are the five pointers, and we are kicked around from classroom to classroom and our grades tumble down like a slinky on the stairs. But we are satisfied. We have faithful friends and we hang out with them. We learn so many new things. Like climbing up on the Roof of Students Activity Centre from the outside, guitaring for like five hours straight, sketching prof's portraits from the last bench. Now that requires skill. More stealth skill them art skill I must say. And in this world of grades and placements, we hold our heads high and stand tall and face trouble as it comes. we seize the day. We sieze the night! We are the wheels which run the system. We are the wheels which have to carry the load. We are the wheels who get smothered by the dirt.
But you know what, we don't complain. we have the time of our lives in the college. And we use our brains too! For good things, constructive things. But the only reason we are the way we are is that we do what our heart tells us to do. Now it may be wrong, it may be foolish and it may be taking us completely on the wrong track, but then, atleast we get to drive our own car!
Now for the important thing- and this is for all of us- the 10ps and the fivers- notice the capital SOME in the title. Now that is not a typo. Its probably the most important thing in this coffee fuelled maiden blog. Forget everything I said, no offence meant, about your CGPA's and listen to this carefully. Of all the things in the whole wide world, the one that is really important is that you have to be SOMEone. A five point someone or a ten point someone, it doesn't matter. But you have to be someone. You have to make your mark. There is a place for everyone in the college. The muggers, the wannabes, the cool guys, the slackers, the ten pointers, the five pointers. All you have to do is come forward and take your places. Not happy with the place you have now? No big deal. Strive hard to change it. But please, be somebody. Be someone. You gotta be someone. The college takes in everyone. Life takes in everyone. Its like one big college, isn't it? And then you are expelled from college if you mess things up big time, but this is no time for us to talk about that. Its time to stop writing and publish the first blog ever written by me!!!!!!!!!!!