Maybe Alagappa Does The Astro?

Maybe Tesla does the astro
Maybe Tesla does the astro
Maybe Edison is AC/DC

Maybe Amity does the Astro? It does. It does. The Astro(il-)logy. It is, as it’s name so succintly points out, a highly (il-)logical “science”. But it appears that the latest fad that’s caught the imagination of the (now complete and spiffy, niffy and really neat looking) E-block, Amity University is the book “Love Signs” by Linda Lovelace Goodman.

It’s sad to watch those poor misguided souls, who actually expect that they’re “Engineers-in-the-making”, poring over the book with the kind of determination they’re supposed to read… naw, that’s too obvious. Just looking at the condition of the book tells you how popular it is. It’s as fat as a Bible, and is treated with the same amount of reverence. The pages are dog-eared and loose from X-Treme! overusage. And when my …if I call them friaaands once more they’ll kill me or worse, stop lending me money; wait! I know… And when my F dot R dot I dot ( ) started reading about MY prospects, well you know what’s to come. (These are the same people who have vowed to ensure that I do not spoil my kids, if I ever have any and also made me a BharatMatrimony.com profile!)

So, what does Linda Lovelace Goodman have to say about me? According to the highly (il-)logical “science”; Me -a Taurean (full of Bullshit)- will ideally be suited best with a number 7 Virgo or Capricorn with whom I share a 5-9 combination. I have no fucking idea what this means, seriously. So, I’ll enjoy a great relationship with a virgin who plays Right Midfield? (the usual position of a no.7 jersey) Or an all-rounder / wicketkeeper? (the usual profile of a no.7 bats(wo)man). Or do I have to lookout for the seventh child/daughter of the seventh son, born on the seventh day of the seventh month in seventeen seventy seven? Or will she be as big as a Boeing 777?

Let him who hath understanding
reckon the number of the beast
for it is a human number
its number is SEVEN???

On another note, I apparently share a very vibrant sexual chemistry with Sagittarians! Right.

And now for something, almost, but not quite completely different.

Eeeeeh, Didja ever get the feeling you was being watched?

Yes. Yes I did. Today, actually. The Proliferation of Fashion Part-3 is not complete because the ending is yet to occur. But this will find a mention in it, whenever it comes out. As stated before, the department that’s located right next to the Institute of Aerospace Engineering is… Fashion Technology! (They’re everywhere, I tells ya!). And from there cometh this very cute looking girl who seemed to be everywhere I was today.

I bumped into her at the stairs, stood behind her in the queue at the cafeteria (Stephenian snobbery right here!) and sat in the table next to her’s after collecting my coffee and glucose biscuits (ummm… glucose biscuits!). After ingesting the said items I walked out and then thought I had forgotten my cellphone at the table, so I turned around and again bumped into her whilst she was leaving the cafeteria. She was in the queue AGAIN during lunch and AGAIN, I bumped into her at the stairs, this time in a completely different part of the campus!

I swear I’m not following her! But this is freaky. I mean, what’s a cute girl doing following me around college? This makes no sense. Something’s up. I wonder who’s she’s working for… the CIA, ISI, LeT… Cute girls do not follow me around all day. They do the complete opposite. As Thom says,

When I am king, you will be first against the wall
with your opinion which is of no consequence at all
What’s there…? (I may be paranoid, but no android)
What’s there…? (I may be paranoid, but no android)

Before Sunrise

Finally saw the damn movie. It’s quite obvious that I’m not the kind of people who enjoy such flicks. I mean, it was no surprise that I happen to be a fan of four of the top five movies with the highest deaths in them. So… why this? Why a movie that drips with sappy romance?

Answer: Curiosity. It was recommended to me. I still thought I’ll never quite get around to watching it. Then my roommate sees it and gives me the review, “Ethan Hawke’s character is 80% you.” WTF?

Intrigued, I sat down and saw it in one uninterrupted stretch. And my review: I am definitely not like that, am I? As for the movie itself, I hate to say this… but it’s actually quite good. Yes, it’s romantic and unreal and all that crap… but it’s not annoyingly romantic, unreal and all that crap. And that makes a huge difference.

Plus, it’s Hollywood… It’s Europe… It’s Vienna… It’s a beautiful French girl and an American guy (I have given up trying to figure which kind of men women find attractive and which kind they don’t)… Instead of getting mugged, they find a poet who writes them a pretty decent poem… They *ahem, “make love” in a park and don’t get arrested and/or molested and killed by hoodlums… They find topics of conversation that last all evening…

So, yeah, it’s unrealistic and is capable of ruining a relationship by setting the bar for a romantic conversation while walking around a city somewhere in the stratosphere. But, strangely enough, most romantic movies do that. They’ll give couples an insanely unassailable benchmark which will make the people think, “Wait… this isn’t like <insert movie name here>, so he/she is not my “one true-blue honeybunny” love!”

Two down…

You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.

Twice, in my case. No problem: Time is on your side, Its on your side now. Not pushing you down and all around. It’s no cause for concern.

I usually deal with people in a manner similar to how Krishna dealt with Shishupal, give them an unspecified number of chances before actually doing anything (As Judiciary Pag LIVR a.k.a. Zipo Bibrok 5 × 10⁸ says, “Well, they’re entitled to an opinion? Right?“).

I make NO exceptions, do you hear me? None. So, two down… how many to go?

Ah… well… Seeing that you are not merely a first-order perturbation as most people are, but a higher-order derivation (maybe 4.2th?)… the coupling constant and stuff like that result in my quantum field theory giving this answer. That’s how many chances you get.

Award-winning stuff!

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.

I’m working on an entry. Strangely enough, I am at my creative best worst during Manufacturing Machines, Metrology and Aircraft Structures lectures. Hmm…

Here’s a first draft of my little piece of… (dot dot dot)

“TIMMAH!”, I said while sighing softly. The monotony of existential questioning left me dejected and feeling inadequate about myself and my place in the universe. Questions about what role do I play in the grand scheme of things gnawed at me, and they weren’t alone. For look! They were being accompanied by rats, who were gnawing in a similar manner at my gangrene leg and whilst they feasted on the fruits of my critically insufficient blood suppl, I feasted on the vivid diaspora of colors that caught the eye in a bright display, splendidly contrasted in a manner that can only occur due to the most artistic mixing of parts of the human anatomy, bodily fluids and infection-seeking maggots that reach beyond such meaningless emotions as pain, suffering and basic survival instinct, to instead render to a man’s eye a sudden feeling of transcendental achievement and fill his day with a fleeting sensation of happiness. “TIMMAH!”, I sighed again, happy this time as I looked at this sight and felt a warm glow kindle inside me; perhaps life isn’t so bad after all.

Watch out, Literary Review magazine’s Bad Sex In Fiction Award! You’re next!

The Babe Wore Red

What is it about some women? The one-in-a-million kind, who make your head go light and your mouth go dry and your heart climb up your throat? It’s not just their looks, it’s something else-something you can feel from across the room.Whatever it is, this babe has it in spades.

The description of me provided by the “good folks” at the NSIT Quiz Club is that I am “(…) Averse to losing (…)”. That’s kinda true. So, when it came to pass that I did lose and had to admit that I was wrong, and worse, had to admit that the roommate also referred to as “BITCH!” was right… It wasn’t something that made me happy. It was, however, because of something that made me happy that I had to throw in the towel. Listening to my brand new MP3 player… I had The White Stripes’ 2003 album, “Elephant” on. Everyone and their mom have heard the first single off this album. Dum da dum dum dum dummmm dummmm, the most distinctive bass riff of this century that in fact, comes from a semi-acoustic guitar.

Digression warning: However, most people don’t know anything else about this album. Alright, how’s this: For once, the academy was right. For once, I’ll agree that Radiohead deserved to lose. If you ask me, there are only two Radiohead albums that shouldn’t've won the “Best Alternative Album” Grammy, as opposed to the only two that have won. Amnesiac didn’t deserve to win. ‘’White Blood Cells” (which wasn’t even nominated!) is better, though you can’t compare an album that’s Led Zep meets Indie rock with Amnesiac, which is… Experimental, Electronic, Alternative, Techno, New Age, Jazz and everything else you can imagine all distorted using an array of electronic instruments, including the aptly named Kaoss Pad.
“Elephant” won ‘Best Alternative Album’ (beating Radiohead’s ”Hail To The Theif”) and ‘Best Rock Song’.

Now, the grand new conclusion I have arrived at which as stated, my roommate arrived to before me, is that Meg White is hot. Yes, goddam it! She is! There! You happy now! But how did I come to this conclusion? Simple. The fifth song of “Elephant”: ‘In The Cold, Cold Night’. I was sitting in my cafeteria, about to drink my coffee when this song started. I was mesmerized (and I’m not sure I wasn’t drooling too). Taking advantage of this, my *ahem, “friaands”, switched my coffee with a cup of tea (which is blasphemy on its own) which they had saturated with sodium chloride. But I didn’t care. Meg White singing, “Come to me again in the cold, cold night” was making me think about going to Detroit in the cold, cold night.

Of course, Meg is not quite ‘A Dame To Kill For’. That’s title goes to the one I fell for whilst in Bangalore. Sure, we weren’t together, but since when has space or time become a barrier? Modern technology did come to our aid in the end. Sitting late at night, using the power of the internet and the beauty, charm, grace, effortless efficiency and smooth processing of an Apple MacBook Pro coupled with the speed of modern broadband connections in getting to know her better, falling for her every step of the way, waiting for the first chance I’ll get to have her all for myself.

Yes, babe, I’m talking about you.

Please don’t kill me for this! Please?

This is another really bad joke brought to you by… THF/Gappa/Algy/Ala-insert insult here-/Me,

Forrest Gump meets Brokeback Mountain…

“Oh, Forrest! Where d’you want it, big boy?”

“In the buttocks, sir”

By the way, I’m listening to Metallica’s ‘Fade To Black’. Seeing that I’m already black… does that mean I’m fading? Or will I ‘Fade To White’? I’m da hommie from da hood ya’ll! All da beyaatches r in ma cribs, motherfuckers! Yeah… yeah..

Please don’t kill me. I know. But I had to! It was too good bad to resist.

Snap!

@ TBB: Thanks for the advice. 600 of your rupees every month in STD calls to me to listen to my bullshit. I’m gonna steal all the shit you told me, make minor modifications to it and pass it off as my own. Woot!

“Hello,” said Arthur, “something seems to be happening.”

“Get to the ship,” shouted Ford. “I don’t want to know, I don’t want to see, I don’t want to hear,” he yelled as he ran, “this is not my planet, I didn’t choose to be here, I don’t want to get involved, just get me out of here, and get me to a party, with people I can relate to!”

Any more jokes that go like, “Oh. I failed you” and followed by Seppuku will result in bloodied noses. I mean it.

I’ve had it. Enough is fucking enough. Most guys think it’s great to do exactly what I’m not gonna do. I have too much of an ego? I’m arrogant? I have to much self-respect? I’m a fucking moron? FDIK FDIC.

Is it any wonder that I’m listening to this song?

The News…

I’ve stopped watching TV news entirely. Print is the only way out. How bad are Indian TV News Channels? Let’s say that this post. This very one, the one you’re reading is more relevant than the crap that comes on the said networks.

So, the news:

1. I have an MP3 Player! I have an MP3 Player! It’s a 1GB Creative MuVo V100.
2. My mood right now can be encapsulated very simply by this poem.
3. I have been Knighted! I know DK came up with this first, but since all the (on an average, around an hour long) conversations I have with him and TBB come under the Creative Commons License, I am allowed to steal borrow it. A new semester, new professors and they demand an introduction. The trick lies in pausing at the right place. So, a simple statement, with a pause in the right place ensured that my introduction goes like, “My name is <pause> Sir, (a comma for grammar’s sake, but ignored whilst speaking) Harish”.
4. The Proliferation of Fashion part – 3 will take some time. My muse is apparently quite busy these days and cannot bear to strike me as often as she does.

The Proliferation of Fashion Part – 2

I always thought fashion was a waste of time. An over-rated, blown-out-of-proportion, meaningless scourge on the face of the planet. Fashion was jobless elitist, snobbish, ignoramuses from society exerting their stupid will on a necessity. We need to wear clothes, agreed (why couldn’t you make exceptions for Jessica Alba? Why? WHY?), but to say that this way of wearing something is somehow inherently inferior to that way of wearing it seemed to reek of authoritative ignorance. I always thought people who’re into fashion were:

1. Stupid
   
2. Arrogant 
3. Elitist 
4. Snobs
5. Stupid (Did I say that twice?) 
6. Not-in-touch with reality 
7. People who are incapable of doing anything else
   
8. A bunch of self-righteous, annoying pricks
9. If a guy, Gay.
   
10. If a girl, Hot.

The change began with my trip to Bangalore at the end of my first year. I spent a month with my cousin sister and her husband. Here’s something bout their backgrounds: My cousin sister did a Post-Graduate course in Knitwear from NIFT and is currently working in the Retail sector (?). She earns quite well (the minor hitch that she doesn’t know how to drive didn’t stop her from buying herself a Chevrolet Aveo) and enjoys a yuppie lifestyle of not “eating food” at a restaurant, but “experiencing cuisine”. She buys herself a pair of Jeans for over two grand, which is cool by me, only why the hell did you have to take ME along during your shopping expedition? Expedition. That’s precisely what it was. But the flip-side of all this fun is that she works her backside off. I’m sometime scared to go near her when she’s in one of her tense-because-of-work moods. I may be atheist, but what the hell!

Dear God,

Please don’t give a job like that. Please? Pretty Please?

Sincerely,

Me.

Her husband is easily one of the coolest people I know. Also a graduate from NIFT, he did a Master’s Degree in Design(?) from Amrika and has an Apple MacBook Pro. The MacBook is easily the sexiest thing ever manufactured. Sleek and stylish to look at and it runs like a charm thanks to a superior OS. (I hate Windows even more after having used OS X for a month). The only drawback was the lack of a DVD-drive, but the sheer ease with which I could use the MacBook more than made up for it. It also has the best set of pre-loaded apps. I-Tunes, Stellarium et cetera, make it possible to start off right after you remove the packaging, as opposed to “Driver Download Week” that comes with Windows. Right. Where was I?

 

to be continued…

The Proliferation of Fashion Part-1

Just a year ago, the word “fashion” coupled with the name “Harish Alagappa” would usually lead to a few raised eyebrows and an uneasy silence which would eventually be punctuated with the highly obvious statement that they’re not meant for each other, i.e. I can never be fashionable and no-one in fashion would ever be associated with me. To say that there exists a Wolfgang Pauli-esque Exclusion Principle applicable to fashion and Alagappa that states, “It is impossible for anything in fashion and anything to do with Alagappa to exist simultaneously in the same quantum and/or classical (macro) state”, would make a lot of sense and result in you being held maybe not in the highest of regard by your associate social contemporaries, but in some elevation; perhaps as “Someone to look out for. He/She/It speaketh the truth”.

But fashion has a way of infiltrating my life which would make the Kargil Invasion look like the opening sequence of 2001: A Space Invasion. It’s not as loud, (though I’ll admit, like the Kubrick film, there are quite a few semi-evolved simians involved) which is why it took me by complete surprise. 2007 is the year of Fashion Proliferation. This post documents how a guy on whom bookies would’ve refused to accept bets for a “Least Fashionable Man Alive” contest, suddenly found himself surrounded by fashion in the matter of a year.

My tryst with fashion has always been a strange one. It is said that it’s tough to say who’s fashionable and who’s not in an Indian school (thanks to uniforms). But I was the guy in school who famously:

• Wore the dirtiest pair of canvas shoes on a sports day where he was supposed to lead the house in a parade. They were green, as opposed to white, and hadn’t been cleaned in nearly 5 months, if not more.
• Never wore his collar button. Ever.
• Could never be trusted to look “decent” before any occasion. I always had to report half-an-hour before anything in school so that the organizers could make me go from “shabby” to “passable”. I hated those thirty minutes.
• Worst tie-knot. Ever. And if the proper position for it was taken to be the origin, my tie knot was usually located at 1.5-2 cms in the +ve X-direction and 3.5-4 cms in the –ve Y-direction.
• Bethany High has a pretty strict sense of fashion discipline. I was never caught. Why? I was with the fashion police. (Prefects, etc.) That was my teachers’ only solution. Part of the problem became part of the cure.

to be continued…