Category Archives: Random

The blog is dead, long live the blog

This blog is dead.

It’s passed on. This blog is no more. It has ceased to be. It’s expired and gone to meet its maker. It’s a stiff. Bereft of life, it rests in peace. If it wasn’t an abstract personal journal on the World Wide Web and hence incapable of physical form, it’d be pushing up the daisies. Its creative processes are now history. It’s off the twig. It’s kicked the bucket; it’s shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible.

THIS IS AN EX-BLOG!

Go here instead.

 

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Older and, hopefully, wiser

I’m not going to use any gimmicks in this post. No protracted sentences. No loquaciousness. No references only understandable to certain people. It will just be my attempt at simple, straight, hard facts.

I have often complained of how life throws shit in my face. Whined in wangst at fate and the tortures it puts me through. And I did nothing about it.

A mining analogy:

We are all digging for gold, diamonds and other gems (ideological and literal) to enrich our lives. And some of us happen to hit a drainage pipe and end up with a pile of shit in our beloved gold mines. I am one of these people. People try to assist you out of this (in this analogy, literal, but otherwise metaphorical) shithole. And I was no different. Except that I didn’t use them to get out. Rather, I almost pulled them in.

Now, I’m through.

If I whine again, shoot me.

It is time for action.

But first… A few words which I have to make known public.

The people I knew while I wrote this blog over the past 4 years have defined this era of my life. An era that is reaching its end. And they deserve my thanks. I will not hide any details, by the way. If anyone here would like me to; say so and I will give you my id and password for WordPress. Knock yourselves out.

First, and most important:

Monisha Vemavarapu: Venom, SuperMon and a million sobriquets. No one has influenced me as much as she. Currently in London on an exchange program, she is dating a large, oafish, somewhat paranoid, whiny, self-obsessed and neurotic nutbag. I feel that she perhaps deserves better; but she’s a wiser judge of such things than I am. No one I have ever known has ever evolved so much so quickly. When I first was re-acquainted with her, she was a wild, kranti-kari, ultra-modernist pseudo-hippie. She is now one of the most level-headed determined and pragmatically intelligent people I know. I will be frank: When I first met her, both online and in person, I felt I was the superior individual. But I must now concede this title to her. She has proven herself to be a most fascinating person and one who accepts a random destiny with an élan that I wish I possessed. Monisha is one of those people who you just know will not fade quietly into the night, and will leave a mark on the world. I find my vocabulary failing me in my attempts to describe how happy I am to have known, and know, this singularly unique individual. I sincerely hope that we will never become strangers through providence or (more likely) some ridiculous action of mine.

Nimish Batra: After working at Infosys Technologies in Bangalore, Nimish is now pursuing a Master’s degree at the University of Florida. Nimish’s jesting misanthropy was what really resulted in our ever becoming friends. We shared in our fandom for Douglas Adams, I introduced him to Radiohead, and he introduced me to Monty Python. But in our protracted one-downmanship contests, (held periodically over the internet, the telephone and in person) I believe I learnt a lot. And perhaps too much. I appreciate and respect him for a lot of things, but I must say that what applies to me in a large measure applies to you too… Stop whining. Shut up and live. The thing about Nimish that few people get is that he is a genuinely warm-hearted person. Try visiting his home in South Ex, and be amazed at the hospitality shown by him and his family. One part of his brain has the capacity to make him do what’s necessary and drag him across the finish line while the other part is kicking and screaming. As long as that former part dominates the latter, he has nothing to worry about. Genuinely.

Dinesh Kapur: Decay is currently working in Gurgaon for a sustainable ventures firm whose name I can never remember, but it starts with a W. (edit: WinRock! It’s WinRock!) His George Best old-school footballing skills are no longer useful to him in the modern game much like my Karl Marx old-school thinking skills are of no use to me in the modern world. As I’ve often said; this man is a kindred spirit. We’re almost alter-egos of each other. Decay is someone who I can trust to understand my point of view on a matter, usually because he’s been there before. Like Monisha, Dinesh is someone who I feel is destined for far bigger things in life than he can possibly see now. And like Monisha, is an individual in possession of far too many talents, such that it looks unfair to the rest of us.

Anupam Guha: After a successful stint at the Georgia Institute of Technology (where he completed a 2-year Master’s course in a year with a perfect 4.0 CGPA), Guha is currently in Ahmadabad, working for a company that pays him to essentially be their poster-boy. His relationship with Anupama (who I’ve never met properly) was much joked about (my contribution was the idea for “Anupam (1+a)” wedding cards) in college. Oddly enough, it appears to be highly likely that theirs’ will be the first marriage of a friend that I will be a guest of. The conversations on every topic under and beyond the sun were, and still remain, much appreciated. Even the ones where we vehemently disagree. And his conviction to “save” me and show me that humanity is worth saving might just pay off. The path of the wannabe Bushido-ist is fraught with many perils, I joked of him. Well it appears that he intends on making these words an eerie prophecy. Much like a Katana, he has forged his tamahagane worldviews by repeatedly putting it through fire, folding it and beating the shit of it. And that’s why Guha will probably end up as that rarest species of all: A happy, intelligent man who is satisfied with his life and the world he is living in. Or we’ll embark on our plan for revolution. He’ll be Trotsky, I’ll be Stalin… Minus the backstabbing, of course.

Ashwin Murali: After half a year of working 80-90 hour weeks at Citibank, he’s now at his palatial penthouse in Nasik preparing for a second MBA. Ashwin’s greatest trait as a friend has been his ability to listen to me constantly abuse, demote, shout at, vilify and generally insult him for over 3 years with a patient nod and that irritatingly reassuring stupid smile. He set me off on a tangential path in my worldview, for which I still hate him by the way, but it might perhaps lead to a better future. You better hope it does bro.

Akhil Garg: Working at Accenture in Hyderabad, his tryst with the Alagappa family continues as my sister was his HR rep as a trainee. We have both learnt, very late, that we weren’t as bad roommates to have as we thought. Perhaps immaturity came between what could’ve been a far more rewarding friendship for us.

Swati, Priya and Ankur: Swati is working with Wipro in Bangalore while Priya is doing her Master’s at the University of Sussex, I believe. Ankur is doing his Master’s at IIT Kharagpur. I drove you guys away from me in a fit of madness and have regretted that decision since. My yet unfinished college life would have been far better if I had not done that.

Nitesh Bhasin: The entrepreneur and fellow backlogger. We really dump on you more than you deserve. The fact remains that if you hadn’t taken the effort of befriending me in IP University that day, I wouldn’t have gotten to know a lot of the people mentioned here. You’ll either end up in jail or in Forbes. Have fun in Vegas.

M.V. Harish: Another man at Georgia Tech, here’s to perpetuating the “crazy Telugu mofo” image with me. Keep it real with the brothas in the hood in Atlanta. We’ll meet up in a gun shop or seedy beer bar someday.

Many others ought to feature in this list, but I feel it has become so sappy, your monitors might have started leaking already; so wait for another epiphany and moment of emo-ness.

Seriously, I have so many epiphanies; it’s hard to tell which ones are genuine.

Oh, and I almost to mention… This post formally ends this blog. There will be no more posting on Chaosverse any longer. Frankly, I would like some order. Unpredictability and randomness are, as always, welcome; but I’ve had it with the chaos.

I would like to delete this blog, but perhaps will save it. Someday, the people mentioned in this post will look back and this and other posts and laugh at the naivety, stupidity, folly, and immaturity on display.

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The 22-year old kid…

Adolescence is a funny time in anyone’s life. It’s the metaphorical bridge between childhood and adulthood. Unfortunately, it’s a rickety old bridge above a deep gorge with a lot of missing bits of wood in between and a strong wind shaking it quite fiercely. Negotiating this bridge is not an easy task. If you’re wondering why I’m talking about puberty (usually experienced between the ages of 12-18) at the age of 22, you probably haven’t heard another one of my pseudo-psychological theories yet. (Actually, can you call something pseudo-psychological? Isn’t most of psychology a pseudoscience anyhow?)

Listen:

Most people start puberty at the ages of 11-14. In guys; their balls drop, their Adam’s apple starts to stick out, their voice becomes deeper, and they are kicked in their newly dropped balls by an unrelenting, all-consuming and frankly, maddening, sexual appetite. Porn replaces cartoons and girls take the place of sports heroes. Physically, it’s a tumultuous time. I was fortunate enough to suffer through this unpleasant process early and quickly. By the time I was 15; I was 6 feet tall and had a voice that boomed over the squeaks of my peers.

Unfortunately, this phase in human development has another, far more diabolical purpose. It is during this time that most people are expected to acquaint themselves with the intricacies of that most inexplicable phenomenon: Social Interaction. The rules of the game are never told to us. We are left fumbling about in the dark trying to figure them out ourselves and most people succeed – though success in this matter depends on your immediate social group, where you are, who you are and the culture you’re living in. People either become followers of mainstream culture or counter-culture or counter-mainstream counter-culture and so on. Some people became leaders in their peer group, while others became followers. But by the time you entered college; you knew the rules quite well.

By the time you were 18, you had made and lost friends many times over. You had made BFFs and Frenemies. You had “a gang,” so to speak. That gang is simply your social circle. The people you hung out with during recess and lunch and after school. Whom you met up with on Saturday mornings to indulge in whatever group activities you indulged in. On whose birthdays you bought gifts and went for parties. You had your first experiences with romantic infatuations. You had crushes. Asked girls/guys out or were asked out. Had fledgling school romances or, if you were in Bethany High, full-fledged sexual relationships with little emotional contact. (This was brought to my attention by people who would go, “You’re from Bethany? Awesome! I’ve heard the girls there are complete sluts!” and I would go, “Really? Wish I knew them!”). Basically, by 18, and definitely by 22; the rules of social interaction are known to you.

Well…

I was never a friendly kid. I was shy. Very shy. If it wasn’t for my height or unusual build or propensity to pick fights with teachers, I would’ve easily passed under most radars. Instead, I was treated with a mixture of infamy and indifference. People knew me. But no-one befriended me. And this isn’t a sad story of the lonely duckling and studly swan. This was my world and I liked it. I didn’t have a social group, but I had a few seniors from school who were my quizzing teammates with whom I’d play football in the evening and discuss politics and music and sport. But I was sort of a guest member. I never went to their homes or their birthday parties. And I didn’t feel bad about it. “You guys aren’t playing football today?” “Nah, we’re going to XYZ’s birthday party” “Right, tomorrow then.” They wouldn’t call me their friend, but they were probably the closest I ever had to friends.

Delhi was no different. 2 years in KV. Heckled, hazed and ridiculed; I didn’t make any friends in school here. I didn’t care. There were things happening at home that occupied most of my mind.

Then I came to college. I was surrounded by people whose emotional quotient far outstripped mine. And here, I finally made a friend or two. It took me time. People started calling me at home when they were bored and would talk to me for an hour or so! I ended up with my own personal team of clowns to entertain and annoy me at home (my roommates). I started talking to girls. Yes, before I was 18, I never spoke to girls. I thought it was evident.

This. These few years here, have been my puberty. I’m a child living in a world of adults. And I’m lost. I need a crash course. I need to learn the rules. Apparently I can’t go with the trial and error method you guys had the luxury of experimenting with when you were 13, because it doesn’t work with 22 year-olds. I don’t know who my friends are and who merely count as acquaintances. I don’t know anything about dealing with people. Or dealing with groups of people. I feel intimidated by them and so I plug in an mp3 player.

In conclusion, I would appreciate someone tutoring me to get my emotional age up to speed with my physical age. I’m told I’m a quick learner.

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The …’s of the Decade

I expect publications will be indulging in their year-end exercise in scatology with greater vigour this year.  It is, after all, the end of the first decade of the second millennium in the rears of our lord. (Anus Domini)

So, be not surprised if Rolling Stone ranks Amy Winehouse as the Artist of the Decade and if Kate Moss tops Vogue’s list of Celebrities For Whom Children Should Give Up Reading Books Or Developing Any Semblance Of Intelligence To Ape Blindly And If They Die Of Forced Starvation, Hallelujah To The Gene Pool!… of the Decade. (The benefit of that last statement is that the only people it could possibly offend wouldn’t be able to read and/or understand it. Except Nimish, perhaps.)

But… Where was I? Ah, yes. Nowhere. Excellent.

So, since every blog and magazine that follows the Christian era calendar will probably have come out with this list or will be coming out with such a list in the very, very immediate (There’s one right behind you. Seriously, take a look) future; I thought I might use this as a good place to get back into the habit of filling up this blog, and thus entertaining my Brain-esque delusions of grandeur. Therefore, I give you:

HARISH’S LIST OF TOP 10 ALBUMS OF THE DECADE!

  1. Kid A ~ Radiohead (2000)
    Yes. The decade’s best album came out in October 2000. Listen to it. 50 times. 100 times. For every day between October 2000 to December 2009. And then hear it again. You’ll still find something new you’d never heard before, you’ll find another possible meaning behind a line you heard a 100 times, or realize that in the second song Thom Yorke doesn’t say “fssshaaaaddddmmaaaaeeee“, but rather: “falling in the shadows at the end of my bed…“. I still don’t know whether he says “Take the money and run” or “Take the money, Enron” in Idioteque. Album of the Decade and perhaps the 2nd or 3rd greatest of all-time.
  2. Get Behind Me Satan ~ The White Stripes (2005)
    I first heard the White Stripes in the year 2003, as almost everybody did, thanks the song ‘Seven Nation Army’. The reason they never became really popular in India after that song can be explained very easily. It’s this album. In 2005, the Delhi Times reported that the White Strobes'(sic.) album Get Behind Satan(sic.) has been nominated for the Album of the Year Grammy. It didn’t win, proving it truly was the Best Album of that Year. The complete abandonment of Jack White’s trademark guitar-work was just the start. The songs were more… complete. I can never explain why I think this album is pure genius. But it just is.
  3. A Rush Of Blood To The Head ~ Coldplay (2002) 
    Before Nimish and I started ripping Viva La Vida a new one, we (and many others) were massive Coldplay fans and had discussions about how Radiohead and Coldplay will be our generation’s equivalent of The Beatles and Led Zeppelin. This album was the reason. Every single song is amazing. Every. Last. One. The surprising thing is that the guy who wrote and sang these songs didn’t get laid till he was 23. Strange.
  4. Amnesiac ~ Radiohead (2001)
    If anyone tells you Kid A sounds sane and soothes them there can only be two reasons. They didn’t hear the album or… they’ve heard this one. A limitless source of twitter posts for your’s truly; Amnesiac takes the controlled Fuck-Rock experiment of Kid A and hands it over to Daffy Duck, Wile E. Coyote and Dr. Frankenstein. I can talk endlessly about how Pyramid Song is perhaps Radiohead’s finest hour or how You And Whose Army should be the background song to a bloody and brutal anime where Samurai Jack goes beserk, but I’ll quote Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin  Box as a precursor to potential, but unlikely, flame wars in the comments thread… “I’m a reasonable man, get off my case
  5. Elephant ~ The White Stripes (2003)
    The best guitar-driven album since… Physical Graffiti? Easily the best guitar work in the 2000s. Listening to Jack White play the guitar is like what Helena Bonham Carter’s character of Marla must’ve felt like when getting fucked by Tyler Durden. It’s brutal and yet feels amazing. Seven Nation Army, Black Math, I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself, Ball and Biscuit, The Air Near My Fingers… The switches, the shifts in tempo, sudden riffs… Man’s a genius. And the album cover is layered and ends in a re-he-heaaally bad joke.
  6. Vampire Weekend ~ Vampire Weekend (2008)
    I feel a weird sense of superiority when I “discover” a band. Vampire Weekend was my most recent one. I first heard them cover ‘Exit Music (For A Film)’ on the OK Computer tribute album that Nimish was giving everyone on his blog. But it took songs like A-Punk, Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa, One and Walcott for me to realize these Ivy League guys were a find I’ll be bragging about for years.
  7. The Marshall Mathers LP ~ Eminem (2000)
    Again, an album that came out a few months into the decade is in this list because… uh… Fuck You. This is when what Eminem said and did was still THE most controversial stuff in the history of western music. But it was also hilarious and quite cleverly written. The moment you realize a song by Dido (which is used to get girls wearing fluffy pink slippers into a good mood) is sampled only to be followed by the words, “Shut up bitch! I’m trying to talk! Hey Slim, that’s my girlfriend screamin in the trunk but I didn’t slit her throat, I just tied her up, see I ain’t like you cause if she suffocates she’ll suffer more, and then she’ll die too” is when you realize this cracka! has some skill.
  8. Alive 2007 ~ Daft Punk (2007)
    Even I dance when I hear this. Yes, it’s dancing; not a recreation of how someone with ALS looks like when he’s having an epileptic fit. Daft Punk live sounds like such an amazing experience, I wouldn’t mind being surrounded by tens and thousands of people who just think of the duo as people playing music for them to dance to. I’m stronger than that. Or, as these French Robots say, “‘Tronga!” than that.
  9. Toxicity ~ System Of A Down (2001)
    I think the frightening thing about this album is that it released exactly a week before 9/11.  And with lyrics about toxicity in our cities and disorder, disorder, disorder… Damn! But nevertheless, the album is the best metal album of this decade by a light-year. I mean, what’re you going to compare this with? St. Anger?

    Okay, I’m feeling quite hungry and am almost out of time at the cyber place. So I might put up some more comments for 10. Or not.

  10. Gorillaz ~ Gorillaz (2001)

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Planning my vengeance that I will soon unfold…

Good morning and welcome to Classics Hour!

I’ve been in classics mode while sleeping (yes, I slept early tonight! I know what caused the insomnia now.)

The point is, my dreams were sponsored by a classic rock radio station. Because I have woken up with three songs stuck very distinctly in my head. Rather than just give you the title of the songs with the corresponding advice to “check them out! They rock! LOLZ!”, I’ve decided to do the even more annoying thing at this point; i.e. post these songs here. With lyrics, if you – like me – like to air sing and air guitar along with the song.

I guess anyone familiar with the significance of the title knows the first song.

And a bit of advice: If you are ever in the need to serenade Venom (who’s left a comment here after a 2-year gap?), NEVER use any of these songs. Trust me. Stick to “Words” by Ronan Keating or “Paint My Love” by Michael Learns To Rock. This advice applies across the board to all girls, I would assume.

But FUCK THAT! LET’S ROCK!

Song #1 that featured prominently in the soundtrack to my sleep: Iron Man by Black Sabbath.

Song #2: Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas (a.k.a. The song around which the South Park episode, Guitar Queer-o revolved. And to anyone who has thoroughly enjoyed ‘Rock On’, give this episode a watch!)

Song #3: More Than A Feeling by Boston. (This song refuses to leave my head. It’s been there for more than a day now!)

Why the sudden classic/prog phase? Who knows? A diverse and often eccentric taste in music is something that’s associated quite strongly with me. Tomorrow, I’ll put up a video of this cool Aria I found on youtube.

Till then, raise your index and ‘pinky’ while holding your middle and ring finger to your palm using your thumb. \m/

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A Man Of Constant Sorrow

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

An adaptation of Homer’s Odyssey set in 1930s Mississippi. A great soundtrack, brilliant screenplay and visually captivating. The Coen Brothers have yet to disappoint me. Come to think about it, we’re living in the age of David Fincher, Alfonso Cuaron, Christopher Nolan, Quentin Tarantino (and some people I know from the quizzing circuit will want to add Anurag Kashyap to that league) who are absolutely brilliant directors whose style of movie making is not recognised until it falls into the paradigm of what an award-winning movie ought to be. Even Danny Boyle, for that matter. I’m surprised this didn’t win Best Picture at the Oscars. I guess it’s not serious enough. Which is ironical, considering the source of the title of this hyaar picture. A couple of quotes, if I may be permitted:

Ulysses: Deceitful, two-faced she-woman. Never trust a female Delmar, remember that one simple precept and your time with me will not have been ill spent.
Delmar O’Donnell: Ok, Everett.
Ulysses: Hit by a train! Truth means nothing to a woman, Delmar. Trying for the subjective. You ever been with a woman?
Delmar O’Donnell: Well, I… I… I gotta get the family farm back before I can start thinking about that.
Ulysses: That’s right, if then. Believe me Delmar, woman is the most fiendish instrument of torture ever devised to bedevil the days of man.


Pete: Well hell, it ain’t square one! Ain’t nobody gonna pick up three filthy, unshaved hitch-hikers, and one of them a know-it-all that can’t keep his trap shut.
Ulysses: Pete, the personal rancor reflected in that remark I don’t intend to dignify with comment. But I would like to address your general attitude of hopeless negativism. Consider the lilies of the goddamn field or… hell! Take at look at Delmar here as your paradigm of hope.
Delmar O’Donnell: Yeah, look at me.

I’m not gonna wax eloquently about the movie. I’m not in the mood. But I will put up a couple of videos. Btw, who wouldn’t run towards those sirens. Hot-damn! Them syreens just make yer wanna whip yer moe-rals off and start a-fornicatin’!

Speaking of moe-rals, The Batra Being and I had an interesting conversation, replete with puns (as always) about exactly what character trait we possess that single-handedly manages to negate our chances for success. The gist is not dissimilar to this post, though the conversation was funnier. What I need is a secretary to write down things I dictate, as the words that proceed forth from my mouth tend to be far more endowed with eloquence than the crap I type on a keyboard. Or maybe I ought to work on around 10,000 hours of writing (Malcolm Gladwell, you better be right about this!)

Oh, the videos:

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Trust and Abbey!

Perhaps I am guilty of the crime of “nostalgia-esque”. Nostalgia-esque is not exactly looking at some areas of one’s past through rose-tinted glasses, but looking at areas through a kind of warped vision and drawing inferences that somehow never struck you then.

I was in a long discussion with Ashwin about the various places we’ve lived in in Noida. How life seemed so much simpler then. Of course, a read through my blog posts written at that tine will show that life never was that simple. Or carefree and beautiful. The good ol’ days, weren’t so good. Back in the good ‘ol days, we looked back to the better, ol’er days, which will of course start us off on a path of infinite regression justifying DNA’s statement that the creation of the universe was a very bad move.

Since then, my thoughts have been wandering to my days at Bethany High. The few rare times I get back in touch with anyone from my school is during my birthday, when I receive a birthday wish and reply with a “Thank You. And how are you? Long time no see; etc etc”. I have since found out that amongst all the people in my school and especially my fellows of the batch of 2004 (class 10, that is)  are not quite as annoying as I originally perceived. I guess, at the time, I just didn’t want any part of the massive friends phenomenon that was prevalent in school-life throughout the country. I probably still don’t. Bethany High School had a very “un-cool” motto. Uncool because it wasn’t long and poignant and it wasn’t in Latin (unlike the posher, older schools of Bangalore such as Bishop Cottons – estd. 1854). The motto was simple: Trust and Obey. Orwellian? Perhaps. The school song went Trust and Obey, for there’s no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey. Basically, the school was built on the principle of unquestioning faith and devotion to that venerable Mexican-named, Arab carpenter who the western world loves so much. And perhaps this ethic permeated throughout the school. There was loyalty to one’s gang of friends. Loyalty that went above reason. Thus, if your friend said that David Beckham is a better footballer than Zinedine Zidane and in fact, Zidane couldn’t hit the side of the boat on which his parents emigrated from Algeria and immigrated to France; you agreed. Only your’s truly somehow never was imbibed with such a sense of loyalty. As a consequence, I was left bereft of trust. A condition that lasts until this day.

Insecurity is a terrible feeling, really. It gnaws at your soul, like a rat biting your shoe. I ought to know. Rats have bitten my shoes and I am comprised of many vapid, insecure individuals. I expect people to stab me in the back all too often. I look at things with a level of negativity that borders on a sadist desire for things to be that painful and interpret the worst potential outcome as the implication in any part of a thing I do not understand. The girls of Bethany High School had a very annoying habit of forming a membrane of sorts around the door to the classroom. And everyday, as I walked along a corridor, these groups of girls would giggle. I wondered about what could be the cause of this giggling. If ever I stopped and looked around, trying to figure out why they were making that incredibly irritating sound, they would merely increase their frequency and amplitude. Within no time, I got into the habit of not making eye contact with anyone and walking down the corridor as quickly as I could. I still heard the giggles, but paid no attention to them. Staring at the ground, at the ceiling, in the opposite direction, anything to avoid them.

When I look at my social awkwardness today, I see signs of the 8th-standard boy almost running down the corridor because he thought that everybody was laughing at him. I am known for causing uncomfortable silences. I try to break them myself, but that just prolongs them. I have since tried to master the art of blending into the background, hoping to be ignored. Not very smart, seeing that I am usually the tallest, fattest and even darkest person in the group. (In Delhi, the colour of one’s skin plays a more important role than it should)

This is just a rambling rant. It’s like one of the shaggy dog stories an old man with demetia would tell you.

The summary, I guess, would be this: Bethany High School was a place where I was sent to be educated. I didn’t end up receiving too much. But what I neglected the most were the social skills I was supposed to learn. I am someone who genuinely believes the world is out to get him. Who thinks that the closer someone will come to him, the more brutal their eventual betrayal. If only I could imbibe my alma mater’s slogan, perhaps, I would be a better person. But I guess, even 5 years after my graduation from the green and black corridors of Bethany High, I still think people are laughing at me. I still think people do horrible things to me, without me even being aware of it.

The worst part is, if I do find a single instance of such an event, I guess I will not only be vindicated for being paranoid… I will… Chuck it.

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