Category Archives: Rants

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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New Decade. Old Problems.

I guess it’s fascinating, looking at this blog. Apart from the obvious exercise in narcissism, it provides a unique insight into how much things have changed or have remained static over a considerable period of time. I started this blog in August 2005. It’s almost been 5 years now. I have gone from being a guy stuck in a KV, both fearful of his future and yet wildly optimistic at the same time to someone in a college he morbidly despises who seems to have ruined almost any chance he had of making a name for himself.

I cleared the written exam for the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research, Mumbai (hereafter referred to as TIFR). I shall abandon humility and say that I feel it’s a bloody noteworthy achievement. A guy who’s had as horrid a B.Tech experience as me isn’t expected to be the in 1 in 500 to clear a grueling entrance exam for India’s premier graduate school for Physics. TIFR offers the best Ph.D faculty, research options, library and stipend in India. That’s right, Ph.D. I beat people with Master’s degrees from the various IITs to get in here. Natansh might wonder why I’m blowing my own horn so much, but he’s already cleared a way more difficult national-level entrance exam. But it’ll probably amount to nothing. No way I can clear the interview. Not with all my baggage.

I qualified for the final round of the Young Sociologist of the Year Competition in Bangalore. In fact, I got my TIFR result barely a week after returning from Bangalore where I presented a Sociology paper. Met many interesting people. Virgil, who eventually won. Michael, who’s quip about how even the worst neighborhoods of San Diego are nowhere nearly as filthy as Koramangala (one of Bangalore’s more posh areas) and even the girls from Miranda House and Ferguson College who kept throwing wary glances at me as if they expected my to pounce on them at any moment. (Seriously, do I look like a rapist?)

I didn’t attend college for nearly 3 semesters in a row and in my last 2 years have missed more exams than I have given. Hence TIFR remains a dream that will not be realized. Not this year, at least.

2010 promises to be a defining year. It will be unforgettable, I can guarantee that. Whether I will want to relive these memories or erase them forever, they will haunt me.

This blog has really been an integral part of my identity throughout college. Be it my hormonally challenged posts that were evidently about Monisha (there! I said it!) or attempts at pseudo-intellectual candor, I always picked the worst time to write them. Which, I guess has been the defining trait of my life c.2005-2010. It has been a period of terrible decisions and bad timing. Thoughts that struggle to find meaning and ideas that come and go quicker than I can say, “Get me a pen and some paper!” The humor, the edge is gone because the confidence that is so necessary to drive it is n ruins. The arrogance you see is over-compensation for a feeling of inadequacy and it’s a vicious cycle. Confidence shatters, arrogant shell built. Arrogance causes problems, causes greater loss of confidence that breeds more arrogance. You get the rest.

Well, the decisions are no longer mine to take, are they? Perhaps my life follows a Seldon Plan. Or it’s just seldom planned. I wait and do nothing until I reach a crisis that affects my very existence and there exists only one course of action to take. So if my childhood was the Encyclopedia stage, perhaps the Salvor Hardin within me will soon find his services necessary. (To those who don’t get what I’m talking about here, I’m heavily referencing Isaac Asimov’s classic ‘Foundation’ saga).

And always remember, Don’t Panic.

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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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All Grown Up

I am oft described as being “a 12-year-old”.

My 21st birthday approacheth.

And I have finally learnt my lesson. Or so I hope.

Years of social isolation (people believe I exaggerate this. Trust me, I do not. The things most people take for granted about youth and adolescence and even one’s teenage years are closed chapters to me. I have learnt my lessons late. I am perhaps a “social dyslexic”) left me with perhaps the biggest misguided notion since “30% of all scientists at NASA are Indians”. And the notion is that it is good to believe in certain abstract values and guard these beliefs against the scrutiny of society. I see now that it is bullshit. I took my parables and fables and “life lessons” too seriously. I never quite outgrew them and have faced the repercussions. And now, at 21, I have finally realized that they were quaint little things one tells children and are not only untrue and inapplicable in the real world (note the lack of quotation marks), but the attempt to apply them in the real world can be detrimental.

Books lie. Philosophy is rubbish. Philosophers don’t apply their own philosophy. The ones that do, we never hear of. Because they end up like me. People with great “promise” who do not “realize their potential”. This isn’t a rant. At least I don’t feel like it is.

I have a fault. It is my beliefs. And to clarify, I’m not talking about religious beliefs, or lack thereof. It is my belief in things like “So what if the world around you is fucked up. You live life the way you want to.” Or “Have a dream. And follow it despite what obstacles come your way. Despite how far-fetched it may seem. Have a dream and follow it.” These things sound great but are utter rubbish. The heady idealism I have lived with my entire life is vanishing. And it is perhaps all the better for me. I am sick of being the iconoclast. Sick of being the “indifferent rebel.” I am just sick of it all. You come to a point in your life when you look back at it and realize how stupid you were for not following the crowd at some point. Every single time, you wanted to be different. Even at the times you were forced to integrate your desires with the demands of the world, you never could. Nothing stopped you consciously. Just this unnatural inner wall that somehow never let you do that. Never let you compromise. And even though that got you into the situation you find yourself in, you couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself for sticking to your beliefs over the prospect of immediate gratification. You hoped that since you were actually putting into practice the lessons you were taught about virtue and crap and were actually imbibed with the values society extols so vigorously and yet violates so rampantly, you would win the war at the cost of losing a few battles. But that isn’t really how the world works, is it?

The payoff for being so ridiculously bookish that you do not witness how the world doesn’t believe in a single word it says. The payoff for being what you want to be or what you believe you ought to be over what you should be is not nil, but negative. And that, my friends, is my birthday gift this year.

The idealism is gone. The will to change whatever the hell I wanted to is gone. I wanted to experiment with being a member of the human race, but I know very well that this experiment is going to extend indefinitely. It is time to stop being what you wanted to be and become what you should be. So what if a part of me dies in the process. It wasn’t a very good utilization of my time in any case.

I guess the only thing I will do that’ll hark back to my days of being a “rebel who didn’t know he was one and frankly wished he didn’t have to be seen that way” will be to tell any progeny I encounter to be absolutely terrible human beings. To not possess any virtuous quality. To never dream and to never do anything that goes against the zeitgeist of their age. That is truly the best way to get forward in the world. Be as horrible a person as you can and the world is your oyster.

I’m done now.

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Download Diary

I utterly despise the practice of alliterative phrases as titles. There is something fundamentally stupid about it. I mean, when I see an alliterative title I instantly assume that what layeth b’fore mine eyes is a chick-lit novel written by some NRI about the trials and tribulations of a teenage girl with orthodox Punjabi parents living in Brixton or Chelsea or Bedford or some such place. Apparently the only decently good novel in this genre is Meera Syal’s ‘Anita and Me’, whose title, please note, is not alliterative. So, eugh! Horrible title, but I can’t copy someone, who incidentally vouched for the decently good-like nature of ‘Anita and Me’, and title my post “Bah! I hate naming ‘me posts!” So, British Punjabi chick-lit title it is.

Anyhoo, this post is an appeal. In the words of David Gilmour and Roger Waters, “Hello… (Hello, hello)? Is there anybody in there?” Or rather, OUT there. I am sick of nobody reading my blog. I don’t write for myself. I write for recognition. For criticism and extravagant praise. For comparisons to Wodehouse and Shelley and Bacon and Shakespeare and Raymond Chandler and Sidney Sheldon. (Okay, maybe not him!) Or to have my writing blown to bits by comparing it to Chetan Bhagat and Jeffrey Archer and Sidney Sheldon (that’s his rightful place!) and John Grisham and Dan Brown (please! I’m not THAT bad, am I?). Well, I shall again quote another band I partially appreciate to explain the nature of my appeal.

Maybe it’s just something I can’t admit but lately,
I feel like I don’t give a shit.
Motivation such an aggravation,
Accusations don’t know how to take them.
Inspiration’s getting hard to fake it.
Concentration’s never hard to break it.

Basically, I don’t feel like writing stuff I’d normally write about. Even that paper I was planning to write is suffering from a massive problem which can be summarized quite succinctly as: where/how the fuck do I start?

So, to kick-start my writing habit, I ask you fair readers to comment more often. Even a “Lol!” will suffice… for the moment. And now to the tit…ular.

I am in the process of downloading the following movies:

  • Brazil. Directed by Monty Python’s very own Terry Gilliam, it apparently stars fellow Python Michael Palin. A supposed dystopian science-fiction parody, it is ‘1984’ made in 1984 by someone who didn’t read ‘1984’. Download time left: Will take a day, methinks.
  • Slumdog Millionaire. I usually hate movies about India made by the good folks of Hollywoodland. They stick to stereotypes and pass that off as a “gritty and realistic portrayal of India’s…<insert what the movie deals with here>”. Left to them, all of us can’t speak in English without our heads bobbing and always do so in high-pitched nasal tones, every guy is a rag-picker, every girl is a prostitute and we all live in Dharvi. But apparently this movie doesn’t stick to that line. It’s by Danny Boyle, who made ‘Trainspotting’ – a movie I liked. And AR’s winning quite a number of prestigious awards for his score. He picked up a Golden Globe nomination; last time I heard. Too bad no-one gives a flying fuck about those awards. Downloading… 3 hours left.
  • Frost/Nixon. Now, Ron Howard scares me. It’s not just that he actually knew The Fonz… he made A Beautiful Mind. Great flick and all, but realism was slaughtered for making it more cinematically appealing. I’ve always felt his movies’ primary objective is to win Oscars. Downloading… 23 hours.
  • Vicky Cristina Barcelona. The quiz circuit is a good place to pick up cinema recommendations. Worst place for music recommendations, though. Anyway, there were questions about this Woody Allen movie at quizzes at IIT Delhi and Kanpur. Plus, it does have pretty nifty sounding title. Let’s hope it’s not a chick flick from a pederast. What’s a… pederast, Harish? Shut the fuck up, Donny. Downloading… 14 hours.
  • There’re also some “so-bad-they’re-good” flicks I’m planning to get. Showgirls, Freddy Got Fingered, Plan 9 from Outer Space, Gunda, Jaani Dushman.

I like posts which have very little to do with the title. The title is not completely irrelevant, just very irrelevant.

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Groan

Exams concluded yesterday. Ow!
Drinking binge. Gulp!
Eating binge today. Graon!

And I’m not even in a rock band. In other news, 2 mentions in this years’ Shady Awards. Still no award!

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