He was drunker than usual.

Yeah, I should really update my obsolete blog. I've had it for quite a while and haven't posted anything. It has been a hard year this 2013; many changes, new people coming in, many friendly ties loosening (not literally) and many more.

So I was going through this internet blog and came across this story. I didn't write it. It was a prompt from a person to write a story where the wife kills the husband and make the readers sympathize for both. I think this has just hit me hard.

Damn them Ninja Onions.

He was drunker than usual. Ordinarily, she would feel relief when he collapsed onto the couch by the TV. That meant he was too drunk to yell and fight. Tonight, she felt no relief. All she could do was watch him from the doorway, hoping he would drink the poisoned whiskey she had just poured him.
A lump sat in her throat as she watched his fat belly rise and fall with his labored breath. In his hand, he held the last drink she would ever pour for him. He sat there for a few minutes in silence without even looking at the glass of whiskey he clutched in his fat fingers. Then, without warning, he downed the entire glass in one movement.
He let the glass hit the ground and sighed. He would go to sleep soon. It wouldn’t be painful. Nowhere near as painful as the last twenty-three years had been for her. She wanted him to leave the world peacefully. She still loved him, after all. Still, she felt he deserved an explanation. At the very least, he deserved a good-bye.
She walked around to the front of the couch. He rolled his half-opened eyes in her direction and the two stared at each other in silence.
“There was more than whiskey in your drink,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry.”
“Your black eye is healing,” he said quietly. “You know I’m sorry about hurting you. Don’t you?”
She nodded.
“You were very beautiful once. I can still see it sometimes. When you smile. You don’t smile much these days. But when you do, your eyes flash like they did when we were teenagers. It reminds me of how young and beautiful we were. Young, beautiful, and carefree.”
“Your drink,” she said with tears forming in her eyes. “You’re dying. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” he whispered and slowly nodded. “I saw you pour it.”
She put her hands over her mouth and tried not to cry.
“Do you remember that field trip we took during our second year of high school?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“We spent the whole day together,” he said as his voice became fainter. “It was the first time I really met you. There were fifty or sixty of us there but I only cared about you. On the bus ride home, we sat next to each other. Do you remember now?”
She nodded.
“Everybody on the bus slept. They were so tired. But not us. We couldn’t stop talking to each other. We had so much to say back then. When you started to drift off to sleep, I was sad. But then you said something to me. Do you remember what it was?”
“I-” she paused to steady her voice. “I’m going to lean on you, ok?”
“Yeah,” he said as a smile slowly spread across his face. “And you fell asleep on my shoulder. I couldn’t sleep the whole bus ride because I was so happy that we were having that moment. And I know you didn’t sleep either. The bus bounced too much. And back then my arms were muscular. You just wanted to be close to me. I’m sorry I was such a lousy pillow. And I’m sorry I was an even lousier husband.”
She wanted to say something but could not.
His voice slowed even further. He spoke as if he was in a dream. “I still love you as much as I did on that bus ride. I just got worse at showing it. I’m sorry.”
She did not reply. She just stood and tried to compose herself. After a moment, she walked over and sat next to him on the couch.
“I’m going to lean on you, ok?” she whispered.
“Ok,” he replied as she rested her head against his arm.
The two sat in silence until his breathing stopped at last.

Camping in the Desert

So yeah, I could start again by saying "It has been a while since I've posted", but I'm making that too... redundant. So yeah, I went camping with my school about two weeks ago. It was in the midst of a desert, the sun boiling our heads like eggs. Basically, it was hot - burning hot. We started by going on a bus. I had a heavy rucksack and two massive water bottles. It was a 2day, 1 night hike and, to say the least, I enjoyed every second of it. It was painful, exasperating, fatiguing, prolonged albeit extremely fun. It created a divide between the physically fit and unfit people, and I could gladly say that I was the former. It was enjoyable, especially at night, when some of my friends brought a barbecue into the camp and we roasted chickens in the middle of the desert.


So day 1 started off monotonously. We arrived at our starting point by bus. One really hilarious thing which occurred was when one really hot and fit instructor (it was female, for anyone doubting my evident sexuality) was introducing herself, we were all quiet and stood as a group and listened to her. And then, once she finished her introduction this white kid broke the silence by blurting out "dibs". The laughter which followed it was unforgettable. Following that we prepared ourselves by filling our water bottles and flushed out our bodily fluids into bushes. Unaware of the treacherous trail which were to follow, the nerve-wrecking journey we were about to be associated with, we embarked on a mission we thought would be simple and quick. We had never been so wrong. It was easy, to say the least. I could say we were tired in 10 minutes on our 3 hour trek. It was a walking group of 13, and it was arguably the finest group ever. There was a mixture of humour and seriousness. We trekked for a while with a GPS in our hands, navigating through the hoards of camels and their wild poops. We walked a lot: up and down dunes, near some dangerous dune-bikers, etc,. It wasn't as easy as we thought, especially when sand gets into our trainers and makes our toes numb. Our instructor, Matt (unfortunately we didn't get that fit one), was interesting and explained to us the rule of 3. You can survive: 3 minutes without air, 3 days without water and 3 weeks without food. He also told how to find if a berry is poisonous. First rub it on your skin and leave it for 12 hours; if there's a rash don't consume, if there isn't then rub it on your lips and leave it for 12 hours. If there isn't a rash again, you are free to consume. 



We finally reached the campsite. We though it was going to be exquisite and a nice cosy environment after a long trek - nope. It was a regular campsite. It was as barren as Shashank's intelligence. They showed us our toilets. There were no toilets; we had to shit on the rocks behind this small thing. It was awful. I'm so glad I didn't need to take a dump. We set up our tent and I had this splitting headache. I took some Panadol and we waited for the sun to set. We set up a campfire and talked for a while. We set up a barbecue and roasted chicken. It was good, considering that it was in a desert and there were some serious fluctuations in the wind. We talked for a while and had a sexy time. I slept of early since I was fatigued. I was probably the first to dose off probably because half the people in the camp told me they saw me sleeping the following morning. 

The following morning arrived and I was the first to wake up. I just sat outside and brushed off all the sand of my bag. I brushed my teeth with my FINGER and ate SANDWICH. We packed out tent and we were of. It wasn't as hard compared to the other group, although we were using maps and bearings. It was easier and more enjoyable. On the way we had some camels follow us. One of the camels started licking my bag, which was weird. We marched quite a distance and finally we caught a glimpse of the bus. We ran for the bus - freedom! It was so tiring and we finally were on our way home. 

THIS IS SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST.

I guess a lot of time has passed since I've been blogging recently. I had to be reminded that I had a personal blog. Even though this is failing miserably, I guess I should try to keep up with the modern world.

So school has started, it is great. I had to create a new blog for my computing. I felt great when I opened it the following day of creation and it had two page views..... and I hadn't even posted anything. I really felt great, as the blog title has my name in it, and now I know two anonymous people had the pleasure of mistakenly landing on my blog, and reading my name. I guess this is the road to success. So in my excitement, I proceeded to write three posts which state what I learnt that subsequent day. I really hoped that I would become a success and it would pave my way out of school into an international blogger, acclaimed for writing down simple things I learnt. So I checked today, and guess how many page views I got? 6. Motherfucking 6. All my dreams crashed, like World Trade Centre. Wait, is that too harsh? I guess so. Nevermind.

So I got an English essay to complete over the weekend. It isn't similar to the Indian exams; all they do is ask one question and you have to write a whole essay on that. It's like writing so much about so little. No wonder girls outnumber the boys in my class 2 to 1. It's like they're built to talk so much, and have alternate interpretations. I guess you can say I've become stereotypical, but if you do, that's exactly what my Economics teacher said. I mean, in my essay about life expenditure and how it changes and you grow older, I put that after school people go to college. He got offended by it and gave me a lecture on how it is very less compared to other people who drop out and some who don't even have the right to education. I just said one good possibility, and I was sort of encouraging people to continue school as they will get a high paying job and stuff like that.

Man, I guess I'm not making sense, equivalent to my english essay I'm currently writing. It's like so difficult to write about what you think the author would've actually meant, when they've been dead for over 100 years. I feel that half the things I'm learning in school is basically useless. I mean, they don't teach me how income tax works or how a car insurance works, but thank god I know the Pythagoras' Theorem.

Back to school.

It has been a long time since I've blogged. And I guess a lot has happened since then. School's started, pretty boring and awesome, at the same time - if it is possible. I have had my ups and down, my english now has deteriorated to a point where I had to google how to spell "deteriorate". It's been so boring at home. I go out and all that although it doesn't feel like last year anymore. Everything is moving slowly probably cause of GCSEs.

And I've been more feeling worse a lot more. Especially that I lost my freaking phone. Yes, I lost it. After one amazing and awesome year, I had to lose it. It was probably the most demeaning time. So here's what happened. I was going to the park to meet my friend. I went by cab..... and I left it there. In the cab. The worst place to lose your phone - a public transport. So as I got down and checked my pocket. I realised. I ran. Too late. The car vanished before my eyes, with my phone. Goddammit.

When I told my mom, she looked, laughed and continued watching this stupid Hindi serial. That helped a lot. That fucking taxi cab took my phone and and broke my sim. I hope karma repays him one day. One day.

So yeah, its been a week without a phone, and to say the least, being a phoneless wonder doesn't make a massive difference. It is pretty much the same, except talking is harder. I hope I get one soon. 

Autopilot.

So I was browsing the internet at midnight, not being able to sleep, when I read this story. Gave me the chills. It isn't mine, but it was amazing.

Have you ever forgotten your phone?
When did you realise you’d forgotten it? I’m guessing you didn’t just smack your forehead and exclaim ‘damn’ apropos of nothing. The realisation probably didn’t dawn on you spontaneously. More likely, you reached for your phone, pawing open your pocket or handbag, and were momentarily confused by it not being there. Then you did a mental restep of the morning’s events.
Shit.
In my case, my phone’s alarm woke me up as normal but I realised the battery was lower than I expected. It was a new phone and it had this annoying habit of leaving applications running that drain the battery overnight. So, I put it on to charge while I showered instead of into my bag like normal. It was a momentary slip from the routine but that was all it took. Once in the shower, my brain got back into ‘the routine’ it follows every morning and that was it.
Forgotten.
This wasn’t just me being clumsy, as I later researched, this is a recognised brain function. Your brain doesn’t just work on one level, it works on many. Like, when you’re walking somewhere, you think about your destination and avoiding hazards, but you don’t need to think about keeping your legs moving properly. If you did, the entire world would turn into one massive hilarious QWOP cosplay. I wasn’t thinking about regulating my breathing, I was thinking whether I should grab a coffee on the drive to work (I did). I wasn’t thinking about moving my breakfast through my intestines, I was wondering whether I’d finish on time to pick up my daughter Emily from nursery after work or get stuck with another late fee. This is the thing; there’s a level of your brain that just deals with routine, so that the rest of the brain can think about other things.
Think about it. Think about your last commute. What do you actually remember? Little, if anything, probably. Most common journeys blur into one, and recalling any one in particular is scientifically proven to be difficult. Do something often enough and it becomes routine. Keep doing it and it stops being processed by the thinking bit of the brain and gets relegated to a part of the brain dedicated to dealing with routine. Your brain keeps doing it, without you thinking about it. Soon, you think about your route to work as much as you do keeping your legs moving when you walk. As in, not at all.
Most people call it autopilot. But there’s danger there. If you have a break in your routine, your ability to remember and account for the break is only as good as your ability to stop your brain going into routine mode. My ability to remember my phone being on the counter is only as reliable as my ability to stop my brain entering ‘morning routine mode’ which would dictate that my phone is actually in my bag. But I didn’t stop my brain entering routine mode. I got in the shower as normal. Routine started. Exception forgotten.
Autopilot engaged.
My brain was back in the routine. I showered, I shaved, the radio forecast amazing weather, I gave Emily her breakfast and loaded her into the car (she was so adorable that morning, she complained about the ‘bad sun’ in the morning blinding her, saying it stopped her having a little sleep on the way to nursery) and left. That was the routine. It didn’t matter that my phone was on the counter, charging silently. My brain was in the routine and in the routine my phone was in my bag. This is why I forgot my phone. Not clumsiness. Not negligence. Nothing more my brain entering routine mode and over-writing the exception.
Autopilot engaged.
I left for work. It’s a swelteringly hot day already. The bad sun had been burning since before my traitorously absent phone woke me. The steering wheel was burning hot to the touch when I sat down. I think I heard Emily shift over behind my driver’s seat to get out of the glare. But I got to work. Submitted the report. Attended the morning meeting. It’s not until I took a quick coffee break and reached for my phone that the illusion shattered. I did a mental restep. I remembered the dying battery. I remembered putting it on to charge. I remembered leaving it there.
My phone was on the counter.
Autopilot disengaged.
Again, therein lies the danger. Until you have that moment, the moment you reach for your phone and shatter the illusion, that part of the brain is still in routine mode. It has no reason to question the facts of the routine; that’s why it’s a routine. Attrition of repetition. It’s not as if anyone could say ‘why didn’t you remember your phone? Didn’t it occur to you? How could you forget? You must be negligent’; this is to miss the point. My brain was telling me the routine was completed as normal, despite the fact that it wasn’t. It wasn’t that I forgot my phone. According to my brain, according to the routine, my phone was in my bag. Why would I think to question it? Why would I check? Why would I suddenly remember, out of nowhere, that my phone was on the counter? My brain was wired into the routine and the routine was that my phone was in my bag.
The day continued to bake. The morning haze gave way to the relentless fever heat of the afternoon. Tarmac bubbled. The direct beams of heat threatened to crack the pavement. People swapped coffees for iced smoothies. Jackets discarded, sleeves rolled up, ties loosened, brows mopped. The parks slowly filled with sunbathers and BBQ’s. Window frames threatened to warp. The thermometer continued to swell. Thank fuck the offices were air conditioned.
But, as ever, the furnace of the day gave way to a cooler evening. Another day, another dollar. Still cursing myself for forgetting my phone, I drove home. The days heat had baked the inside of the car, releasing a horrible smell from somewhere. When I arrived on the driveway, the stones crunching comfortingly under my tyres, my wife greeted me at the door.
“Where’s Emily?”
Fuck.
As if the phone wasn’t bad enough. After everything I’d left Emily at the fucking nursery after all. I immediately sped back to the nursery. I got to the door and started practising my excuses, wondering vainly if I could charm my way out of a late fee. I saw a piece of paper stuck to the door.
“Due to vandalism overnight, please use side door. Today only.”
Overnight? What? The door was fine this morni-.
I froze. My knees shook.
Vandals. A change in the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
I hadn’t been here this morning.
My phone was on the counter.
I’d driven past because I was drinking my coffee. I’d not dropped off Emily.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d moved her seat. I hadn’t seen her in the mirror.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d fallen asleep out of the bad sun. She didn’t speak when I drove past her nursery.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d changed the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d changed the routine and I’d forgotten to drop her off.
My phone was on the counter.
9 hours. That car. That baking sun. No air. No water. No power. No help. That heat. A steering wheel too hot to touch.
That smell.
I walked to the car door. Numb. Shock.
I opened the door.
My phone was on the counter and my daughter was dead.
Autopilot disengaged.

Mon skills de persuasive. (this is not perfect french)

So I was going through my mail and deleting the old stuff when I came across this "poem" I made. I have no recollection of the poem or what ran through my head when I made this. Seems like I made two and sent it to +Sriaparna Reddy

Poem 1:
There once lived a girl
With beautiful lock of hair.
Then came a boy
Who looked like a bear.

He followed her around
and teased her a lot
And when the time came
He made up a plot

He tried to follow his plans
But all were in vain
He didn't have any plan B
So he suffered with pain.

He had no other choice
It may leave him off the hook
So will you please ever
Come back on facebook?

And when you come back
Don't turn your back, never
So if you do come back
Stay there forever.

I had no idea I actually sent this to her. I guess my persuasive skills aren't that bad after all B-|

P.S I take everything back, I do not mean anything especially the parts "there once lived a beautiful girl" and "who looked like a bear".

I guess I took it upon myself as a challenge to bring her back. In the end I can say - Challenge Completed. B)

Anyway it turns out there is an another poem after Aparna rejected my first one. That bitch.

Poem 2 - 

The stars shine bright at night

And when i glance they shimmer.

It is one of the most beautiful sight

And it cannot be better.

They remind me of your presence

Cause they make my night bright

And a day of their absence

Will never make it quite right.

Come back on Facebook, O might one

Cause they are like lice on ones head

They bite and burn like the sun.

Do come back and give them some meds.

Facebook might not be that good

Stalkers and posters who lost their mood

They come and like pics of food

They have no sense of humor too.

So come back and show them a lesson

A lesson try will ne'er forget.

Will no one be in your succession

And do things you will regret

Smash them, and choke them down

Cause you are the fearless girl

Who fears nothing besides the crown

Which you will soon wear with pearls.

So please come back in Facebook.

And display your immaculate looks.

Cause if your too late, your place shall be taken by Mitch

And will treat everyone like a bitch.

I'm pretty sure Aparna will be reading this. Curse you when you made me occupied my precious time creating this mediocre and lousy poem for an exceptionally loser-like person with an atrocious personality which no kid will look up to or compare him/her/itself with, while I could have used this time to solve and engage in one of the countless scientific questions about space and time and possibly, could have found a valid cure for cancer. Not even a blood-sucking tick would choose to feed of you. Thanks bitch for nothing.

Abandonment

So I got a feeling that the people back home feel my abandonment has made an impact in their lives which is so life-changing that every living second of my life, they have to make its presence visible or noticeable to me. It comes to my notice that people are trying to make my life miserable by "trying" to make me realize my "jackass" and "selfish" nature. Yes, I know, I have changed. I might have lost track of the last time I verbally or virtually communicated, gesture or oral or typed, with you.

It has been a long couple of months lately and I have learnt a lot about people. How people can hate you and simultaneously respect you at the same time, and vice versa. How hypocritical people can criticize you on your action, which in retrospect is equally their error too.

I know how much you've grumbled on about how I "abandoned" you and "forgotten" about you. Nice way to blame something on someone.

Oh life, thou art a bitch.

This had been a draft for an undisclosed amount of time. I felt like I should have posted it before.

Slumdog Millionaire - The book and the movie

The book is always better than the movie. And I read the book version of a world renowned movie, Slumdog Millionaire - winner of 7 Academy Awards including Best Movie. And honestly, the book way better than the movie, albeit it has an entirely different plot; so different that if you were to relate them, they would be like a woman and a diehard gamer - so different but still alike.

The book is called Q&A and the movie, well it is called Slumdog Millionaire. They are based on the same story - a guy from the lowest caste winning a Quiz Show according based his life story. But the movie has several alteration from the book - the story, the names and the question.

In the book, the name of the protagonist is Ram Mohammed Thomas. It was a special name given to him by Father Timothy, the acting father. The name has names from all three regions, to abrogate conflict in the area.

Meanwhile in the movie, the name is Jamal Malik, a muslim born with a parent. Only the mother is shown on screen, though. Jamal has an elder brother called Salim.

To be honest, the book is more thrilling, just like always. People think that the movie is the best, but I'm telling you the book is 100 times better. Or maybe more. And I am pretty sure I'm correct. Just like when I told some people Dubai is still in Asia and there is no language called Indian.

You are judged

You are judged.

Every second of every minute, every minute of every hour, you are judged.

You are judged on your looks, the way you walk, the way you talk, your accent, your smile, your complexion, your skin colour, your attitude, what you wear, the amount of make up you put.

You are judged.

Be it you're the President of the United States's janitor or the doctor providing free operations in Africa, you are judged.

Everyone has an opinion about you, even the lady who glanced at you on the road or that cute girl who you think took no notice of you.

You are judged.

And you cannot say that you don't have bad opinions about someone else. And that is absolutely fine, everyone has a bad opinion on everyone. What's wrong is if you share them with someone else.

It's funny how people remember your mistakes and bad traits instead of all the good and happy things. Funny how people gossip on your mistakes and the times you've screwed up when they hardly talk about the nice things you've done. And how one's opinion on someone can change your opinion on that person.

Funny world we live in, isn't it? We live for perfection; we need everyone to mould into our needs. We require them to be perfect for us, almost like a movie character. If they can't mould into our requirements, we just forget them and probably detest them for not meeting our needs, when we could have altered our requirements.

I might not be making complete sense, It's been a long day for me today and I have been going back and forth some malls. Bottom line is to try and keep your opinions on others to yourself, unless they are like oil to your water, then kill them with kerosene. 

Blog

Been a long time since I've blogged. I'm not gonna write anything sentimental or emotional or motivational or philosophical or comical. I have exams.

Adieu

I've learnt how...

So I know that I've haven't blogged in a while and I have learnt a couple of things from my surroundings and peers.

I've learnt how people can hate you and simultaneously respect you at the same time, and vice versa. I've learnt how hypocritical people can criticize your actions, which in retrospect is equally their error too. I've learnt how a person you trusted everything with can lie and spread stuff you said, then branding you an "abandon-er" and shit. I've learnt that people assume other people don't want to talk to them and ignore you and in the end, blame you for ignoring in the first place.

It's a fucked up world we live in. Getting blamed for everything. People can get on your nerves one way or the other. It's impossible to reason with people. They are like girls on PMS, maybe so me of them are. No matter who you are, people still remember you as an impetuous person. They just believe what they want to believe, and leave out what they don't.

I've learnt that people tell other people on things they shouldn't be telling, either on a trust or a moral belief. But they just tell it, either because they expect something in return such as trust or acknowledgement or just to vent out their temporary frustration.


I know how much you people think that I've been ignoring you and "abandoned" you lot, and I just don't want to go on on this. It's just funny how you can find mistakes in others better than in yourself.

Things which don't matter

So I was bored and I noticed people making list of things they wouldn't wanna change and would matter, I thought of being creative and thinking of things which didn't matter.

The 'No Smoking' sign on a cigarette box.
The brand of a stripper's lingerie.
The brand of your dustbin.
The age of your landlord's wife. (sometimes)
'Slow down' sign on a highway.
The Clinton legacy.
Censor clients on Justin Bieber song.
The word 'Rapid' in Rapid Delivery.
Deodorant to a cab driver.
Degree from an Online University.
White House petitions to Obama.
UN Sanctions on Kim-Jong-Il

Now comment the things that don't matter in the comments below. Let me see whose is best. They get a special treat from Dubai. And I keep my word.

.

Been long since I've blogged. Been to Chennai, gave everyone a surprise, came back and now back to retarded assessments and bored. I'll start blogging again later. Till then bye.

Piers Morgan, You beast.

So I was watching that debate between Alex Jones and Piers Morgan and I was amazed. Not because of the agenda, but because of the hyperbole and satiric humor. I really like the idea of deporting Piers Morgan but don't believe that that should be encouraged. I just think that Piers is standing up for something and is being blamed by everyone because his vision isn't bright enough to lighten up the other people's views. It's like a party guy describing the meaning of fun to an introvert, or a gamer.

Anyway, in other news, I got full in Statistics. I find it pretty awesome, if you don't then stay away from me. It was easy, mostly cause we got to use a calculator. AWESOME! but really, the questions were really easy. So easy that I could have attained the same mark if I had done it 2 years ago. It was basically Histograms and Rounding.

I planned to do well in art and try to make an amazing pop art. For a person who cannot draw a straight line with a scale, I hope I can do better drawing this time around. Till then, adios.

New year

So an another year has passed. Many memorable 'stuff' has happened. Many regrets, many accomplishments and all that sort of stuff. But the thing which overwhelms me is that I am getting old. There are things which I cannot do, like hide in the cupboard when my mom asks me to take a shower. Holidays and everyday shower don't go together, just like holiday and homework. But now I can stand up and say 'NO', like a man and not chicken out. But she normally states how superior she is in age and experience and in every method she will ground me. That makes me run into the bathroom as fast as gossips travel through girls.

2012 was absolutely amazing, and at the same time, as Aadarsh would say it, a 'collateral damage'. The next time he says it, inquire him the spelling. I bet he will be chocking for letters. Even though 2012 was an awesome year, if anyone asked me if I would like to relive it again, I would deny instantly. Yes, 2012 was pretty cool, but it ain't something I will wanna do again.

I can bet 2013 is gonna be awesome, and depressing. How I Met Your Mother is ending; have to find something else to do every Tuesday after-school.

Interesting fact: 2013 is the first year since 1987 to not have any recurring digits. Bet ya didn't know that did ya'?!