Wednesday, February 01, 2006




How would one describe his memoirs? An anthology of certain events. Or something more. What about the trials and tribulations one goes through daily? Should they be written about? Talked about? Discussed on a public platform? I need not worry about the public part. Though technically the blog is open for all to see, till last count only about two to three people actually invest time browsing through it.

I have always considered baring ones heart out to someone else is a silly thing to do. One always ends up making a fool of oneself. Emotional restraint manages to keep people guessing. And hence avoids exploitation to a certain extent. My mom once exclaimed exasperatedly that she had never seen such an emotionless fellow as me. I took it as a compliment. But I realized that perhaps occasionally it would be a good idea to jot down those thought processes for future reference. I have noticed they generally entertain you at a later point of time. And hopefully it might prevent me from making the same mistakes. (Fat chance of that happening.)

So the next thing is to decide what to write and what not to. I will surely not want to know how my classes went and what I had for dinner. Or perhaps I would. Well, the point is that it’s not fair to classify something as boring and something as interesting. It all depends on how one views a thing. It’s all about presentation. A façade. A show. An extravaganza. If one can pull it off properly. So here goes. From now on I intend to be a little more forthcoming with my articles. My antics and instincts always ensure there is enough material about which I can go on spinning yarns about in this blog. Too many things seem to be happening to me all the time. So as Pota might have said, “it has become very necessary to document my youth.”


Here's something i came across while on one of my frequent aimless excursions in the cyberworld.
Salutations to the unknown composer. Hopefully i will manage to convince the hostel office to have this as our anthem for the new Giga-Mess.

I had my first real six rupees,
Stole it from my father's pants.
Went to a Madrasi hotel,
To eat the sambhar of 69.
Me and some kadke dost,
Had it all and we caught bukhaar,
Jimy puked, Joey got ulcers,
and Bagga ne maari dakar.

Oh when I went back there now,
the food was as stale as ever,
and though it was 1999,
Still the sambhar was being served over there,

That was the worst food of my life.

(So true. sigh!)