bike, Hobbies, materialistic philosophy, my life, travel

Here I Go on the road again

the call of the road

 

I love to drive. I really love to drive. I really totally love to drive. I really totally absolutely love to drive. Humans invented words to be able to communicate . While it is true that our mastery of larynx has enabled us to become masters of the world and deluded us into creating competitions to find the most beautiful thing that breathes in the universe, no matter how many daggers I inflict on the works of Wren and Martin and the guardians of English dictionary , I cannot honestly describe the joy that driving gives to me. Words can indeed be funny, only way to describe your love for anything is to write that you cannot describe them in words.

So, I love to drive. I love to drive fast. In India, driving fast is not something that any cardiologist will recommend to the fainthearted. Driving on the roads of India, it sometimes makes me wonder where did Stan Lee get the inspiration for his characters . Maybe it was good that he did not live in India or else his description of the physical self of his characters would be so much realistic. Every day in India you have people take to the road that they are the one and only spider-man and superman. Helmets are something meant for people whose brain skulls are made of fragile calcium composite. Driving on the wrong side is only way to drive specially if most of the lesser mortals who are driving at over 100 km per hour stand to disintegrate after a head on collision with the superman. The best part of it all is that the biggest superpower of Indian motorists is the high beam light that shields them from harms way by blinding the oncoming traffic driving on the right side of the road.

So, I have a self-destructive love. And there hangs the tale or whatever Lord Archer might have programmed my brain to mutter. If I am to analyse every thing I do in my life, my driving stands out as an anomaly. I was a lethargic when it came to physical activity , while I won accolades galore in academics and extra-academics, I have a resounding empty cupboard for sports. I used to hate games period and would actually study during the same in school. Yet, now I am one of the most regular guys in the gym challenging myself everyday to run an extra kilometer so much so that most of the fit members of the gym publicly declare me as an object of envy. Post diabetics, I have almost killed the foodie in me, I used to live to eat and I used to eat. For years, I could eat the most in my locality and now I am scared of having an extra serving of wheat bread. When I see oil floating around, it becomes difficult for me to chew and digest.

But we all are slaves to our own brain who will always find a way to justify all we do. While it is tempting to say that I am in control of my car, it is not really the right answer. I have had times when I lost control of my bike or car for a few fleeting seconds,seconds where only extraordinary symphony of circumstances saved my life. So I take refuge in my knowledge of biology.

When you are in fear, your brain produces adrenaline. A rush of adrenaline stimulates the body and causes a sudden release of glucose as well as an increase in blood pressure, respiration, and heart rate. It makes you more aware of your situation and your body is physical more ready to react.Different people have different brains. Some brains needs a lot of excitement to pump out adrenaline (Formula 1-drivers, sky-divers, base-jumpers,), others, however, need just a little; stealing a candy bar, going into an examination.
After a while the adrenaline is no longer active in your body and you have indeed conquered your own fear. That makes some people feel “more alive”.
Some brains produce  dopa-mine, a kind of reward-drug: you get a good feeling about yourself. It’s all about these chemicals. Because of this reward-drug you may want to do it again, and when, for instance,  becomes too familiar, you need to go off-piste to ensure the production of adrenaline and dopa-mine.

Fully satisfied with my explanation, I can only mummer the lyrics of Bob Sager’s song “Turn the page”- especially the part “on the the road again“- juxtaposed with the background music of Bon Jovi’s “Blaze of glory”, and dream myself pressing my accelerator hard enough so that there is no air bubble between the shoe of the accelerator and the chassis of my car.

 

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bike, humour, materialistic philosophy, my life

Antonyms and Synonyms (Oh fuck !! and Oh sex!!)

All the dictionaries of the world unite in proclaiming  antonym as a word opposite in meaning while synonym is a word that has the same meaning. I can’t speak for all languages but the ones claiming to be an authority in English, there is little ambiguity in the matter. But over the course of our lives, we also use words outside the recommended vocabulary of the parliament. The ignorant and not so ignorant classify these words as slang. This classification is not entirely wrong but what is not wrong need not be right. I have a self-proclaimed pseudo-intellectual who need his dose of intellectual masturbation.I call this facet of our vocabulary as swear words.

Fuck and sex. No matter in which language you speak, the verbal interpretation of sexual intercourse lends its vocal syllables to swear words. Although, I do not need any certificate from any censor board, and I am  a fan of the writers of GodFellas, I guess it will serve my post no purpose if I elaborate on my exhaustible knowledge of derivatives of fuck in different human languages. In short fuck and sex in human vocabulary  is ubiquitous. I hope I have put my point across.

Now comes the part of the post wherein I dwell on the conflicting emotions that drove me to write this post. Although sex and Fornification under consent of king  essentially mean the same thing to a laymen, when he swear he means entirely different context in both the use cases. I used the term laymen for the overwhelmingly large percentage of my rationalist and hyper intelligent friends can go to any lengths to research all the garbage under the sun and create a ten thousand word long essay on the difference in meaning of fuck and sex. Having shut down the critics with the most infallible argument -“Please suppress your rationality” , it’s now time to come back to the topic. I can’t help wondering how many of our conversations would read like if we had interchanged the words. To drive the point home, I shall first give a brief background of the situation.

So here are a few of imaginary conversations

  • One of your friends of opposite sex (I know they are rare if you are a male iitian), looks full of energy for a competition.I hope you get the idea and fill the dots and blanks. You cheer her up saying you look all sexed up for the occasion. I am sure you will still be friends after that. Imagine trying to encourage saying you look fucked up for the occasion.
  • Your friends girlfriend is looking real hot and you are with your girlfriend. (yeah yeah Utopia, what the hell!! lemme create a world I please in my blog ), You compliment her saying that she looks sexy. I guess she would be happy.I think saying that she looks like fuck wont qualify as a complement besides the other side effects that might occur.
  • To end it all from where it all started, I was thinking of a few mods to my bike and exclaiming in my mind that it will look like sex, if every some one uses fuck in relation to my bike I would really start pitying the intelligence of the person.

I guess that is enough in this interesting observation which I find quite humorous.

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life, my life, reflections of time

Temple in the shadows

To start off, I seek refuge in a rather  inapt quotation “When a big tree falls, the ground beneath shakes”. For the ignorant, you are blessed and I shall not try to take away your blessing, for the not so-ignorant I now relate this shame on India to many things that gets overshadowed by monumental occasions or persons or institution. In the context of this blog, the dictionary entry called “institution” reigns.

In the light (or rather shadow) of what happened on 25th of February, one ex-cricketer was deprived of his well deserved sending off.This post is not about him too.

This post is a tribute to my school which celebrated its fiftieth birthday a few days back. For the observant, the url of this post says more about this post than the one hundred words that precede this intermediate. For the benefit  of the lethargic readers, it contains the words  a hundred rupees the monthly fees at my school.As to why the chose the letters of the sentence in the largest font is that somehow for a iitian of the early 2000’s every thing that has contributed to my life academically somehow becomes consigned to a footnote.A glance across my tag-cloud itself screams in disgust at the overbearing presence of KGP/IIT in making who I am. Even this post is tampered with a liberal dose of moments of my life spent in IIT.

It was the year of 1996 that I became a student of Don Bosco Dibrugarh. It was the first year wherein I graduated from wearing shorts in my previous school to trousers. It was the year I bought my cycle, It was the year I first tied the knot of my tie. It was the year I typed my first computer program. It was not the universal Hello World. But back then a Print 10+20 and getting 30 on pressing return in your GW BASIC terminal was  leggg(wait for it)endary.

I did not win my first certificate in this school. But won most of my honour list. Every year we had something called class in action. Full day was spent in social and cultural events. Disposing off all remnants of humility, I shall now boast that in my six-year in my school no body earned as many certificates as I did so these extra-academic adventures were really special for me. Did I tell you, this was the school that killed my stage fright, that taught me to speak in front of any crowd. In my very first year I found myself alone in front of a mic and thousand odd students giving an extempore speech. I also found kind of gradual change in the way I conducted myself during public appearance. For the first year, I was staring at the magnificent ceiling of the auditorium  so that I could escape the glances of  all the eyes fixed on me. By the time I left, i learned to draw strength from the little nods I got from the audience and concentrate only on them. Somehow speaking/singing on stage no longer remained a performance, it became a conversation. I guess it’s now time to say one of the may Thank yous I should say to my school.

Somehow my memories of extra-academics overpowers my memories of academics for my kgpian friends this should be no surprise. A day we always looked forward to was annual arts and science exhibition. This was the ultimate lesson in confidence building. We were a boys school people from girls school and co-ed(LFS 😀 and the likes) came to our school on that day to try to tell us that girls are better. Never to be cowed down, I was one of the guys spearheading the fight in intellect wit and bluffs. Scientific formula of Sodium became (S) to answer of people who were hell-bent of humiliating us :D.

The last year of my school life was my most fulfilling . This was the year I spearheaded the campaign of my school in quizzes and won two of the most prestigious quizzes that year. I was third in two, that’s a different story. But our boys school defeated L.F.S. (the girls school) in all but one. Wow what a celebration we had. In the one quiz I was defeated(3rd), there was no audience to take in pleasure of seeing us loose.

Our school had a hockey ground, a tennis ground, a football ground and table tennis. These are seemingly mundane features but then for a hundred rupees per month, our school defined what token fees is all about. Poor kids were given free lodging and food and tuition in hostel. A separate school used to run in afternoon for the poor kids who could not attend school.At the same time my school was the best that was in town in spite of many things that defied economic sense. For those who disagree, your comments, if any,  shall be deleted.

In the midst of all these, I guess I forgot to tell you that my school was the first to have computers in my town. I saw the huge 5′ floppy drives pasted on the walls of our  computer lab. And yes I worked in computers with only two floppy drives thanks to my school.

I guess that’s all of the unconnected threads of memories I can recollect and rejoice now. And yes a thank you to my school and all who made those six memorable years

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materialistic philosophy, my life

What is bad music

I live  in the electronic age, if there was any statement that could stake claim to the Nobel for “stating the obvious”, the opening line of this post would surely make the cut for the shortlist. Having logically argued that the information contained in my opening sequence has 0 bit(not the glamorous bits and bytes but the less famous cousin from information theory) of information, I now shall attempt to straitjacket my digressions from the topic of the post. In the age of iPods and its less successful imitators,   hardly a day goes by when our drums are left parched by the torrential downpour of what makes or has made to popular music charts of the world.Besides any random rendezvous with contemporary literature re-acquaints us with phrases like “face the music”-“music to the ears”. Two phrases that are as far poles apart as literally possible in the sphere  of human interpretation

As with any great specimen of art or human creativity, we all make attempts at being politically correct and at some point of life find ourselves saying you can’t compare A and B, it is like being asked to differentiate between your own children. Having partaken in these diplomatic utterance drenched in the stench of cowardice, we all have our own favourites and the not so favourites. Some wise man once said that we are all hypocritical at some point or the other, I also subscribe to this larger brotherhood of sinners. I shall make no attempt to tell what my favourites are nor will i waste any electricity communicating to you what are my less favourite numbers.I nevertheless shall try to hypocritically try to find a common thread to all that is bad music in my ears.

In my short-life, I have come across people with varying musical tastes,some like Bollywood, some classical, some rock, some pop and others metal or “melodious death metal” as some people refer to it. I find myself navigating across almost genres without prejudice or malice towards any.However I find myself unable to sway my head or foot to cheap imitations or the din called death metal and most forms of rap. But there are people who do like them, hence I find myself reflecting whether there is something wrong with me or is it that there is no universal bad music or good music. Like beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, music might  be a feeling that resides only in our ears. For some, even the irritating sound of broken horn could be  source of melody. But as soon as I start to believe this train of thought,  some observations of my life derails my thought process . There are exceptions to everything and there is a reason for existence of the word “exception” in English dictionary, we need a word to describe events that rarely come to pass in the world of our dreams or the world where dreams get created.

This conflict of reasoning ignites in me the hypocrite in me who was simply biding its time, it offers me the easy way out listening to the dictates of the mob and consign my opinions to the billboards. It is then that Pritam comes to my mind. Music sales and theft figures extol the greatness of his scores. But the Indian in me gets  disgraced when I find that he has shamelessly lifted his tunes and does not even give credit to his rightful masters. At moments like this, my conscience wakes up and asks me to free myself from the shackles of hypocrisy and declare that any music I don’t like is bad music.A thinking mind is really nothing but evil, just when I had made peace with many of my conflicting heads, it talks about the songs I have started to detest just because I  had  to listen to them in infinite loop because some of your friends really liked the piece and wanted to announce to the world that.

Having debated over it again and again, I  draw a conclusion that appeals to all warring factions of my conscious mind “A bad music is one that is either rap,shameless cheat,death metal or something I had to listen without my consent”

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life, my life, philosophical me

My hero

Evey few heartbeats an unknown neuron in my brain
Raises a war cry
it forges the blade to cut through the thorns of my past lives
it weaves the basket to collect the rainbows of the days gone by.

It makes me want to jump like a mad man
It makes me want to laugh like a drunk man
Vistas of an eden in my future beckons me to march ahead
And I walk, I run, I sprint, I leap ahead

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my life, philosophical me

Dreams of Insomniac slumber

most men dream while they sleep
Sweet dreams broadens their imaginary lips and makes them smile
lengthen their slumber in hopes of living the dream just a few more heartbeats.

Nightmares widens the real eyes, mutes the sweet lullaby, drives away the sleep
We draw solace in the more comfortable reality
We throw up prayers for the sweet dreams to come to pass
to lock away the nightmares in some corner far away from the world we breathe.

But my sweet dreams come to my life when I am wide awake
I fear the thought of dreaming about you while I sleep
I may never want to wake up
to break my dream of you by my side as I dream.

My nightmares are all about losing you
Although I only dream of winning the love of you
Tell me love how do I lengthen my slumber with my eyes wide awake
How do I embrace the decree of the Gods, chase away my nightmares
for I have not dreamt in my sleep.

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Hobbies, kaygeepee, life, my life, philosophical me, reflections of time

Ruminations on the years gone by

“The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones” : William Shakespeare.

A fictional piece intended to raise raw emotions in a mob inclined on forgetting the treachery enacted in the corridors of power of Rome. Like everything written by Shakespeare, you can interpret these exhibits of superhuman wizardry over words to suit you needs. I too indulged in the same. There are moments in our life that make us inexplicably happy, makes us want to scream in joy loud enough to snap our vocal chords so that those joyous screams get mortalized as the last sound vibe emanating from out mundane existence.

As i enact those moments in my conscious and sub conscious minds, i cannot fail to appreciate the single thread that binds those moments together is the element of surprise. There is no such thing as a pleasant surprise.

The earliest such surprise that my Alzheimer free brain can think of dates back to the early nineties- 1994 to be precise- I was in class three. Had not achieved much till then. was a mediocre at school who somehow managed to get a double promotion. Was the opposite of being an athlete. My only claim to fame probably was that I was the cutest person in the co-ed school. We had a 10 minutes break after two classes. My cheeks used to ache after that. In fact one of my teacher remarked that i am only fair guy in my class much to the displeasure of a few of my classmates. So coming to the pleasant surprise. I was asked by one of our neighbours to go and watch a quiz competition. The quiz was open to students up to class 8. So, I went. I thing led to another and I found myself participating in a team with another guy from class five. The quiz was a written one. So, the results were not declared immediately. Guess what we were third by getting five out of 30 questions right :D. The winner had around 20 questions right. But boy my joy knew no bounds !!!That certificate remains the most wrinkled piece of paper I still treasure. I got many a certificates after that but that one remains special.

Next surprise fast forwards my life to 2002. I was in Assam then- upper Assam. I just heard of IIT a year back and wanted to get in. But nobody I knew any of the interiors of any of the IITs. I had a row with my best friend that year. So, had spent the better part of the year trying to find out how to get into IIT. For a reality check, I though I should give NTSE exam. I was a student of the state board and the scholastic part of the NTSE was from CBSE board. And like JEE, nobody I knew had cleared NTSE. Anyways I gave the exam. I had no faith in the way our answer scripts were going to be corrected in class 10th boards. This lack of faith was vindicated when my entire school was awarded 66 in English. I gave NTSE so that I can back my claim that my state board sux in evaluation. On the day I was leaving for Delhi to apply for schools, I read the paper. The paper had my name. I was fourth in the state. prelim of NTSE So, I left for Delhi armed with evidence that my state board sux. Moreover, our state had a reputation for declaring results late rather late.

My life in kgp revolved around extra acads- kshitj, tech gc ,placement committee work and alumni cell- necessarily in that order :D. When I joined kshitj or ktj as we affectionately call it. It was not so big as it is today. I was primarily involved in events in Ktj but the biggest surprise came in spons. Me and chuha went to Delhi for our DP trip. DP as in Durga Puja– this trip is the time when we go out with a begging bowl to organize the fest that has become a phenomenon now. The year before the entire member team had collected around 20 k. Not even a single penny came from Delhi. Me and chuha were given target of 20 k from Delhi. By that time our entire member team had collected 2k from one months worth of calling. With modest hopes, I landed in Delhi and within an hr of my reaching Delhi, i started cannibalizing SF(:D)- the cult fest our bigger brother back then. By afternoon I had 8 k. Chuha had arrived by then, we then decided to meet one alum who was not so inclined on giving us money. I don’t know what struck me but i started talking to him about an ad. Chuha was getting frustrated by my side thinking we lost the money – why will someone sponsor us after hearing the nonsense i was blubbering. But I was in the midst of a Midas touch then and he backed me adding a few more nonsensical sentences.When I had finished, we got a cheque of 15 k. We had achieved our trips target in one day. We somehow held our nerves for a few moments and once beyond the visible range of Mr. Subhash Kalia – we indulged in mad celebrations. We got many more sponsorship deals – probably bigger in volume but first time surprise tastes sweet.

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