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6 years already??!!

The last time I was blogging, I was a law student. It pains me to inform the world that my law school finally thrrew me out. They would not have me for more than 3 years. I begged and pleaded. It was such a great life! Living off your folks, travelling on the Metro, no taxes, no responsibilities. Just dragging myself to North Campus, checking out pretty women (especially in the winters - women look so cute when they are in their woolens, small cuddly things all snuggled up), walking out of class after marking my attendance and chilling in the common areas with a book. Sometimes even lying on the grass. But they would have none of it. Out, they said. I was handed a degree and was thrown to fend for myself in this big bad world.

Hmmm. Actually I was raring to graduate and start working. Enough studying, time had come to do something with my education.

I read law from Campus Law Centre. It was quite an experience. Most always end up hating the place, I actually quite liked being there. But the faults - oh yes.. It had plenty of them. To begin with, its size. It was small, much smaller than most of the undergraduate colleges in Delhi University. Second, the furniture - though there was a furniture upgrade by the time I was in my senior year, until that time I could see "Amit heart Shabnam 13.11.1976" etched on the desks. Third, the library. Ask any lawyer and they will tell you that if the legal profession had an artery, it will be called the library (that was until information technology took over - now the artery is Manupatra for the serious sorts and Google for lazy bums like me). A law student is expected to get multiple orgasms when sights are set on the racks..full of books. But in my law school, there were characters who had never entered the library. Not me of course. I was a regular. Proud of it too. Of course, being allergic to dust, I never touched the books. The loo in the library was the cleanest on campus. Of course it would be - hardly anyone came to the library so it was seldom used. There was some air-conditioners there as well, so the seats closest to them were very sought after for an afternoon nap. I got to park my ass on them quite often - those afternoons were blissful.

The professors, bless their hearts, were gems. No bad-mouthing them, some of them were actually awesome. True, there were some characters, but I shall not subject thisblog to the usual teacher bashing which I find very immature. Like, there was one professor who used to repeat everything thrice (Rule of Law Rule of Law Rule of Law!). We all found that funny. Then we got to know that he read law from Cambridge, was the next-big-thing until he had a major tragedy in his family and sort of..just lost the way. Sad.

Then we had our share of professors who stood funny, who dug their noses, who'd do pelvic thrusts with the front desks and who'd simply talk funny (some with a high-pitched shrill voice and others like a rambling goat). But, that's usual isn't it.

But to get back to the point, so there I was - fresh meat in the legal butchery in the summer of 2008. As I said, I was dying to graduate. I was very eager to earn, to build a professional profile. I was hungry for some real work for which people paid (was sick and tired of slaving for free).

Funnily enough, nothing much seems to have changed from the last time I blogged... Yet, everything has changed, everything was meant to change. Time has moved, so have I. Things haven't exactly moved according to plan - but meh..whatever.. I can't be serious for too long..

Revenge stinks!

Something good...yet gross...happened in college today. I had to crap. Its was one of those ass tearin types, whence you just can't keep it in. You wince even, and then, give a very weak smile to hide the fact, that any moment now, your ass is going to explode! Then after toying with the idea of whether to go to the John or not, you finally decide...I can't hold it in anymore!The same thing happened to me. I just couldn't hold it in anymore. I had a free class, so had gone to the canteen to chill out, when the invasion of the turd happened. I excused myself from my friends. The faces I made before that in front of them, they must have figured out that I was either going to crap, or was going to fart very loud. There was one character, who was really taking my trip over my apparent discomfort. He was constantly asking me questions from the Lord of the rings. 'Why did Sam follow Frodo?, Why did Gollum help Frodo?, Why Eowyn go to battle?; Cause she was tired of sitting home and getting fucked by men, you asshole. But obviously I had to be polite, and answer each of his questions nicely.The questions didn't help my cause or comfort! It was one of those moments, where every1 knows that the discomfort is 'retro-related'. I got up, and then the pressure increased. I decided to run, but suddenly had a vision of my turds just, plopping down. Walking seemed like a million dollar idea. But the walk seemed to take ages. I finally reached, did my stuff. Quite potent. Anyway, the fun begins now. My college doesn't have any toilet papers. Don't ask me why, I don't know. Maybe they think students can't crap while studying, and anyway, since they always carry lots of paper with them anyway, they can use their own. I for one, can't dp that. Dilemma. Should I tear off a page from one of my beloved notebooks, or should I just pull up my pants, and imagine that it never happened. I don't know if you know it or not, but we usually wash our asses properly with hands, and not just wipe the left-over turd off with paper, like its done everywhere else. So i decided to do that. I washed , my ass with my left hand, but didn't wash my hand. Then I came out, proud, confident, and definitely relieved. I almost announced loudly, Come you fuckers, and ask me whatever you wanna ask! But instead I ran to the canteen, singled out my LOTR friend, and gave him a big bear hug, with my left hand especially roving all over his back. Then, I took my revenge further, and shaked hands with all those who I am not quite fond of. Revenge is sweet, and definitely has the potential to stink!

First blood...

As this is my first mental vomit, I'll try to be as normal as possible.

I live in India. There is a small village of idiots which I call home. Its called New Delhi. Its full of people who, as a rule, are a bit too big for their boots. But they are funny. Because of what they do, and especially what they wear. But I shall not go into all that now. Perhaps after writing a few inches...perhaps sometime later...perhaps never...

New Delhi attracts a fair amount of tourists. In fact, India itself attracts hordes of them (you might be one of them...eventually). But when the foreigners (hereafter to be called fro...fros in plural) step into the country, its as if they want a big elephant to greet them in the airport. Or perhaps the terminal coach is not a bus, but perhaps a camel ride to the terminal, which by the way is a big tent, with the security people bowing a hundred times, and asking for a thousand pardons before frisking them, and in the duty free shops, they can get everything from snake skin to frog's liver to bull's eyes, and all the girls around would be showing off their navels (and basically show that they have small breasts) more than anything, and would be wearing those 'ethnic colourful dots' on their heads, and outside, they would find that everyone around is basically a skeleton, wearing turbans, as if they haven't had a morsel for days, and whenever one would come up tp them, it would be basically to beg. In fact, one fro actually asked me if I had tigers in the neighbourhood, whether I kill snakes with bare hands in my backyard, and the best was...are you served your ethnic rice (whatever that is) with the freshly cut foreskin of a young baby in your festivals, as your custom used to be? That left me gawking at him. I could never even imagine that. I had to be patient with him, and slowly explain a LOT of things, especially the fact that Indians, or for that matter, anyone from the subcontinent, are not a species from outer space, and that we are normal after all!

I met a german once. He was tall...very tall...like those Knights Templars of the old. He was very enthusiastic, about everything. He had a queer way of speaking, like a wave. One word would touch the abyss of his vocal chords, and then, the next word would be as high and sweet. wierd contrast, so wierd, that whenever he spoke, everybody turned their heads, in unison mind you, and listened to whatever he said. Seriously or not, I can't say. Once, after a few drinks, when I asked him, why he came to India, the answer was swift, innocent, and sincere. 'Oh, I like photography, you see. I came to photograph poor, hungry and dirty people, and India was the safest country where you can take picture of such type'. If he had not paid for the drinks, perhaps I would have given him a piece of my mind. But I resorted to the age old practice of Indian patience. True, later on, he gave up his menacingly foolish idea of taking pictures of dirty and hungry people, and took some excellent pictures of the Indian scenery. Good change...

I just read an article about the Indian movies (Bollywood we call it), in the Natgeo. Nice, funny, and riddled in ignorance. But some of it, true. But for some vague reason, Indians like fantasy, of all kinds, whether that be sex, songs, movies, etc etc etc. We like to show our love by swirling around great big trees, and singing our hearts out, with a professional orchestra in the backgrounds (imagined of course), and not forgetting the colourful clothes, trying all kinds of colour combinations, and styles, and flanked by men and women, wearing the same attire, and dancing with the two lovers, in perfect unison, as if they are all mirror reflections of the boy and the girl (imagine bruce lee in enter the dragon, where he fights in the hall of mirrors). Sometimes, the whole gang of forty or so, two groups (boys on one side, girls on the other) would jus run towards each other (in the background, the rising strains of a hundred violins, to effectuate the coming of the climax), and then, would meet, and embrace, and would exercise together (for the dance steps are nothing less). But the wierdest part of us Indians, has to be idol-worshipping. No, I am not talking about religion, and the 33 million god/goddesses involved in it, but am talking about the celluloid sorts. We love to worship our superstars. If they've won our hearts, we will do whatever possible for us to do, to make all of their releases, a blooming hit, even if the movie is next to crap, which usually it is. If you want to know how our indulgence and blindness reaches unimaginable limits, please imagine the scene I talked about earlier, about the two lovers. Now imagine, tha the girl is a sweet angel, with an amazing body and perked up nipples (all our heroines have perked up nipples for love and dance sequences. A big butt and bust is necessary for South-Indian movie heroines), and trying to scream or shriek out her love for the one she loves...a young man who, very clearly, dyed his hair black, and has a lot of foundation cream all over his face to hide his creases and wrinkles, and most probably has to take a puff from his inhaler after raising even an arm, and not to forget, he cannot sit under a fan. One has to be careful of the wig after all! Yes, we have a serious dearth of young men to play parts of young men, so we have old men playing out the part of young virile men, who tend to show their horniness through choreography. Of course, I am talking about the movies of the 80's and 90's era. Thankfully, a lot has changed since than. A lot for the better. But some elements of that fantasy world still remains. But those movies of the 80's and the 90's still rope in a house full!!

Anyway, its 3.30 in the morning, and I have an exam coming up, so I'll jus stop writing all the crap that is in my mind right now, and perhaps hit the books and the bed (not particularly in that order). Trust me, there's more where that came from. Ciao for now. Signing off.