Observations (15^th January)

College has all sorts of people and observing them is a lovely way of supplementing a non-tasking activity, such as eating. Like this little chap whom I often happen to see in the mess. His exuberance, the jog in his steps, his absolute devotion towards food never fails to cheer me up a little or at least shift my mood from umbra to penumbra. Whenever he has non-veg, he fetches his food, grinning from ear to ear, arranges everything he wants to eat, the roti with the aloo ki subzi, the chawal with the mutton curry, the papad to go along with it. Singing paeans about his food, exclaiming how delightful it is going to be, he literally attacks it with both hands (albeit cautiously)- breaking pieces of the roti with the right while drowning the rice in curry with his left. And when he carefully picks up the precious piece of mutton, watching it all the time with sparkling eyes, and then finally popping it into his mouth, relishing every second, indulging every taste bud, joy apparent from the closed, pinched eyes and the slow methodic chomp-chomp of his mouth, I leave my own food for a second and give a silent line of appreciation, a silent acceptance that this guy with the short stature and the rustic ways is way happier with that greasy piece of mutton in his mouth than I’ll ever be with all I want to achieve. Isn’t it so true- ‘……heaven is something you can hold in your hand.’

Chai Stall at the CEERI gate.

Pilani isn’t a very big or an immensely fascinating place. It’s a small industrial town, glorified by its status of being Ghanshyam Das Birla’s birthplace and an important educational destination, since BITS and some other boarding schools owned by Birla are located here. It’s not a place which would be of much interest to a conquistador or an explorer. It doesn’t have any hideouts, groves, mysterious graveyards, shady hangouts, narrow alleys or dried wells. Actually, it might, but there’s no story to go along with them which would make these places worth visiting or exploring. In absence of stories, these are just brick structures which make the place even gloomier and dead than it actually is. So, actually ‘discover’ some small nook which one can call his own is a matter of great delight and satisfaction. The chai stall near the CEERI gate is one such place. The Lilliputian size and bare existence might make it see unimpressive but as I said, the point was never the size or the grandeur, but the thrill of discovery and the pride of possession.

It stands, rather leans outside the BITS campus wall and thus the name ‘chai stall by the BITS gate’ is equally suited. However for the sake of clarity lets call it what we already have. So like a diminutive in-between it stands besides the road running between BITS and CEERI. It is, in its essence a tarpaulin sheet on four sturdy posts of wood. It has a big tin locker which has all sorts of little knick-knacks- cigarettes, tins of sweets, paan masaala and more. Everything is neatly arranged on newspaper bits spread on wooden boards and occasionally a rare pack of Classic adorns one of the shelves, kept haughtily before all the cheaper brands. There is a big stand with a stove and a solitary gas cylinder which goes on and on like the Amar Jawan Jyoti. A bucket full of drinking water is also placed on the side. Next to this stall, many earthen pots decorated with typical Rajasthani paintings are kept in a pyramidal formation. There is a neat human symmetry which is kind of surprising, since I’ve never seen them being used. Besides these, two long wooden benches and foldable steel chairs line the wall, the only attempt made at consumer satisfaction or aesthetics. A young fellow, in his twenties, works in the stall with his one-eyed assistant whose stare is quite unnerving. He knows us well because we are regulars.

I take pride in describing this place because it was one we accidentally discovered and then adopted on our long, aimless evening walks. It’s still not commercialized, a handful of people know about it and those who do, don’t frequent the down-market, isolated little place. It’s our secret, our little precious part of Pilani where we can sit and sip tea without being disturbed.

On a normal evening, for that’s when we go there, there’s nothing more than a light crowd of three or four. Usually this comprises of the chowkidar or other locals who know the chai stall owner or his uncle. We sit on the chairs or benches, order our chai and talk about the day’s events (like middle-aged professors). The place has a lovely view of the sky and we can see the sun retiring in the horizon as the wispy clouds flirt with the changing hues of the sky. The birds too glide across the sky in a beautiful arrowhead formation. We are on a light high and the redundancy of our conversations is usually high. Sometimes the Engineering Graphics professor comes with his friend and gives us knowing grins.

The bhaiyya makes tea and pakora and plays the only working radio in BITS without a word and one cant really gauge his mood. We smile amicably each time and loans are given and taken without question. There’s hardly any conversation between us, but there’s an unsaid bonhomie, a trust.

It is a trust forged by the hundreds of cups of chai that he can make but we can’t. It is a trust forged by a common sun which gives us laidback contentment each time it sets in the common sky. It is the trust forged by the light-hearted despondency which ‘in-between’ brings with it.

The Corner

There is a corner in front of the movie hall in Saket and Priya reserved for Dhruv and me. It’s not demarcated by urine nor will one see jingoist flags fluttering, claiming the land, but if ever anyone notices two lean, dorky guys leaning on each other and splitting like school girls, in much the same way serious engineering students don’t, undoubtedly that’s us. Every now and then, whenever there’s an extended weekend or I have unwashed laundry, I hop onto the warhorse Haryana state transport bus and come to Delhi. Since IIT (where he studies) is a govt. institution, synonymous with holidays, and Dhruv’s house is at a glancing distance, these brief visits are usually spent in his company. The third/fourth member alternates between Rohan, Siddarth or Rishabh or in fact any other unpaid, out-of-work member of society who doesn’t think time is money and does think that parents are teller machines. However, our pair is quite constant and our friendship rock-solid, since we have no girls in common. We hang-out and part, easing our moods and our wallets.

The dilemma we face in most (or all) our outings is in fact metaphorically, the aforementioned corner. Our plans are wonderfully simple (since they’re random and coincide with movie listings) and have none of the unnecessary baggage of curfews, transport, prior engagements, or the added snobbery thrown in for effect that comes along with the company of girls. Nor is there any consternation about not showing up or turning up too late that gays crib about. Our plans are elegant and convenient, happy for both of us.

But I digress from the point, more correctly, the corner. As I was impressing, our plans include a movie, whose ample reviews would have been collected by Dhruv, and lunch afterwards. The movie would be in English, less than two weeks old and generally interesting. Lunch, without fail, would be at Jerry Wong’s. Now that might sound like a high-end affair with an award winning gourmet chef, mood lighting and waiters with accents, besides the ostentatious food which doesn’t fill one corner of the stomach. And in all fairness, it is an executive fine dining place with pleasant Chinese food and a view of the fair Punjabi nymphs of Delhi strolling with chunks of beef wearing designer clothes. However, we’ve succeeded in extracting a fulfilling lunch of tasty Chinjabi food, suited for our crude Indian palates at barely a hundred bucks. This is their philanthropic scheme called Happy Hours in which cash-strapped, scavenging villagers such as ourselves lift our dhotis, sit trepidly on the cushioned chairs and stare sheepishly at the cutlery before attacking the plate (and then we steal the napkins, but that’s another story).

The post-lunch period is where the trouble begins. Watched the movie with the cannibalistic black dictator, laughed on our sealed fates over cheap lunch, now what?

We walk aimlessly from one corner to another, inspecting the shops and counting our steps. In true adolescent fashion we point out buxom babes using our superior engineering knowledge- ‘37 degrees, 54 m, turn anticlockwise, x-y plane, you’re the origin. No, not that hag, her daughter you idiot.’ When after this brief tour we become wary of the fact that people might mistake us for a couple or losers or both, we retrace our steps to the entrance of the cinema hall. And then for the next forty five minutes, like Adonis and Hercules, Legolas and Gimli, Paradorn and Srichapan we assume various poses-both hands in front pockets, both hands in back pocket, one hand in front pocket and other hand stroking chin, hands folded, hands on the side, weight on one foot, weight on the other foot, Hulk pose, GI Joe/He-Man action figure pose, Ganguly nail-biting pose-we practice for when our sculptures will adorn parks, and birds will have another stand to shit on and couples will have another piece of public property to leave their heart punctuated signatures of undying love. Occasionally we comment on how desirable the girl (or her twin sister) passing by is or what a lucky dumbass their bodyguard is. We laugh at ourselves over how utterly jobless we are or how any human folk passing by we know who give us looks of faint recognition (or looks of look-away-you-stalker). We curse our conspiring fates because of the no. of girls we have in or contact list and how many of them look like bloated pigs. We laugh at the decision of branding ourselves as geeks and the glitzy, luxurious lives that the dumbsters from commerce and humanities live. We grimace at our foreign-settled friends and our upcoming Infosys jobs.

In that little corner of Saket or Priya, we throw back our heads, pass each other meaningful, cheeky glances and laugh at life. Then we sit in an auto, and go back home, planning for the next day and not thinking about the anarchist, cannibalistic black dictator we just saw on screen.

This is something i thought i"d submit to the college magazine, but then thought naah, it was too good :-). I wrote it shortly after reading R K Narayan. You can perhaps see the influence.


The walled life of three wall lizards.

Your average wall lizard is a wholly unremarkable creature, when you compare it to, say, a magnificent elephant or a royal tiger or an exotic giraffe. Even less illustrious animals such a s monkeys, dogs and cats have a more interesting profile than the wall lizard. These animals make their presence felt in some way or the other, by ether being appealing to our senses, useful in our chores, or provide companionship and the much needed love and laughter. After all, what would a camel-driver be without his transvestite animal, blinking its feminine lashes and swaying its effeminate hips to the lilt of the sand. For that matter what would the blind beggar do without his dog or even the snake charmer without his cobra? Inspite of our supremacy in nature and our insistence to sit on high tables and take pride in our achievements, we are intrinsically a part of the animal kingdom. Animals complete our world and we intrude upon theirs.

But a house lizard is an unique specimen, if only for its commonality. It is the ultimate outcaste of the wilderness. It is ubiquitous, yet effortlessly merges with the surroundings, though no one can tell whether this is intentional or not. It inspires neither interest nor mistrust and certainly not fear. Even the mosquitoes and ants which constitute its staple diet are stirred into noticing its presence at the very last second, after which they are too dead to share their unique experience with their mates, or anyone else.

There are three of these rascals in my room, and two of us. We’re outnumbered but that’s quite irrelevant. In the universe of wall lizards, I’m as interesting as a moving door knob and moving door knobs haven’t inspired many scholars to action. My room-mate is in mortal fear of these little creatures. It’s most amusing to see him screw up his face and climb to the highest, most isolated point in the room. He then scans the room, probably already having mentally divided it into grids and sectors. He nudges his belongings with a trepid toe to drive out the lizard and waits patiently till the reptile has crossed the imaginary line of control and is at a distance from which it can’t shoot inter-continental ballistic missiles, or worse. For hours my room-mate studies the behavior of the trio, surely making copious notes when I’m asleep. He can gauge every move the lizards make and all their habits and patterns are knows to him like the back of his hand. Sometimes I join him in watching the lizards when for hours we look at them with wild abandon, day-dreaming about the good ol’ lizard free days. But most times I’m not as learned to make predictions with confidence. For instance, where they hide was something that confounded me, and often worried me. Disappearances harbors mistrust and doubt. You would like to know where the beautiful people of the world are and what they are doing. It’s natural. The fact that the space behind the black suitcase, the ledge beneath the window and the underbelly of the almirah were all potential shelters for them was revealed to me by my good roomy. Sometimes I wonder if after all this intense research on the three, he might have got attached to them and these days, staring at them is just out of fondness and indulgence. We get addicted to our fears, get infatuated with our demons.

My own observations are but amateur, more out of boredom than any academic interest or desire to collate data on the ‘enemy’. I have a short attention span and a penchant for getting distracted. My views on the life and times of wall lizards are ample proof of this.

As I had said, three lizards, for the sake of clarity let them be Fat, Thin and Small (which also describe their appearance on first glance) stay behind the aforementioned black suitcase on the shelf above our tables. The suitcase is in a big, plastic bag, thus its contents are without doubt a subject of intense curiosity and desire for the three. Perhaps this is the reason they have selected that spot, to put some color into their otherwise standard lives. Perhaps they play a game in which they fantasize about the lizard kingdom inside the black box where there is no hatred, no destruction, unlimited food for everyone and all lizards live in peace with each other composing ballads about the dark ages long past. Perhaps.

Fat, Thin and Small are nocturnal by nature. We rarely see them during the day. They come out at about eight in the evening and select a wall each for the evening. Whether they have an organized method of assigning the four walls is a matter of speculation. They sit (for lack of a better word) on the wall and then don’t do much else. On close inspection one can see their yellow scaly torso expanding and contracting, establishing the presence of life breath. They gaze constantly in a direction with the calm of sage on their lined faces. Infact their mellifluous calm is most soothing and yogic. They emit a quanta of this karmic bliss and sometimes I wonder if they were bigger, our size, they might have been role models for us. Except for the fact that they would have ether been killed, in a zoo or on our feet with laces in them.

The trio often exhibits spurts of energy. This is rarely happy in nature and is triggered mostly by some intruder, or a drastic change in weather or some disagreement between Fat and Thin. They race on the walls occasionally gracing the floor as well. They lunge at each other and make gurgling, hissing noises. These can also be the precursor of a long, sexual, steamy night. But these shy fellows wait for the lights to be switched before they get passionate.

Winter months pass without any appearances on their part. These are undocumented months about which I can only guess. But summers see a full onslaught of merriment on their part. With an abundance of insects to devour, room-mates to scare witless, and white walls to slither on, it is no wonder that their hides smile yellow with joy.

Fight club- a rib smashing review.

Firstly I should thank the brains behind DC++, our BITS LAN, the brilliant idea of stealing and India’s lax cyber laws. Without them I could never have started this review thing.
It’s not as though there haven’t been enough reviews or reviewers, but as was said somewhere, by someone- it’s not as if God doesn’t know everything already, he just doesn’t know my version of it.

‘I wanted to destroy something beautiful’- this is the line that perhaps sums up the tone of the film. Fight club is an academy award (sound-editing) winning, hauntingly brilliant, frighteningly fresh cinema which has the roughly the same effect that The Lion King doesn’t. Based on the novel by the same name written by Chuck Palahniuk, it re-introduces what I can only describe as the nihilistic Neanderthal, who carries the expression ‘rebel without a cause’ to a higher altitude of gore and blood-fest.

But the highly controversial theme of the film- that of attaining some sort of cathartic release in violence is perhaps not the real point behind it. I see it as more of a psychological pacer which uses the gem of an idea which it is as an instrument to make it a genius of cinematic depiction. Why I say this? Its obvious from the movie that the story is about the un-named protagonist, i.e. one person and how he grapples with his errant brain. It portrays what limits he, and in the process any individual, can go to fight back the system and his own failure to set himself apart from its failings.

This type of escape through re-tuning the mind and its apparent consciousness to something totally different and alter-egoish finds a place in a lot of popular culture- most superheroes- Batman, Spiderman, the Mask, A Beautiful Mind, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, to an extent- Calvin and Hobbes. In fact at this point I’ll introduce a slight digression to put in this interesting analogy offered by Garry Trudeau-

“Fantasy is so accessible, and it is joined with such force and frequency, that resentful parents like Calvin’s assume that they are being manipulated when the truth is far more frightening: they don’t even exist. The child is both king and keeper of his realm, and he can be very choosy about the company he keeps.”

Even in the movie this is slightly touched upon (Edward Norton) says something on the lines of-‘I’m a 30 year old kid.’). The childish fantasy is exaggerated and darkened.

Norton’s relation with Tyler Durden(Brad Pitt), his alter-ego, is as spectacular as it is peculiar. The fact that one keeps forgetting is that they’re the same person and entirely the products of the same bundle of nerves. Pitt’s and Norton’s acting has given the characters a credibility few others could have- the gawky, unconfident, thin corporate with the hanging tie and deadpan expression, and the firebrand, sharp, scheming, flamboyant villain who always has a repertoire of smart one-liners and even the inch thick fur coat he’s wearing can’t hide his WWE muscles. My proposition would be that the idea is to show the complete man in a perverted, evil connotation of the term. This split self version of perfection is also not that uncommon. Our own Pandavas are testament to the ancientness of the idea. The point is, the presence of not individually good or bad, but both and in fact all he qualities have perhaps been shown to exist within a man. The struggle of the ‘hero’ to realize this and then confront the ‘anti-hero’ in his own mind to confine him to some dark inaccessible corner of himself makes for an excellent psychological roller-coaster ride.

One which comprises of shockingly realistic fist fights (like the one that preceded the first line of this review-you can imagine), dialogues qualified for cult-worship (‘I am Jack’s medulla oblongata’), a completely unexpected revelation and a finally and sadly a most disappointing anti-climax. Because why don’t people realize that although we want the smart-alec Brad Pitt flashing his arrogant smile in not only this but every movie to die with a bullet through his head we want it also to make sense.

One of the commendable qualities of Fight Club is it’s continuity and credibility. Most importantly the fact that you can believe the events since they don’t have the mistakes that a movies such as this could end up having. The link of insomnia with the periods when Tyler unleashed his plans was a superb one. So was Marla Singer’s role. She snipped off all the loose ends and played a great role in making the story move forward. For example, I would say that she was the one who triggered Norton’s mind to challenge the Anti-God that Tyler had become and then consequently unhinge the power which Tyler had accumulated (talk about misogynist evil geniuses and their femme fatale nemeses).

And so the ending where Tyler dies when Norton shoots himself in the cheek was a let-down. Just the fact that Norton ‘killed’ him off and then believed it belies that he still existed in his mind. And to just wish away such a dominant hallucination by seeing a gun in is hand is a bit unbelievable.

Besides this everything in the movie justifies the place in your favourite movies list it probably occupies. It is two hours of an on-the-edge gore show cum directional marvel cum acting treat cum thought- provoking thriller. An action packed must see. But not with your family. Save Simba for that.

Mid-sem mayhem


Today marks the occasion of surviving eight months here and six months since my last post. The cruelly amusing part is that the tone of the last entry sums up the last six months quite neatly, insofar that even the weather is the same- stiflingly hot and sleep inducing. Why haven’t I written anything all these months? Were things so bland and unsuitable for narration? Or was I so occupied in the tumult of things that blogging became comparatively unimportant? Not quite. I was just plain old lazy. Being cradled in the comfort of procrastination. Flitting about from idea to idea, state to state, crib to crib.
And am I back new and improved, the ‘jazzed up’ Dey version 2.0, all set to rule the earth from behind the screen of my laptop powered by push-button publishing? That’s pretty doubtful judging from the devolution over the last half year. This is probably just one of those sudden bursts of energy fated to simmer out in the usual way. So let me hastily write down a few lines before the all pervading forces of lethargy and boredom take over and I go back to admiring the brilliant piece of illuminant metal that my laptop is.
I’ve come to discover that unemployment fuels great conversations. They stimulate the person to think, to criticize, to innovate and most importantly to talk. Crap. It starts with an innocent evening stroll, dodging the variety of excreta on the road, admiring the sunset. This is supposedly the after-class period when after a long hard day of toiling in the various tutorials and classes we take a chai break. After sharpening our networking skills which we so masterfully utilize in our tests, often having to cheat from insufferably intelligent people, we loosen our bones and lighten our minds. As the sun goes down and we are ready to have dinner in the late afternoon, we are faced with the critical decision of where to eat. Since we have such numerous places to chose from, this decision making process often leaves us exhausted and hungry. The mess is certainly not an option since Tuesdays are all-vegetarian, Wednesdays are post-test celebration days, Thursdays mark the end to a grueling week, Fridays are the beginning of the weekend, Saturdays are party days, Sundays are days of once-a-week indulgence and on Mondays, we decide that we should do our bit and help an unhappy restaurant owner earn his living.
These visits to the aforementioned unhappy restaurant owner’s restaurant are victories for good, clean, thought provoking conversation. We lie back on the terrace, on the aluminum sheet, naively threatening-‘cigarette smoking is injurious to health.’, gaze at the plentiful night sky and offer our invaluable insights on the mysteries of life.
Sample this gem-
Animesh( to Qube)- Did you see Fight Club?
Qube- I saw Fight Club.
A(to me)- Did you see Fight Club?
Me- No, I didn’t see Fight Club.
Q(with feeling)- So what the hell is wrong with that!!

Or, even this one-
Qube- Dude, life sucks, man.
Me- I know, it sucks hard.
Qube- Lets all die.
Me- Sure, sure, lets die.

Or even the ones with the aim of spread(eagle)ing knowledge-
Qube- Do you know how a basilisk is born?
Us- Tell us.
Qube- Its born when a cock lays the egg of a snake on shit.
Us- Ooohhhhh.

In this vein, we carry on until the food develops a consciousness and dreams of committing hara-kiri in our ignoble presence. Thus fuelled, we proceed towards the all night canteen and continue our collogues till night falls or patience decides its has had enough. Today was a case in point. We had windows vs mac, music vs music trivia, the normally distributed version of the grand unified theory, 300, 2x, bitch of BITS, besides other topics on the menu. My namesake too joined us for the last leg when we indulged in a decent bit of Chemical crowd bashing to round off the day. Great success.

Loitering about on the net, I discovered that the mid-semester gradings have been up on display for the viewing pleasure of all those who are interested and are studying hard to make something of their lives. I took a cursory glance and then went back to my search for sleeping patterns and what’s the maximum I can sleep in a day without being ostracized for it (not much). It seems inspite of the piss poor efforts I’m making this time around as well, my grade has infact improved a bit. I saw the first A so far ( in engineering graphics, thank you Deepak), and missed another by just a mark(in computer programming, thank you Mr. Kiran). I also missed B closely in two subjects. That said, I also got a moronic D in Math and have to meet the Instructor-in-charge for Physics to explain why I’ve missed three tests. That’ll be an ordeal.

The weather is getting unbearable by the day and the layers of dust that are gathering everywhere are quite unsettling. And some things just refuse to get resolved.


Coming up: 1)Some write-ups and diary entries from past years when I was ‘young’ and ‘impressionable’.
2)Reviews of all that I’m going to waste my time reading and watching.
3)More endless cribfests.