The Quota Question.

 Aarakshan was terrible. I can't believe that the same guy who brought us Raajneeti made this movie. The movie does raise some touchy issues. Quotas and reservations are a BIG question-mark.

• Should the BC/OBCs recieve special support from such a strongly secular and democratic nation?
• The Backward Caste people today argue that for hundreds of years they've been shunned by the Forward Castes and were not even given an equal opportunity. So today when it's their turn to do so, why are we whining?
• Should mere history and past-events serve as a medium of justification in today's highly competitive world?
• Today, it's the supposedly 'backward' people who live in palatial houses and own a number of cars and it's the 'forward' people who end up on the streets. Who really is the oppresed here?

 I feel that yes, the backward people must be brought forward, and reservations for such people should be done. HOWEVER, the people who are actually backward, those who cannot afford proper educational facilites, people who struggle to make ends meet, such people should be given reservation, not reservation on basis of birth and community. Only then would Reservations and Quotas be justified.
___________

Speaking of which, a very happy Independance day to all. 65 years FTW.

Street-lamp.

 The street was littered with empty soda-cans and dry leaves; it was Fall. As he walked down the pavement, a slight chill passed through his body that had nothing to do with the fiercely cold wind blowing at his face. 

It was like he was pushing a boulder, every step he took against the wind only wearied him down, and the only fear adrift in his mind was of falling back; and never ever reaching home. But languidly, deliberately, he sauntered on.

It was pitch-dark and the only illumination on the street was of the street-lamp ahead; flickering haphazardly, yet with a strange regularity that was slightly unnerving. As he moved forward, pushing away the veils of tenebrosity and silence that shrouded him, he sniffed. And the sniff was something so unnatural, something so abnormal that he felt the ambience around him change; it was no longer this indistinct alley anymore.

He stopped. His sight caught hold of the bruise he had gotten earlier that day.It seemed so much older, so much more parched. He had aged a hundred years that day. Suddenly, from nowhere, came this overwhelming wave of guilt and melancholy that threatened to engulf him, and he was scared. And then, a voice inside his head said, " Keep walking, and it will all go away."

And so he did. A river of tears trickled down his bare cheek as he did so. He stopped again and looked up to see a single ray of sunshine piercing through the valleys that lay in front of him. It was then he said, 

"I'm sorry."

And he walked on.

93.6....

.....is now stamped on my forehead. Honestly, I never expected such grades from my tenth, and  I'm really surprised. 


Tenth has been, by far, the MOST eventful year of my academic life. New friends, new enemies and much more quizzing. :) I'll remember:

• Winning Aqua Regia. When our names were called upon stage, the feeling of exuberation and pure fricking crazy joy. I don't think I'll get that feeling again, even if my future achievements were even bigger. 
• All the countless exams I'd attended. Looking back now, I feel stupid thinking how meticulously I wrote them. 
• Centum in Maths. I'd NEVER gotten close to even a 98 in Maths in all the many exams I'd previously written. Got it when it really mattered.
• The "District-level" competitions. (note quotations :P)The first time I'd ever got a first prize for drumming, that too when competing with all the other categories of instruments. 
• Turning up at infinite number of quizzes. Winning a few. 
• Watching a humongous number of movies. 
• The world cup. The jersey I wore whenever India played. The madness. The semi-final. I actually sent my tutor back home so that I could watch it.
• Getting high on The Beatles and Porcupine Tree tracks. :)
• Getting my FIRST article published in the papers. And yes, unedited. ^_^
• The Chennai trip for the AR regionals. That's a story to be told some other day.
• Phineas and Ferb, Dexter, HIMYM, Castle, Bones, Californication and Modern Family.
• The many scrabble games with Dad. Winning a few, mind you.
• The FIFA world cup. I still remember watching the cracker of a match that was Ghana vs. Uruguay till 4 AM. I hate Luis Suarez.

Sigh. Memories. :)

Rocky.

Rocky smells something. It is good. Very Good. Rocky follows the smell. It comes from a fat man. Rocky follows Fat Man. Fat Man enters a hole. Rocky barks and wags his tail. Good dog, Rocky is. Good dog.

Fat Man looks at Rocky. Good. Rocky wags his tail harder. Fat Man touches Rocky. Good. Rocky licks his hand. Good dog. Fat Man catches his collar and takes him to small men. Small Men look at Rocky. Rocky wags his tail. Smell is strong. Rocky barks. Small Men rub Rocky's head. Good. They give him bread. Good. Very Good. Rocky eats. Rocky is happy. Small Men tie Rocky to a rope and tie him to a pipe. Bad. Rocky barks. Small Men leave. Rocky barks. Rocky is tired. Rocky sleeps.

Rocky wakes. Rocky sees a big man walking to the hole. Bad smell. Bad. Rocky barks. Rocky pulls at his chain. Rocky pulls. Pulls. Big Man is followed by two Tall Men. Big Man and Tall Men walk to hole. Bad. Rocky barks.

Big Man sees Rocky. Big Man comes to Rocky. Bad. Rocky puts his tail between his legs. Big Man takes Rod and hits Rocky. Rocky is hurt. It pains. Rocky barks harder. Big Man hits. Pain. Pain. Rocky is in more Pain. Rocky pulls at rope hard. Hard. Rocky escapes. Rocky leaps at Big Man. Rocky bites Big Man's nose. Yes. Big Man is bad. Rocky bites and bites. Tall Man takes thick rod from his pocket. Points it at Rocky.

Rocky is very hurt. Rocky barks. Rocky loses his strength. Rocky barks and barks. Rocky is in pain. Rocky barks. Fat Man comes. Rocky barks. Fat Man runs inside. Rocky lies down. Rocky is in pain. Rocky cannot see anything. Rocky barks. Rocky sees Brown Men coming. Rocky barks. Rocky is in pain. Pain.

Rocky dies.

Hair-rape.

He tightly twisted the long cloth around my neck. I couldn't breath. He took a shining blade in his hand, raised  it up with malice, and asked,

"Sir, unglakku short-a venuma, medium-a venuma?"

The reason I go to 'hair-styling salons' is my little ray of hope that the dudes there would understand a bit of English, and/or get atleast a vague idea of what I want my hair to be like; I do not have the same hair-texture as that of general South Indians. The above tamil quote just shattered my little ray of hope. I used my cracked, rusty Tamil and somehow got the guy to know that I wanted a 'change of style', or rather, 'change of shtyle'.

"Oh wokay sir. You want spikes aah?"

"No, I want it to be short in the front, long in the back....."(I doubt if he understood what I said)

" Sir It won't look nice on you."

Oh okay, so now I've to take advice from a Tamil macha whose idea of good hair-styling is 'funky-aah spikes'.

"Sir you know Simbu?"

Is that some sorta lion? Did he mean Simba? I hope he didn't want my hair to be a mane.

"Sir Simbu...you know, tamil movie hero?"

I silently prayed to god that he wouldn't style my hair like some random 30 year old tamil hero. No, I said.

"I will put spikes like that sir. It will be funky."

James Brown's "Papa's Got a New Bag" suddenly played in my head. I pictured myself in tight pants and an Afro.

"No! No funky hair. Put normal hair." I said, exasperated and scared.

He began. Removed my spectacles nonetheless. It was better that I couldn't see what he was about to do to my hair.

At the end of the 'procedure', I ended up looking like a Beetle with upright antennae on my head.

"Sir super-a irukudu sir!"

I was petrified. I wasn't able to say something comprehensible for a while. Regaining my composure, I tried some damage control. I asked the 'stylist' to trim my ridiculously upright fringe. He did so and I go his oh-so-intelligent comment yet again.

"Sir you are looking Japanese."

Apparently I suddenly had slating eyes and wore a kimono. Trying my best not to throw the comb lying on his head, I went to the billing area, where I received numorous goggles, nonetheless.

To think I paid a hundred bucks for this.

Death-stick.

A chunk of your life

Goes with every smoke;

A single puff; is equal to a knife

Killing you, poke by poke.

Every single thin shaft

Is quite the same as a nicotine mace;

Distances you from the life-raft,

Enclosing you in a tar-ridden case.

When was the last time your house-folk

Were able to talk to you without a cough?

Were able to love you without a choke?

Were able to embrace you without a held-in breath?

 

You can't be more wrong,

When you think it's 'cool';

You're singing your own death-song,

Drowning in your own pool.

Save your life while you can,

(Or the bit that's still left of it).

Stop tossing yourself around on the pan,

You'll get burned when you least expected it.

Get Ready To Face(book) The Music.

It's heated. It's steamy. You're having a lot of fun. And then, this happens:


"*INSERT NAME*, what are you doing? Come here."


A dilemma you're in, now. Should you just type in "brb", or make excuses and close the browser?

Worry, no more. I present to you 

"THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO GET BACK TO IMing WHEN PARENTS ASK YOU TO STOP"

Never, ever, tell them that you're Facebooking. If you do, then enjoy being Internet-less for atleast a week. It's quite obvious, if your son is Bookfacing, then obviously he's watching porn and flirting with immoral girls.  Parents shall never, ever understand 'Facebook' is not synonymous with 'Wasting time pressing buttons on the kompooter box'.


Instead follow these easy to follow steps:


1. Respond by a simple, sober "Coming!". Don't actually go.


2. Type in 'brb' and quickly go to them. Open TV, and find old movie channel. Now that they are mesmerised with Dev Anand prancing on the screen, just 'go for a drink of water', i.e, run for your life.


3. "what? I can't hear you."


4. If #1,2 and 3 don't work, you're doomed. But there IS a way. Tell them about this hilarious scene you saw about something that interests them on YouTube. Show it to them. When they're well distracted, Log back in and continue.


5. Respond back with ANOTHER question : You: " Where's my iPod, ma?" She: " I don't know. Check the drawers." Say OK, and continue.


P.S: Still in process of finding more. ;)