Imagine watching weird mega-serial episodes for 6hrs – back to back – no Ad-breaks! That’s how my fever delusions strike me. But these nightmares give interesting insights into my psyche..
- No story, no action in this one.. Just a video played in loop – forever. Chubby cheeks, dimple chin. . stop stop – rewind. Now read that with actions in that sing-song musical way. Picturization – on Lavanya!!! As the video keeps playing on & on, I writhe in sheer agony! 😦
Okay.. that one was a situational one, from all the baby & mommies singing rhymes overload over the past weekend. The ones that follow are true nightmares. Bone chilling!
- Ice-cream shop. Softy machine. Poor machine. With each scoop of vanilla softy ice-cream it doles out, it winces in pain & coughs.. Much like I wince from throat pain with each gulp of water I swallow. I empathize with the softy machine. I can feel & understand it’s pain. At the same time, I can’t go without ice-cream – that is survival food! So, I wait in line for my cone of vanilla softy dipped in hot chocolate sauce, crying for the softy machine as I wait. 😥 😥
True nightmare that!
Last vivid one – again a true nightmare..
- It’s a happy time for KP & QCA research with him. Finally.. finally .. I have good company. We have 4 new additions to the QCA group – all
crackpot charactersjust as mature, secure, content, (over-)confident, blindly passionate, wit & sarcasm loving, eccentric as me B-) . We have hours of fun – pulling each others legs, doing crazy stuff, building huge HUGE models of molecular QCA & clock distribution networks [don’t ask how HUGE stuff can mimic quantum tunnelling – such logic is quickly waved off in dreams], fighting about what molecules to use for p-QCA etc etc. In summary – bliss. Then come the demons from ARM. They hear out our research, make sad faces & say “All that is good.. but this will not come into being in your lifetimes. . not in at least 50yrs. This is inside information – 100% accurate”. [play sad violin, cello & piano tunes here]. All of us are suspended in disbelief – not even able to feel shattered in grief. Sob sob. Again, don’t ask why ARM of all people in the community would tell us that & how they’d know about QCA – suspend logic in dreams.
Stupid dreams. . but one striking thing about these most disturbing nightmares – my deep sub-conscious mind holds ice-cream & my research at the same priority levels!!
I am officially weird 😐
P.S. You ask why I am writing silly blog posts when I am down with 104deg fever?? Silly you. Use common sense. I can’t sleep, or read, or work – that’s why! 😛
My PhD in book titles…
From top to bottom :
- Freakish economics
- At times : eating, being droopy faced from over-eating, but loving it
- Born Free – to be as eccentric as you wish
- Becoming a delhi walla. . esply wrt food
- No explanation needed – the book title says it all
- Your life seems like a great golden sacrifice.. with as many side-tracks & masala stories as the Mahabharata
- At the end of it all, the whole thing feels worthy of being labeled ‘history’ & penning it down!
.. of water and color
They do appear more surreal & ethereal when you are lost – about converting VHDL to BLIF!
Morning drizzle = Inspiration
Inspiration + Mundane objects in hand (and on feet) = Eccentric Creativity
Eccentric Creativity + Camera = Abstract beauty
Abstract beauty + Urge to show off = Blog post
Why do people keep classifying me as juvenile?
Question asked this morning (here).
Answered this evening (below).
Venue : Park Baluchi, Deer Park, Hauz Khas Village
People : Miss.Dada – the senior citizen, 2 silver jubilee citizens (of which one looks malnourished – has always), Miss.Juvenile-now-Juvenile-forever, Waiter
Miss.Dada : [leaves the table to attend a phone call => No clearly non-juvenile looking character at the table]
SilverJub1 : 1 Mojito please
Waiter : That is a cocktail Ma’m, contains alcohol.
SilverJub1 : Yes, I know.
Miss.Juv : [retardish grin]
Waiter : Sorry Ma’m, what’s your age?
SilverJub1 : 25.
Miss.Juv : [giggles loudly]
(by now suspicious) Waiter : Do you have some age-proof ID Ma’m?
Miss.Juv : [giggling even louder, pulls out SilverJub1’s institute ID-card]
SilverJub1 : But the age is not on this thing.
Miss.Juv : [giggling loudest]
(by now super-suspicious) Waiter : [gives curt stares]
SilverJub1 : Ah, here’s the driving license. As you see, I turn 25 just today.
Waiter : Thanks. Mojito then. [leaves]
Miss.Juv : [Uncontrollable giggling]
SilverJub1 & 2 : Stop giggling now.
Miss.Juv : But Akka, this is so funny. Why are they refusing to give us chicken?
Case rested. Age-related confusions are neither my mistake nor the other party’s mistakes. It’s the company I keep! 😐
This is to suggest that you abstain from underestimating people henceforth, for your own good.
I can tolerate being typecast into the wide-eyed NRI mould by your type, though I still am clueless why you do that. I am in fact, quite used to it (“You are basically from Chennai. . but you live in Europe na?” (!!!)).
But I shall not tolerate what you did.
How dare you ask me “so, which class do you study in?”.
That too on a morning when I was smugly celebrating silver jubilee!
Blasphemy! Moron! Go get your eyes checked!
See how tall I’ve grown!
And, if time permits, get your brain checked too.
Have you seen any school kid who appears at your gate at sunrise? Alone? 15 minutes before your ticket counter opens? And spend two hours as the lone privileged tourist with exclusive access to the Old Fort grounds doing this?
I thus warn you : Never ever make the mistake of underestimating one’s age & hence his/her ‘wisdom’ 😛
Angrily (not) yours,
Student who studies ‘college’ at IIT
What do you think getting a Dr. prefix to your name without seeing human/animal anatomy involves?
All you (yes, you), who go around saying PhD involves getting paid (whatever ‘little’ amount) for staring at ceilings, walls, computer screens and whiteboards..
Please do realize that the title comes after enough hard work – of great variety – some of them physical, even menial.
For instance, a PhD just might involve you rolling up your pants, getting down on to your knees, and mopping water off the lab floor at 1:30am – after a stupid leaking air-conditioner decides to remind you how a swimming pool (minus the blue color tiles) looks like, considering the fact that you have this habit of spending all your waking hours inside this rectangular room called lab which incidentally lacks a swimming pool.
Then washing your hands like a maniac – thrice with green gooey super-dilute soap solution that the department restroom stocks & twice with deep pore cleansing facial cleanser (for oily skin, of course) that costs just a little more than Rs300 for 295ml!
And still feeling like you just might have contracted AIDS or Swine Flu from touching the competitively filthy mopping cloth & bucket!!
I know for a fact that mine does involve such stuff. Proof witnessed (for the 2nd time, if you care about reproducable evidence) not more than 20mins ago.
So, stay warned. You might not think of such romantic nights when you sign up for that PhD programme.
And if you had witnessed anything more menial than this, please do let the author know – just for the sake of her not feeling too lonely or unique.