I'm So High

I know I didn't comment on the Rise and Growth of the Mid Law School Party; but frankly, there was no growth. There was just one big rise, an amazing rise, and then it just got better, and better and more better.

I have never been cynical about parties, because come on, what can't a little alcohol and shady music make good? But, this. Man. Although interrupted at frequent intervals to be warned not to share my opinions on the then unfolding events at this blog, the party- no, the partay- was amazingly-fuckingly-singularly brilliant. So much so that I cannot even bring myself to bitch about it. Not even for fun. Imagine that.

Two and a half years into law school, when the crisis is just beginning to set it seems to be the right time to remind ourselves that it's half over (as against, half incomplete). And our Mid Law School Party was a great bang to start the countdown with.

Thank you guys, you all who organised it, in every little way. You all who decided to graciously allow us to partake of the booze (and other substances). And, you all who came.

I must admit, I love you all.

Looking for a Reason

I feel a little rusty around the edges, and a little bit nervous; but I’m hoping it can be oiled back to working condition. Whoever it was who said it was perhaps right when he said that the more interesting your life becomes, the less you post, and vice versa. My life has hardly been interesting in the interim, but I had a few loose ends left to be tied up, knotted and checked again for safety. Important matters have been settled and buried, and after having spent yet another night sleepless in Nilgiris, I now think it the time and occasion to resume doing what I like to do best – this.

Moral conflicts do persist; but moral conflicts are often best left ignored, I say, for it is a troubled and evil world that we live in. And how is it a crime to add some laughs, here and there, to make the world a better place in my own little way?

Much has changed, and perhaps, the tone too; and therefore, you may no longer know what I am talking about. People too have changed. Change is good, though. Change evokes reaction, which is what mankind thrives on. I hate the new classroom, I hate our new courses, I hate Snake-Woman, I hate The Man Who (Never) Died etc. There can be positive reactions too, I suppose, but what is a blog if we don’t rant some in it?

Okay, so, we’re back. The last time I said ‘we’, there were speculations about who my collaborator was. Ha, I love people who speculate. We’re not back back, if you must know, but we are feeling our way around and looking to see if we can find a cosy comfortable spot. We hope to. At least, I hope to.

Coming Attractions: A Comment on the Rise and Growth of the Great Mid Law School Party.

Allah Yasalmak

I have had a reasonably amusing time here. I must move on. There will be no more posts here.

Thank you for sticking by me when you did.

The blog is back on the public domain.

Aiwa!

Is it a sin to think that some people are better off dead?

To Break or Not to Break.

So, there's an egg in my window. That isn't a metaphor or euphemism or anything like that; there really IS an egg in my window. Ledge. It doesn't have a proper nest or heavenly abode-type place yet, thanks to an earlier half hearted attempt on my part at clearing the little twigs and sticks that the little yellowish white egg's mummy and daddy had painstakingly collected . I am a romantic like that, because even while trying to poke away the random motley of twigs into nothing-ness, I couldn't help thinking of the big, beautiful nest it will grow up to be and the many happy memories egg and its family will have there.

Anyway, so, now I don't know what to do. I am in what one, in common parlance, calls a dilemma. Well, I could call Babu Bonda and ask him to clear the wannabe nest and drop the egg. Like, he drops his scabs in our wannabe dal. Eugh, gross. Alternately, I could let it be and be a silent spectator to the days of egg's lives. Then again, my very cheerful roomie who is always smiling will smile some more, and ask me uncomfortable questions about the little alter-family I am bringing up. After all, she does have a point. It IS the hottest summer in Bangalore, and eggs stink. Not eggs, exactly. Nests, I suppose. I could counter that by saying that there isn't even a nest here, but she can always counter that by saying that there will be. Looks like egg was a premature egg. You know, egg sort arrived before mummy and daddy had time to prepare for their summer home.

It is, sort of, like a summer home. These animals get going during the summer, I suppose. I remember, in my previous room (when I was an ickle first year, and all things were not bright and beautiful), one of the only romantic things that I would look at and heave extended sighs for- was the goings-on in our Loo window. It was one of those huge windows, with the glass tilted to the wall at a precarious angle. The intervening space, however, was a jungle. Of wild, animal passions. Literally.

That was where I saw my first squirrel-mating. (I have a history with squirrels, so to speak. Once I came back from class to find a naughty squirrel that had crapped all over the goddamned place. Inside my cupboard. In my lens solution. Can you beat that?) And, hopefully, the last. But, seriously, little squirrels chasing in each other in a frantic frenzy till finally one of them (presumably, the she-squirrel) gets subdued and submits sexily affects you in a manner nothing else can. And, you must remember this was the Loo. That holy sanctum of peace. Where you may be yourself. And all I ever got to witness for a whole trimester was crazy animal-porn. Can you blame me if I am a little perverse?

I like being able to blame other inconsequential things for stuff I do. It's lots of fun, and if you haven't tried it yet, extremely convenient. It makes a lot of sense, too. For example, I submitted my projects on last-last-last day. If anyone has the audacity to ask me (especially when- as a dear friend said, I am looking like a canned fish that hasn't slept in 30 hours) why I didn't submit my projects on time, I will give you dirty looks. And then, I will blame the heat. You will also notice some of my better posts are written during summers. I have a theory about How Heat is Conducive to Creativity. And, just so you aren't confused, I mean summer type humid type uncomfortable heat. Not the other kind. What with me talking about animals and mating and all that.

Besides the fact that it's not project(s) time and I still didn't sleep a wink the whole night, and am posting this at 6:30 in the morning; if you meet me today and I snap at you, please know that I'm worried and it's cos of egg.


PS: Major renovation at Blogroll. Be checking out, you.

The Unbearable Boredom of Being.

You wonder what the world has come to when you discover that there is actually a Journal that calls itself the Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science.

You wonder some more when you realise people actually write papers that get published in the Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science.

You finally stop wondering when you cog it in your project.

That Majestic Moment....

....when it truly hits you that you are damned for life -

when project extensions depress you.

Regrets.

Man, I used to be such a kid. When did I ever grow up?

Or have I?

Sie Eigentlich Suchte.

So in honour of a dear friend (who is an ardent nature lover and the only law schoolite who knows why God loves little girls) who has assured me that her personal survey has revealed that many anonymous-es are of the opinion that this blog gets bitchy and bitchier everyday; and that, once upon a wonderful time, it used to be nice. She also advised me to be nice. (on the blog)

In full sincerity, I am going to make more than a full hearted attempt.

Nice things, in law school, are in plenty. If only you would go look for them. After all, these are the stuff memories are made of. They say at then end of five years in Papillon, all you take back with you is the sound of the scurrying of rats at night. At the end of five years in Law School, I shall take back so many different wonderful memories of chilling in Nags, chilling in Nags and of course, chilling in Nags. That’s what we do, yes, and that’s what we shall take back.

Nags, of course, is more a part of our lives than Nandi the Mutt can ever hope to be. In the times of yore, Nags used to be the exclusive domain of an elite few. If you were a Nags loyalite, you had your regular spots, you owed them at least fifty bucks and they knew you by name.

But, now, alas – the charm is no more. For we now have the besmirch on the very spirit of Nags, an atrocious apparition that calls itself Chhota Nags. Of course, there are those among us that insist on calling it Abhishek (because, if you don’t know already, the one at the real Nags is called Aishwarya). Yes, I took me a while to get that joke too. Anyway, we shall now refer to this phenomenon as Chetta’s (an immensely funny word when said by Choms). Oh yes, how could I forget, there are those amongst us – the ones that read fairy tales to bed that call that place Under The Tree. Yes, they actually do. Just as you did just now, I gasped and choked for air when I heard this. The last I heard, they are also composing a parody to the song of the same name that which they may sing every time they grown a little bit more fatter.

A recently concluded study has shown that the number of courting couples has seen a dramatic nosedive since the opening of Chhota Nags as women are getting fatter and fatter. Other reports include a complete paradigm shift in the way Barbed Wire Birthdays used to be conducted, with all the aplomb and fanfare, with the Chocolate Mousse Cake that you have eaten a gazillion times but will eat one more time carefully placed on the watchman’s rickety chair, the knife to cut the cake that nobody remembers to bring, the greedy freak who turns up for every b’day not knowing whose it is and the frantic telephone calls when enough people have not turned up for the grand ceremony. The party now assembles in front of Chhota Nags/Abhishek/Chheta’s and all that. Sigh, such times.

See now, I want to write nice things; I am just not able to. It’s not a question of desire, but mere disability. When Madhav Menon gave us that moving speech in class, I was horribly inspired for exactly 5 minutes. Then, I got drenched in the rain and went to sleep in the room. That’s the problem here, see, with nice-ness. Nice things put you to sleep.

Actually, some of them don’t. Like German classes. German classes are good, if you know I mean. You must all attend German classes. Even if you don’t want to learn German. Who wants to learn German, anyway? But you must go for German classes. Really. Since we’re on that, I think Canadian classes couldn’t be all that nice, but then again, it really is a matter of perspective, I think.

Anyway, now you know why the title is in German. :)

F*** Book.

Lately, I have become increasingly insecure about this blog. You know how it goes when you see your private counters zooming and comments accumulating, and you think you are famous enough to make it private - infamous, more like it - and then you get a measley few mails. Poor, poor me. So stop reading it off others' accounts and mail me, man.

Okay, so Facebook pisses me off. Not just your average oh-that-is-an-irritating-online- community kind of pisses me off. This is more the let’s-track-Mark-Zuckerberg-right-now-and-make-him-sit-in-LLH’s-class kinds of pisses me off. I mean, this guy was mutliple charged with breaching computer security, violating rules of on internet privacy and intellectual property apart from being accused of cyber stalking. Why isn’t he behind the bars already?

Okay, maybe, I am over-reacting. I really don’t mind Zuckerbeg. He is average looking and besides, how long can you be pissed off with someone who allegedly turned down a $750 billion deal cus he thought he deserved $2 billion. I just wiki-ed him to be cool.

So, it’s really not him. It’s the facebook maniacs that piss me off. I mean, it’s a cool way to stay in touch during holidays, but it should end there, yes? I mean, there are a very very large majority among us – you’d be surprised how magnanimously large it actually is- that believes that if they don’t log on to facebook every morning and enter in that little dialog box right up on top that says -What are you doing right now?- and fill in that “Dick Head is going to pleasure himself”, they will die of morbid uncoolness. And then, proceed to say something equally inconsequential about something that nobody in the entire freaking universe is evenvaguely interested in. If it’s during projects, it’ll be something along the lines of “I am so dead. I haven’t even started”. Well, yeah, maybe you should go get started on it, then. Then, you wouldn’t die. On second thoughts, I’d rather you die. If it's during holidays, as was in Jan- Feb, it will be something way way worse than when college is on. I mean, I know you are in Delhi and I know Delhi is cold; but will you stop telling me how cold it is in Delhi and that you are freezing to death and that you are so thickheaded that your head couldn’t freeze in any case. You chose to go to Delhi, in any case; so shut up and stop telling the world that you’re frozen to death.

Now go away, and get a life and don't be stuck in campus like me- without any semblance whatsoever of a goddamned life.

Subscription Closed.

I do not write this blog.
I swear.

PS: Do not forsake me. I am only waiting for the NLSIU Ball. Ah, the fun we will have. :)

Announcing NLSIU Ball 2008.

You know how it is? When you want to write about Swayam's Ball and know that it will probably make for a fantastically hilarious blog post - but you being what you are, you begin thinking about the propriety in writing a post filled with references to Swayam's Ball and whether mere semantics will actually succeed in distracting people away from what it really is; cus at the end of the day - you are writing about Swayam's Ball. Goddamned plural or not.

So, are you going to have a ball at Swayam's Ball?

First Attempt.

I am supremely amazingly unprecedentedly anno domini-ishly bored. If you logged in to read this, it probably means that you are too.

Inch Pinch.

Overheard in Law School - II

You know that deep sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when the auto turns to that dirty dusty road to Nagarbhavi? It wasn’t that bad this time. Cus well, if I got to be back and I am supposed to be back, I might as well be back, yes? Actually, whatever.

Moving on to more pertinent issues, read on.

(Overheard somewhere sometime in the First Trimester)
Ragging Begins.
Senior from Kerala: Where are you from?
Stupid Junior: (giggles) I am brought up in Delhi but I am a Mallu.
Senior from Kerala: Don’t say that.
Stupid Junior: (giggles) Why?
Senior from Kerala: Cus its stupid. Say Mal. Mallu is crass and crude and uncool. In law school, we call ourselves Mals. Cus we are cool. Okay?
Stupid Junior: (puzzled) Oh.

See, I am not judgmental and all; but will you blame me if I feel like sniggering everytime I see said cool senior?

Overheard in *Secret Fantastic Place I Holidayed + Interned + Abused Dirt Cheap Local Spirits and Other Herbs At*

Bouncer 1: Dude, why you have long face, maaaan? (heavy ghati accent)
Bouncer 2: Girls, maaaan. Girls. (very heavily americanised ghati accent)
Bouncer 1: (clearly in awe of Bouncer 2 who showed him his apparently cool but obviously pathetic chinese dragon tattoo a while ago) You are the player, maaan. Don't lie.
Bouncer 2: I hate girls, maaan. Nobody wants commitment, maaan.
Bouncer 1: (nods in encouragement)
Bouncer 2: I've decided, man. I only want three things. Dadoo, sutta, ladki. Koi bhi. That's all.

And WOULD you believe it? He even looked like his Law School Version. F!

Sussegado Slumber.

Yes, we have gone off air. Wooohoo.

There is only so much fun we can have. And now we must return to the old ways. And blog to vent out all that pent up frustration. And to think, I am not even one-tenth as frustrated as some others. Oh, I am so naughty.

Anyway, the past one month has been the most amazing I have ever had. Ever. Life has been fenitastic. If you know what I mean. :)

So, because it's only courtesy and all (and because I actually found a net cafe here that isn't filled with balding paedophiles), Welcome Back.



For some special reader(s):
Oh, and by the way, my darling, I couldn't care less why you want to read the blog. Yes, maybe you're bored, maybe you can't think of anything else to do. Frankly, my dear, I couldn't care less. As I see it, either way - for whatever reasons - you want to read it. Justify yourself to yourself. Cus I am the patron saint of base intentions.

Dayo Bor-ray Koru!

Ladies and Gentlemen,

One year is almost past. On February 27, 2008, my darling blog will complete a year of existence. We’re all grown up now and we, therefore, are newly matured.

Enough has been said, discussed and alleged about this blog. I would like to thank You, dear reader, for having read; and for coming back and reading some more. I loved your comments, even the snarly anonymous ones; and I am sorry I never wrote a post about you. Perhaps, we never had an opportunity to interact at a post-writing level. Or maybe, you’re just not important enough. Either way, sadly, you missed the bus.

One year anniversaries are big in my scheme of things. One year anniversaries call for grand celebrations. For resolutions. For surprises. On this occasion, then, I think it is only fair that I emerge from my refuge.

And seek another one.

I wish I could say something more grandiose and path breaking in this novel post, but there is little left to be said. For what I can say, with you reading it, is painfully limited. And what I want to say – painfully vast. And there, fellow law schoolite, lies my problem.

I want to be able to say what I want, without worries. For I have realized, and much too late for my own good, that what is written here is not taken for what I mean it to be: simple harmless caricature of a life and lives we live amongst. Like I said to a fellow blogger, character assassination is one thing- and caricature- another.

And for me to be able to make these silly exaggerations for my personal amusement (and, of course, for the pleasure of those I seek to amuse), it becomes necessary for me to remove this blog from the public domain.

So, there.

This blog is no more what it has been. Starting February 27 2008, I will be converting this to an invites-only blog. A blog where I may be myself. A blog that promises to be bigger, better and super.

You will be able to read the blog if you are invited. Allow me to assure you that I only wish to know who reads me, so there will be little discrimination, if any. If you wish to remain part of this wonderful fraternity that indulges in some harmless mockery here and some there, you must let me know at nagarbhavi@gmail.com; so I can invite you.

I hope we meet again. It has been my great pleasure having you here.

Much love,
Scarlett.

Overheard in Law School - I

(In the Girls' Mess)

A: You’re wearing a halter bra. Fuck. I hate those.

B: Why?

A: They make me feel like a bottle holder.





Delurk, you. Make me thrive.

Shiny Happy People!

It’s been a long while, yes; but you know how busy I have been and how busy you have been and how busy the world has been creating things I can dog about; so yes – it’s time for another one of those…..

At the outset, I must wish the whole lot of you a very very Happy New Year. May you pass every exam, every repeat, every carry; may you submit every project on time, may you not get drunk and return to campus inebriated (apparently) and be caught by DisCo, may you bag the girl or boy or professor you love – even if he is married; may you complete your B.A. LL.B. (Hons.) course in the five years that you are meant to complete it; and yes, most importantly, may you never be taught by the LLH. This, I ask for you who read my blog, in God’s name. You others can go fuck yourselves.

In other news, I saw this little round thing wobbling about claiming that Triple I is official/confirmed/public (on a rainy day, I will write a post on relationship jargon) and out with Sharma the Serial Kisser(thank you, Anonymous). Now, now. Not that I care, and I don’t even know for sure if this is what I heard; but what the hell, it’s an awfully thing interesting to hear, isn’t it? We, therefore, are going to go all out and endorse it. You know how integral Triple I is to Nagarbhavi. In any case, I extend my heartiest congratulations; and if, in fact, what I did hear is not true; then I suggest you go ahead and take advantage of it anyway. This might be your only chance, little people. Such dimensional compatibility might be ordained by the Heavens, so grab it while you can.

I am surprised though. I thought this person deserved better. I won’t tell who. Ha! Anyway, if you don’t know who to blame (and you can’t blame me); you might as well blame the NYP '08. I remember a particularly gentlemanly gentleman on my gtalk list had a little countdown of sorts going on for the same. It actually said One more day to go.....for that grand extravaganza where we shall all get drunk and be happy and do crazy things and disappear into the bushes, called the NYP '08. Sigh. I didn’t know; but I’m guessing there are people out there for whom the NYP is a highlight of sorts. Well, who am I to judge? I don’t even have a highlight. Unless you count the time Boring Blake Lover just stood there dripping the dirty pool water; and looked…well…maybe we shouldn’t discuss this. Someday, when he has gotten over it and can look back and laugh about it; I only want to tell him, Dude, you’re so cool!

The NYP, as a matter of fact, is an extravaganza of sorts. Well, for one, there is free alcohol. For a strict teetotaller like me, of course, it holds little attraction; but I go along anyway. Why? For the incredibly extensive matter I can later write about. The goss, the who-danced-with-who, the who-wore-what and the who-got-on-with-who (you and I know atleast two people, eh Triple I?) Yes, admittedly, the free alcohol (and not to mention, the services of the Peking China dude, if you know what I mean) is a huge crowd puller for several. Of course, it is. I was made so happy on 31st evening to see full blown men and women, all completely and all-the-way-to-the moon blown, all happily buzzed and dancing. Nothing gladdens my heart like happy drunk people, you know.

Except there are those who think its uncool to drink at NYP. Like, she said, Man, this alcohol is SO bad, it makes me want to puke;and took a huge swig to prove her point. I met her sometime later (when I had figured that the gtalk gentleman had taken over the music and it was time, therefore, to get off the dance floor), she held a bottle of rum in her hand and said, Omg, why do they serve this alcohol? It soooooo bad. The party is soooooo boring, man. Maybe I should go get some vodka to feel unbored. The next time I found her was when she was being conveyed, with much difficulty, back to the bus. I think I also saw her emerge from the bushes somewhere in between, but what the hell, yes? Well. What more is there to say?

So, what’s this whole deal with the party being boring, eh? I mean, I had fun at the party. Then again, I’m a very fun and person and all. I love talking like that. And all. But, isn’t a party only as much as fun as you make it out to be (or make out to be, whatever your preference)? So, think about it. And all. Why be all so persnickety and uptight? It was a nice enough party, and there were lots of bushes and all; so if you didn’t have fun, the least you can do is not walk around with a bottle of vodka claiming how bored you are. Cus frankly, my dear, we fun people don’t give a goddamned damn. I’ve always wanted to say that in this blog. What with me being Scarlett. And all.

Hmm. Coming back to more academic oriented news, LLH made a claim that today was the last Juris class theorectically. Theoretically. As against, what? Practically? Wasn’t it the last Juris class practically too? Does that dude just like confusing us?

Lastly, if you’re like me, you might have noticed the formation of new alliances and mergers in class. They make for interesting permutations and combinations. Come on, I’ll give you a hint. Let’s just say that there is the Original It Chick, there is Pseudo It Chick and there is, of course, Wannabe It Chick. Correct guesses get a Surprise Gift! And all.

This is just the trailer. Stay tuned for more.

Actually, you should go study.