The Mooter's Last Sigh

I often stress more about not stressing enough. In these troubling moot times, I have come down to strolling without direction in the library to deal with my non-existent stress.

In other news, Gayathri - who is the "Information Scientist" (click here) at our esteemed university - has grand plans with the Rs. 37 lacs granted by the UGC for IT development. I'm cool with whatever she wants to do with all that money; but must she call herself that? Information Scientist?

France's Most Celebrated Chanteuse? W. t. f.

Dear Vimal,

I am left with no doubt that you appreciate music and musicians beyond measure; and feel the overwhelming desire to share a striking song with the rest of the world whenever you chance upon one. While I can understand where such joy about music is coming from, I am writing this mail in order to urge you to understand that we, the rest of us, are NOT interested.

I love my music too, and love to explore new genres and artists; but I do not remember delegating you to help me in the same. I am sure you will find many ballad lovers out there in the world in whose company you can continue this journey of musical discovery; but I would like to request you to kindly not impose your songs on unsuspecting law schoolites merely because they happen to be part of the law school mail network.

You may comfort yourself that you have shown 400 people yet another musical gem; but in this part of the world, we call it SPAM.

You are spoilt for choice. Mail yourself. Create a mailing group, if you must. Mail people who have expressed an interest in your music. Put up notices on 19 (1) (a). But, for the love of the goddess Hathor, please stop mailing the rest of us. In other words, please stop spamming. It ought to be a punishable offence.

In the hope that I have convinced you of the subtle difference between spam and voluntary mailing lists, and with best wishes for your travails in the world of music,

Regards,
Scarlett

P.S. I did, in fact, mail him.
P. P. S. DPC blues.

A Clarification. Not An Apology.

THIS IS NOT A SARCASTIC POST ON THE AC WARS --- THIS IS NOT A SARCASTIC POST ON THE AC WARS --- THIS IS NOT A SARCASTIC POST ON THE AC WARS --- THIS IS NOT A SARCASTIC POST ON THE AC WARS*

No, really. This isn’t.

For Mr. Mighty Bihari has rendered me a great service. By providing me with fodder for an update in a blog that I thought was long gone, dead and decomposed; he has necessitated yet. another. post.

Now, firstly, be clear that this is NOT a sarcastic post. The objective of this exercise, if I may humbly quote, is to express my RE-action which is necessitated by the spam volleying that followed The Great AC Wars. For my non 3rd year readers, a clarification is, however, due. Of course, this is only a clarification. Not an apology. And I swear I didn’t take anybody’s assistance in writing this.

It had all started with the ACs that were all in working condition, as The Monty had informed us in a pleasant mail. On a hot summer day, however, tempers were running high. A young girl felt ill and cold, and shivered uncontrollably when her classmates insisted that all the four air conditioners be switched on. This, however, was not to last. Her knight in shining armour, from the Indian heartland and from Lalu’s creed, came to her rescue. In the face of the cold draughts of air and a Shankara ambling in, the Mighty Bihari pushed away the perpetrators of cold and gloom, repeatedly flung the AC plug against the wall shattering it into a million little tiny pieces and saved her from the frosty clutches of death. And then, dear readers, he decided to clarify. Mind you, he did not apologise.

Never was a clarification so poignantly drafted. It was emotional, sarcastic, socially conscious and even scientific. Not only did it contain pointed philosophical comments on a life or its lack thereof, and the evils of “undemocratic majoritarian tyranny” ; it also dwelt on the thermodynamic issue of airconditioners and their cooling effect. In fact, I am of the opinion that we have accidentally struck upon a eureka discovery moment here. Such understanding of the dynamics of cold air must be patented.

It must be admitted that the AC plug ping pong (apparently, Sports Comm is considering making an event of it) was the unhealthy consequence of great debate and prior discussion between all concerned parties. The real concerned party even attempted to pull the ping pong champion away, and was nonchalantly shook off. In my opinion, that was no mere act of self popularsiation. I put forward that it was merely an act of great love, adoration and, of course, idiocy.

Anyway, the first mail had me “counting my chickens before they hatched”. I thought the war had been won. But, it is summer and tempers are obviously running high. Another mail followed. After a scientific dismissal of the theory propounded, the perpetrator of cold and gloom challenged the Bihari. The AC will remain switched on, it proclaimed. The perpetrator also claimed that he is closely related to Arindam Chaudhary. I did not see the connection; but I’m hoping someone has.

The counter –reply (and the last episode in this series, sadly) was below the belt. Some more scientific debate on the relative effects of bench proximity to the air conditioner on thermal conditions was followed by a rude dismissal of all those who have been slapped by people. Especially by their friends. There was only an address furnished for further correspondence, be it verbal or physical. No more free show, that means. :(

But, the end had not been reached yet. Of course, the sensitive folks were enraged. Oh no. They could not simply sit back and laugh, and had a penny’s worth to say. They thought that "Destroying things that are common property is just ...unacceptable."


I beg to differ. It is all acceptable. For sheer entertainment value.



Welcome back, fellows. :)



*For more details, refer to S. Kumar, “A Clarification, NOT AN APOLOGY”, ug2006 Mail Account, May (2009) and following correspondence.

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.

About A Boy

There is a boy in our class I truly admire. And, respect. I am immensely fond of him; and given the opportunity, I’d like to help him in any which way I can. Not that he needs it, of course. I haven’t had much opportunity to hang out with him, as they say; save for the odd conversation here and there, and a singular three hour movie I had the immense please of watching with him.

Why I like him? Quite complicated, actually. He is the sort of guy everybody likes. Everybody. He is easily one of the most earnest, and heartbreakingly sincere people I have ever come across. He goes all out for what he believes in, is not judgmental and manages to charm you with an innocence I haven’t spotted in a single man here. There is no guile in him;none, whatsoever. He is loud, jolly and everything that epitomizes his culture. At the same time, he knows where to shut up and when; and also speaks when he must. He has his weaknesses, or so he thinks; and he has no issues, whatsoever, in admitting to them. He is highly intelligent, and very smart. If he weren’t so nice, I’d have probably fallen head over heels for him.

I wish I had written a better post in honour of him. He’s so unassuming he will never realize I am talking about him; if he reads this blog at all, that is. What’s more, another classmate has already – and in better words - expressed his admiration for this venerable chap. He is a dude. In every sense of the world. This is one guy, I know for a fact, will go places.

And now I must go back to doing my projects.

Unpainted Walls.

It's 1: 50 a.m.

I have Blinky's notes sprawled in front of me, an empty packet of Lays that I have just devoured (I hang out too much with a guy who writes like this) and earphones on my head (alternatively, headphones over my ears). Heh.

I did not, ever, claim to have an interesting life.

I also took a nice picture of my flagged notes with my flagged M. P. Jain and my flagged Munshi all arranged together most pleasingly to the eye for Channel 33 yada yada. Then, I decided not to put it up.

Why Fi?

I counted ten people in the Sri Narayan Rao Melgiri Library today. Well, nine, actually; because you can pretty much count Make Up Maiden and her Escort as one entity. I wish I was taught to say more politically incorrect things. I'd have so much more to say on this subject,then.

We are all going to be come psychopaths and serial killers. Maybe, She’ll get killed then. Sigh.

I beseech you’ll to not roost in your rooms. Come out. Flutter. Socialize. To drive that bald headed irritating man in the library crazy, if for nothing else.

For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O Pioneers!

I'm too fucked up to upload the snap. Go away.

Bhayanak Maut.

Generally. :)

Almost Orgasmic.

There is nothing - absolutely nothing - that comes as close to joy does as that last bell on a Saturday.

The Prophet

Sometimes a phase in one's life ceases, and one ceases with it. The strip of LSD in the head got burnt out.

Like she toasted to you, May you find all that there, that you did not find here.

Lollipop Revolution

Do the Directive Principles of State Policy and Fundamental Rights have a love-hate relationship? I hope they do, because I wrote that in my answer paper.

If I'm not a stud, who is?

The Dark Side of Western Europe

Now that Switcheroo Sinha has finally made up her mind about The Boy who Jumped, it leads us to wonder whether this isn’t one of those transient trips again. I mean, variety is the spice of life and all that; but some constancy, I think, is essential for a healthy lifestyle, and hey, a troublesome two isn’t exactly what you would call variety, is it?

So, recently, I happened to chance upon this little explosion of sorts. Not too big; but you know how it is, little things get put under the glass here in Nagarbhavi. So the subject of this explosion was something that has been on my mind for quite a while. Not for too long a while though, it really isn’t the sort of thing that merits my attention that much. Or yours, for that matter.

It is this little matter of Politics. Now, I love Politics. I enjoy Politics. To be quite honest, I thrive on Politics. If you know me at all, you’ll know I’m not kidding (the real national sort, though). So this particular Political fiasco concerns that lovely little association of such lovable individuals who pride themselves on being called the Extremely Manipulative Culls (I did think of other expansions; but I like to think that this is a family blog). They are, in popular media, also called “the committee to be in” committee EMC. Sometimes, they put up silly notices acting in consonance with their extreme silliness; and tend to call themselves Execrable Mental Something. They also tend to think it’s funny. They need to be told that it is not.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not the ABC sorts. The only committee I’d ever want to be on is DisCo. And, apparently, they don’t take applications for membership. (Membership in the DisCo is through some classified channel wherein the applicants are made to go through torturous tests. Now you know why they all look so traumatized.)

Anyway, coming back to the original topic we are considering here; I was told with great passion and sincerity by a very reliable source that the Extremely Manipulative Culls is lost in the quagmire of petty Politics and manipulation. This committee, the source told me, is the biggest caricature of all that is law schoolite-ish about us all – the stupid, irrelevant, petty, hateful little games that I have seen people here play.

It was quite confusing, to be honest. I was told that the A hates B and B hates C (or was it D?) who, in fact, hates E -who happens to be A, anyway. Then there’s F who hates all A, B, C and D; and the compliment is more than returned. (A, B, C, D, E and F are all committee members, for the uninitiated) Amidst all that, somebody resigned so that somebody else could get in; but then somebody else got pissed off- so somebody else went and cried away to altogether somebody else. In short, they are one messed up committee. (On that note, I must state that GWC is one of the best committees we have; and that they should be made an ABC. Three cheers for Divya D., Surabhi Shukla and Swati Ramnath)(till they have been given monikers).

Anyway, the point is: what does this “the committee to be in” committee do, anyway? I mean, yes, they do do a lot of work; but why is EMC accorded the kind of stature that no other committees are given? Where I come from, the analogous committee did a much much MUCH better job; and none of this Politicization existed. Of course, that would be taking it too far; all committees have Politics; but at least they didn’t have these exhibitions of unbelievably bad humour.

Don’t get me wrong, here. I think the EMC does a reasonably good job; and I am hardly placed to judge. I am going to judge, in any case. Like an EMC member and one of my favouritest people here told me, I like judging. It’s fun!

What prompted me to make this post, while connected to EMC, has not been stated yet. So, I see these notices asking for applications, with minimum point requirements, whetting and all that yada yada. I also see a lot of people applying for it. A classmate of mine has a xerox of the sheet with all her various achievements listed (inclusive of the food she served when she volunteered with FnB) which she has gotten vetted. She always has the copy with her in her bag. You never know which committee will ask for FnB applications and when. Best to be prepared. (also, is anybody in the FnB clan dating the owner of Nizam’s? Why are they always there?)

I have a terrible habit of digression. Anyway, coming back to the whole invitation for applications, I was told that it’s all a big scam. It’s all pre-planned; and none of it amounts to anything. Or nothing. I mean, we all know it’s a big scam; but there is something about putting it down there, yeah? Also, I don’t have any issues with it being a scam; because it isn’t DisCo and so I don’t care, but my point is: if it is a scam, and we all know it is a scam and you all know it is a scam, and generally, it’s one of those things everyone knows is a scam, then why bother scamming at all? Such a waste of effort, resources, and such opportunities for the unsightly display of their painfully bad humour. Also, since we all know it’s a scam, why bother applying at all? Really, what is the point of it all? I just don’t get it, sometimes. The World and its Ways.

Meanwhile, Sports Comm too; having seen that their brothers (and sisters) of the Extremely Manipulative Culls clan, has taken to posting notices in what they believe is, and I am led to believe they believe, good humour. I mean, seriously, was that bit about NLS SC 07 being a citation for their committee meant to be funny? No, I’m seriously asking. I need to know. It’s biological.

There. That feels so good.

!!! Attention: Ex Law Schoolites !!!
Sorry, folks. Too late. Candy shop closed.

!!! Attention: Law Schoolites !!!
You’d think ex law schoolites are busy with high end well paid jobs. Apparently, not. Kind of makes me wonder about my future.

Mortar-bored

Another convocation has come and gone. And, I’m still here.

All the glitz, the glamour, the joy in the faces of 80 individuals adorned in their beautiful gowns and throwing the caps in the air.

I’ve always wondered what throwing them up was supposed to signify. That is to say, what’s the symbolism? And then when I watched them throw it up in the air, carefree – not worrying about whether it will come back to them or not – to just throw something into the air like that without object, to throw everything behind you and to throw to new beginnings, I figured it was just that- letting go.

It was a happy occasion and it will always remind me of when faces light up, when smiles are for everyone, when everything you have lived for the past five years becomes just that – the past, when hands are shaken, when tears are shed, when medals are won (and dropped), when cheers are given, when degrees are acquired and when the future becomes the present.

On my convocation, one cap will be thrown higher up than anybody else’s. Mine.

I will be the happiest person in the auditorium that day. :)

Who Let the Dogs Out?

When it becomes a trade-off between me and the dogs, I am sorry to say – much to the chagrin of all the canine lovers in this campus – that I must and will choose myself. So must you.

I don’t have an issue with the dogs, really. I find them quite amusing, in fact. I am used to dogs; have one at home, have had several of them roaming in and around the classes of where I studied previously. Looking back, over there the classes were more or less incomplete without a dog or two wagging its tail next to the teacher’s desk. Of course, I didn’t live on campus; so we can’t draw analogies. Yes, I am also all for the dog is a man’s best friend and all of that. At a purely fundamental level, I have no issues with the concept of dogs - it's the conception that I wish to address.

The dogs become a cause for concern when they aren’t what regular clean healthy dogs are.
Our dogs are not clean. Check.
Our dogs randomly get into dog fights. Check.
Our dogs bite arbitrarily. Check.
Our dogs create huge problems during events like quad parties, EMDs, WMDs, blah. Check.
Our dogs aren’t safe to have around. Check.
And, why exactly are they our dogs, anyway?

I don’t know if this is or is not normal dog behaviour. I couldn’t care less. If we can’t get the dogs to behave, we keep them at bay. If we can’t teach them that students, faculty and other staff are not for them to attack and harm, we keep the dogs away. And since we obviously cannot do in any period of time what nature hasn’t done in eternity – teaching dogs human decorum – maybe we need to kick them out. I want to be able to walk back to hostel without having to worry about whether or not that dog which is giving me a menacing look and growling ominously is going to bite me in the next instant. I am entitled to that much, if nothing else.

If you’re a dog lover and you can think of any other plausible solution to getting these dogs to behave (and maybe take a bath or two), you are more than welcome to implement it. If you love dogs so much, keep them in your room. Take them home with you. I don’t know. Anything.

I like dogs. I know. I understand. They need a place to live too; just like us.

But not in my campus. This is where I live.

Toast...

...to new beginnings...

As a certain special someone often says to me and others, If they can make penicillin out of bread mould, they're bound to make something out of me.

Power Relationships. Argh.

It became very clear to me sitting out there today that every decision I've made in my entire life has been wrong. My life is the complete opposite of everything I want it to be. Every instinct I have, in every aspect of life, be it something to wear, something to eat - it's all been wrong.

-- George Louis Costanza, Seinfeld

Yes, this IS dedicated to you. And, it expresses what I'm feeling right now oh-so-beautifully.

Preventive Retention.

So, what with all the passionate speeches, vocal outbursts and comparisons to banana leaves (that was some analogy, though, wasn’t it?), I am slowly getting converted. I am seriously considering becoming a feminist. Ideally, I’d just like to become a Mal Syrian Christian Blue Eyed Boy; but since I ain’t one by default, and also because a change in ideology is much easier than a sex change, I think I’ll stick to altering my orientation. In thought, that is.

That is not to say that I am a male chauvinist now. Or not. I mean, mostly, I don’t really care. It’s funny when I think about how little I care. (and just to prove my point, she here cares) About people, issues, ideologies; and all that. I used to, you know. A lot. There used to be a time when I had a perspective on everything (I still do – that I don’t care). There used to be a phase when I’d attend meetings and speak at discussions. So, as usual, I was pretending to read A. K. Gopalan (oh, and that reminds me, there have been some very funny blog-worthy happenings with regard to the whole study group fiasco; but I don’t care enough to write about it)(see what I mean?); yes, so anyway I was attempting to try and scale myself through over 100 pages of I-don’t-give-a-f-what; and then I thought : Whoa, I’ve become such a cynic. Yes, I have transformed into some sort of reckless, thoughtless, cynical, bored bitch. And we all know who/what/ where is responsible for this. For wrecking all our lives.

Law school. Sometimes I meet an ex-law schoolite, and they say they’re from here, and I look at them with pity and say, Aw, you poor thing.

So, anyway, here I am; a day before the exam that I don’t really care enough about (I talk too much, I shall be my own undoing) blaming law school for making me not care enough. Circular argument, perhaps. But I don’t care. Which brings us back to where I started, anyway.

You might have noticed that this blog isn’t what it used to be. I miss it, too. Assuming, of course, that you do. And come on, some of you do do. Don’t you? So, I was also thinking about why this place isn’t what it used to be, and why I’ve taken to writing the sentimental tosh that I do; and now I should shut up, or I’ll talk too much again. So yeah, it’s just that this was where I came to amuse myself. And lash out at the world, in general.

I have, however, made peace with this place now. I bitch less, and try to pretend to study more. This blog has become largely redundant in its original agenda – amusing me. (and not you) But every time I want to wrap it up, they'll says something amusing like I know there are porn maniacs in this class; and I just crack up. And the world seems like a funnier place.

Anyway, the idea is: I blame this place less now. I’d like to take responsibility for myself. I still maintain that this place is all that I said here. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that four years down the lane I’ll have Her keeping a tab on me and I’ll be corporate whore-ing myself. And, I’d like to have something to show. I mean, at the end of it all, when they ask me what I got; I can’t show them one measley little bitchy blog, can I? (alternatively, I could just go to work for Midday)

So, there. I’m going to write a couple of posts about how law school is the most wonderful thing that happened to the world. After me.

I’ll try, in any case.

Sigh. It used to be fun to blame this place.

PS: I’m just getting into the groove. I promise, we’ll be back on Bitch Central soon enough.
PPS: Crew Cut smiled at me today. I am so thrilled.
PPPS: Oh, and someone compared this to that. I am very flattered. Thank you. :)

Renaissance

WE, ladies and gentlemen, are back in business!
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This renaissance post is dedicated to Sherlock Holmes – anonymous commenter, fellow italics lover, pet subject reading list maker and one of my favouritest readers. Thank you. :)
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VI

Nobody knows what’s up with him,
He’s treating the course like nobody’s whim.
Will he lecture us or not?
With doubt, we are fraught
And the passing grade looks rather dim.

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Wow. I hadn't realised how much I miss this.

Sorrow Floats.

There really is a lot I want to be saying here right now; but projects beckon. Bear with me; and keep visiting. Meanwhile, study hard, make good projects ,and read your cases and articles.

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I love you all. And, it's a beautiful beautiful world.

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Keep passing the open windows. Like the King of Mice wrote before he jumped off one, LIFE IS SERIOUS BUT ART IS FUN.

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You're right, This blog just gets randomer by the day.

For S E W, if she reads this.

I realise your blog is no more. I wonder if it happened post comments here. I am sorry if this blog brought that about. I also wonder if you have continued blogging elsewhere. I wish to be able to read it, if so. Thank you. :) It has been a pleasure.

Please have read this.

Nobody's Fault.

I figured that I really should show some form of protest in response to the whole 11 o'clock curfew fiasco. Then again, I also figured that I have better and more important things to do. Like, watching Rajeev Cadambi.

.

Besides, I think it's quite healthy to get knocked about a little. Everybody needs to get a blow or two from a random digga. Atleast once. It's a learning experience. I, for one, can think of several people who could do with such an experience. Can't you?

.

Meanwhile, here I am, doing it because I must :

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Get Down, JayGo! Get Down!

Culpable?

rAnDoM

What, in the world, is Kampani's object in sitting where he does in recent times? No, honestly. What?

Also, I am slowly - and most definitely - being enamoured by the sort of charm that you cannot name, describe or define -which Rajeev Cadambi exudes in HUGE quantities. :)

Problematic.

...................www.xkcd.com

Nothing Bright Here.

Let's give P Dot a break. He is trying so hard. And, do not forget. He claims to remember. Everything. Right from our handwriting to our interventions. I agree he is a little weird. I also agree that he refused to use the microphone because he claimed that The speakers are making strange noises. Seeing as how The Couple were nowhere near the speakers, I wonder where the strange noises came from.. Let's give him a break - because he is, after all, a human being; with faults and issues in life. Some of us have bigger issues in life than some others. Like GB. He has I S S U E S, I hear.

Like the first years. Let's give them a break. Let's give everybody a break.

Except Sudhir Krishnaswamy. Let's just break him.

Wasted.

All through the night, your glorious eyes
Were gazing down in mine,
And, with a full heart's thankful sighs,
I blessed that watch divine.

I was at peace, and drank your beams
As they were life to me;
And revelled in my changeful dreams,
Like petrel on the sea.

Thought followed thought, star followed star,
Through boundless regions, on;
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through, and proved us one!

- Emily Bronte, Stars

Do Not Read.

Why are enthu cutlets called enthu cutlets? I think that phrase is an insult, right under the belt, to everything in the English language. It makes me want to retch.

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Please please do not use enthu cutlet to describe anything. Not even first years. Heh. I'll tell you why.

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a) Enthu is just such an ill sounding contraction of the word enthusiasm; which, by itself, is not that great a word to begin with. (I have favourite words too; I think satisfaction is an incredible word, with high coming a close second. My roomie's favourite word is whimsy; just like her)

b) What is the logic behind calling a first year a cutlet? What, in the world, is the connection?

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Anyway, this blog is largely becoming increasingly personal and therefore, boring me.

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Worry not, though. I mean to keep this blog as impersonal and im-private as possible. This blog is not about me. It's about you. Ugh. Ok, it's about the weird things that happen in Law School. So you can be entertained. Do not, for a minute, think that I labour under the delusion that this blog entertains anybody. But it does, you must agree, provide for some amusement when a day before term paper submission (it sounds so much cooler to say term papers), when you haven't started typing (you notice this distinction between typing and research that some folks have? It drives me crazy. I mean, they'll ask me, Have you started? knowing me and knowing fully well that I haven't. Then, they'll ask me Typing? Or research? Wtf! I do both together dammit, and no, I haven't started either.), then this blog is one of the things you can read. Alternatively, you can just work on your term paper; but if you're the kind who does that, you're probably not reading this blog anyway.

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But, at the end of the day, you got to admit, that this is my blog. And, I am free to post whatever-the-goddamned-hell I want to. Even if it is the trashiest piece of English prose there ever was.

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Like this one.

Back to School.

Twelve more days to go back to that unbelievably, painfully, mind numbingly, irritatingly, maddeningly, unprecedentedly and unequivocally loathsome, abhorrent, despicable, condemnable, contemptible, pathetic, hapless, wretched, miserable, hateful, detestable, abominable, odious, execrable, demented, sick, sore, disgusting, nauseating, repulsive, skanky, infernal hellhole called Law School.

.

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And, you know what's worse?

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I seem to think I wouldn't mind it that much. F! I'm becoming one of those. Help.

(and you are one of the reasons, mwah!)

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(yes, I'm still around)

Welcome To The Jungle

..At the end of the tunnel, there is a light bulb that glows,
Only when I get there will I know what it shows...

It Makes Me Wonder.

Indian Courts and their judgments.

How many people in Law School would get that warrant for the same reason as those two did?

(thinks)

Wow.

Purple

I respect you. I admire you a lot more than you think I do. Mostly, I just love you. And, f, I don’t even know why.

You know who you are.

You've Got Mail.

May 30, 2007

Dear Sir,

You might be surprised to receive this letter. Heck, you are surprised to receive this. From me, especially. Belonging to the First Year Batch.

I know you have more or less written us off for good. I totally understand that. Infact, I’d have been surprised if you hadn’t. Given the kind of people we are, and the size of our egos – albeit unjustified- it was only a matter of time before we drove you crazy. Of course, what I was surprised was at the extent to which we drove you over the edge. I didn’t think you’d stumble. Yes, I was shocked when you said you are going to give up teaching. Us. Or anyone. To be only fair, that is exactly why I am writing this to you.

Today, you asked us to have a perspective. I beseech you to heed your own words. You are a good teacher. We are bad students. Let’s face it now. For the most part, we are. And more importantly, you are HOT. Like, very. You musn’t be angry with us. It will break my heart. Well, almost. That’s an important perspective to have. As important as any other.

Please forgive us. We are sorry. Some of us are. Okay, I am and I don’t know about the others but I like you too much to care and I’m hoping there are others like me. I know you have only wanted us to do well and never meant to make us sink like stones. Look at how you’ve corrected the mid terms. Such generosity, such understanding. Sigh. Everything and anything you have done makes me hang my head in shame for all those nights spent in futile gossiping as against useful case readings.

If I could go back in time and change anything, it will all have to do with your class. I will sit in the first bench, smile at you on every ocassion and read every case, every article and everything else you'd assigned us. I mean this. In all sincerity. But, time once gone cannot be altered. I’m sorry. However much I wish to change it, I am powerless to do so. But, you will agree, it’s the thought that counts. And the thought here is genuine and heartfelt.

It pains me to have given you so much trouble. To have been such ungrateful fanged serpents. I tend to use metaphors when I’m genuinely sorry. I’m an idiot like that. But that doesn’t take anything away from the fact that I respect, admire and laud you. I wish you taught and will teach us every course we have. Of course, that would have landed you in NIMHANS, but I mean well.

You have been telling us how you are determined to pass us if we put in effort. That’s noble, you know? Not only are you hot, you’re also cool.

This isn’t a juvenile rant coming from a student who thinks her professor is beyond happening. No, this is not just that. It might sound like it, heck, it sounds a lot like it; but there is a lot more to this.

When Sujith Kumar P Dot used to teach us, and I used to look around class to see my classmates variably involved in sleeping, chatting, gtalking, orkutting and taking that poor poor man’s trip and so on; I never felt guilty. Not a tinge. But, when I look around when you’re discussing the cases and see some of us sleeping and most of us looking at you with psychotically blank faces and I think, What the f is wrong with us?

Where are we, as a class, going? What are we trying to prove? Or disprove? Maybe we have had a spate of bad teaching, and we have gotten used to dismissing teachers and courses with not so much as a glance; but that doesn’t excuse us from the fact that we are being extremely stupid. There. I said it.

We have been and are, for the most part, stupid. We don’t know what is good for us. We have, as a class, decided to disregard your reading lists and not pay attention in class. Believe me, I am not proud of it. It’s pathetic. And, to be honest to you and to ourselves, the past three months are quite beyond redemption. Like I said, we cannot go back and change it. And, even if we could, I doubt there would be many of us who would.

You might be wondering why I am writing this to you seeing as how I have reiterated, more than just once in this mail, that we have done wrong and stand too late to be corrected. There is a point to this. I always do things that have a point, you know.

Well, anyway, the point is – give us a chance. One more time. One last time. Teach us Consti Law II. Please do.

I promise to do better. I can’t speak for the others (some of them don’t even think you’re hot, can you imagine?!) I speak for myself. If you teach us our next course, I promise to devour it. Pursue it with such diligence and such earnestness that I shall make up for all the angst we caused you this trimester. But, if you don’t, I shall write off the Constitution of India forever.

This might sound juvenile and irrational and a host of other ridiculous things, but I couldn’t care less. Give us a chance. Once more. We, ok, no- I made a mistake and I am genuinely sorry. Don’t punish us for it. Don’t. I entreat you to forget what has past and look over to the next three months. I will sit in the first bench and smile. I’ll even read a case or two, maybe. Okay, I'm just kidding. I promise to read the cases. All of them. And, to never refer to you belittlingly in this blog. Ever.

Hope you consider this request favourably.

Thanking You,
Regards,
Yours sincerely,
Scarlett.


P.S: I hope the fact that I typed this out during Consti Law does not make that much of a difference to you.

Be Wary.

Some people will never cease to amaze me. Never. Ever.

What, in the world, do you say to a certain senior who attempts (and fails- quite miserably) to look menacingly at you and spits out "Watch it!"?

I just smile. Coyly.

Ah, I like private jokes!

We are in the papers. Really.

Who says NAGARBHAVI is obscure?

Don't forget to read the bit about The Great (Almost) Abduction.

If you're feeling uncomfortable, please leave.

It seems like it was just yesterday that those goofy idiots called the second years were asking me my claim to fame. I hope my classmates intend to do a better job of making life that much more worse for the new entrees than our seniors did for us. Anybody who asks a junior to find his/her name out will be treated most deservingly in this blog.

Writer's block.

Actually, I'm just lazy. Besides, what am I to do? When was the last time something interesting happened in class, anyway?

My current state of mind.

Of Cats and Fights

Things in life (or Law School) can be divided into two categories. I think.

The memorable. And, the unforgettable.

The Fashion Show, for instance, was unforgettable. Like the hundred thousand other unforgettable memories in Law School. The kind you wish you could forget but can’t. The kind you wish had never happened. Strangely enough, I cannot seem to think of a single memorable incident in the past one year.

Anyway, today's ALAD.

V

Japhet was a man perverse
He made his points straight and terse
Partners, sleeping and enjoying beauty
Having offered to make them comfy
To every couple he was a damning curse.

Fashion Show - Ha Ha Ha.

Tis a big day today.

Grape Throwing.

After nineteen years of unhindered effort and constant defeat, I mean to pursue those grapes till victory with a vigour never seen before. Today will be the day. Wish me the best.

Anyway, here goes with today's ALAD.

IV

Sudhir – an oxonian – is a major stud
Though, agreed, he looks like a dud
But he set us a paper,
That shred us like a razor
And now we chew his words like cud.

Question: Can I submit these for the creative writing event?

Laissez Faire

I am in a very very bad mood. Just the kind of mood to put up something like this. I might change my mind and take it off. Heck, my blog.

III

Rowdy Rohit was a horny man
The stick insect made him stiff as a can
They made out in class
Free show with no pass
Alas, SDGM had to announce a ban.

When Ends Begin.

The limerick was never my kind of poetry. Well, anyway, here goes.

A-Limerick-A-Day – an auspicious beginning with an auspicious personage.

I
There was a lady called Lizzy,
And she was such a prissy,
She thought she taught with élan,
As did her boy Eshan
While the others wished they were both history.

II
Lizzy liked to teach her class,
Like they were water and she the glass
She said her subject was subjective
And claimed to be objective
Still treated all our ideas as sass.

Time is Bunk. Project Time, Doubly So.

Piled Higher and Deeper
www.phdcomics.com

Time is Bunk.

Can you blame me for not ever completing projects?

Is it my fault that this interests me more than the role of organic laws in the constitution? And, this?

It is not.

And now they want to bring Wifi to the hostels. What, in the world, is going to happen to me?

The louder you scream, the greater is your truth.

So there is, in class, this group called the RSG which, in my humble opinion, should expand as Really Stupid Group; comprising of certain enterprising gentlemen (and a single woman, as she proudly claims) who, on account of the extreme levels of joblessness that they revel in, resort to the most ridiculous forms of amusement. Some of these include originating and spreading the most improbable rumours, awarding ugly blackened 5 rupee coins and inducting unlikely members into their inner circle (for reasons like wearing polka dotted underwear or some such) and of course, their most popular stunt yet - bringing the class together at the barbed wire on the pretext of the Manly Malalyalee’s birthday. (unfailingly, too, some people always turn up for this midnight spectacle to partake of the cake – most times, I have serious doubts regarding whether they even know who’s birthday it is)

That’s another concept I’ve not gotten the hang of, yet. The Birthday at the Barbed Wire concept. I seem to recollect how sometime in the first trimester someone had come up with the blindingly bright idea about how we must tackle the issue of barbed wire birthdays in a fairly organized manner, and how it is the exclusive responsibility of the concerned roomies of the birthday boy or girl to arrange for the cake and other ancilliaries. (yes, I think, my classmates’ bright ideas will never cease to amaze me) If I remember right, even a list was passed around to that effect with names and birthdays or something equally stupid. I can’t stop laughing. I mean, can you even imagine antickpix getting a birthday cake for his roomies?

Along similar lines, I never got the hang of birthday bumps in the form that they exist here in Law School. As I see it, I ought to be happy on my birthday; and with that kind of mistreatment meted out to my back – trust me , I will not be happy. And, where did that silly song called May George Jain kiss you originate from, anyway? And, are we going to sing it, like, forever? Think about it. Four years from now, when we’ll be fifth years (well, hopefully) we’ll be standing at the barbed wire straining our chords about George Jain kissing somebody. Really?

That reminds me. Them. The new first years. Our juniors-to-be. Did you see them? I did. And, man! What a truly unruly lot. There was one lady walking around with a black poodle with a red ribbon. So, what was that? The poodles her lucky charm or something? I heard The Snake came out of the exam hall 20 minutes before its conclusion, and was- amidst great clamour and cheer- interviewed by the mediafolks. And, this other kid got absolutely freaked on hearing talk about not completing the essay after they were out giving the exam-of-their-life. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is – we must be hard up for some fun and frolic of our own(yes yes, him, indeed) in our lives; if we have to go down to scaring little twits come down to write the exam that they SO should not have written.

Meanwhile, my roomies have had precious little to talk about since The Great (Almost) Abduction. All are on the alert, and DisCo (I still haven’t made peace with them being called that) has put up notices in all the hostels asking us to move to NagARBHAVI (yes, that’s for you, kid) in groups and preferably, not after dusk. Things have gotten so bad that the last I heard all girls were being escorted by strong guys in and out of the area; and Sumo Wrestler was rendering her protection services to He Who Needs A Hair Cut. As far as I can see, it’ll be the abductors who’ll need protection from her. Jokes apart, all women kindly read this.

Life in this place is bad as it is, without having to have such things happen to us.

Take care, and be safe.

Here, there, and Everywhere.

What is with running into law schoolites everywhere?

Like, everywhere.

We are, what? Four hundred odd people, yes?

Isn’t it just frustrating that you can’t spend a weekend in town without running into one of these four hundred in a 6, 520, 000 strong city?

That reminds me. Were you one of those who set out to frighten the already frightened prospective juniors who swarmed the place today?

Cus there were a LOT of jobless folks who were upto that.



Oh, and I am starting A-Limerick-A-Day for the classmates I love (and don't). No, in fact, I just might extend it to the whole of law school. Watch this space.

P for Pessimism

Life is the worst thing that happened to me.

After Constitutional Law.

Ask, and ye shall be told.

And when I’m sitting at my favourite (talking relatively, duh) corner in the library, earphones firmly on- blocking out the Xerox Machine and the lets-socialise-in-the-lib folks, looking out through those large clear windows out at the road leading to the Jnanabharathi campus with the occasional cycles, frequent Honda Activas and many many wannabe diggas gallivanting around in Altos; and I think


What the goddamned fuck am I doing here?

Fodder, fodder! For more blogging!

Loath as I might Japhet, I couldn't help shaking my head in understanding sympathy when the old graying man asked us in pitiful tones:

Isn't there a single soul in this class who has read the article?

LOL!

Eastern Music and Dance Comptetition being held tomorrow.
Cannot wait. I had the (mis)fortune of watching some of them practise in the Acad. And boy, was it funny?!

Coming Attractions!
1. Some unpleasant and highly ineffectual hip-gyrating to Main Hoon Don... (be warned- the performer is so confused and shocked (by his own moves?) that it appears more like Main Hoon Kaun?)
2. The Indian Olympic Wresting Contingent suffers as its most promising member refuses to wrestle, and instead shakes (a whole lot of it, too) to Right here, Right Now...(be warned - you may want to die Right There, Right Then.)
3. An enthusiastic penultimate batch attempt at No Entry...(be warned- refrain from screaming out in pain, Is there No Exit?)

For those of you planning on not attending the much awaited event- worry not! Expect a comprehensive (and critical, like duh) analysis of the goings-on some time soon.

I just hope I don't die laughing or something unnatural like that. Then again, dying a week before the Constitutional Law exam seems like an incredibly attractive prospect.

 

Tribute

Ooooooohhhhh Myyyyyy Gooodddddd
(ear piercing shriek)

I take this opportunity to thank the unprecedented Strong Bong (if you don't believe me, go ask her what her hobbies are) who never, never, fails us when it comes to spicing up the proceedings of a very boring lecture by a very boring Fa(ff)phet.

Think about it, folks.

Who else can plonk herself on the bench and and render this dialogue in her inhumanly shrill voice (what is it with Bongs and teeth-on-the-edge-setting pitch, anyway?):

That dog wanted to kiss my toes, aaaaahhhhhhhh.

Folks here in Law School maybe weird, irritating, mean, and all that yada yada; but you simply have to hand it to them.

Cus they sure are funny.

Home Sweet Home

(This post has nothing whatsoever to do with a certain comment The Boy Who Jumped made in our estemeed LLH's class)

Home is where mom is
Where dad returns from work
Where your sister lurks
Home is where the heart is
Home is where all your books are
All the clothes
Home is where you can sleep
When you choose not
to make the bed
Get shouted at
Home is where breakfast
Lunch and dinner, all
Taste good
Home is where
Maggi is not staple diet
Where bitter black coffee
Was unheard of
Where mom comes running
Thermometer, vicks et al
If you would just cough
Home is where
you’re a baby
and noone expects otherwise.
For a while, at least
Home is where the only book on torts is
By Archer
Home is where laptops are used to play games
And watch movies
Oh yes, Home is where you can watch TV
Where you’re just let be
Home is where your favourite pillow is
Your car is
That poster is,
The one he gave you on your b’day
Your videos are
Your poetry is
Home is where your photographs are
Home is where mom, dad n sister are
But oh,
Just now, home is so away n far.

Really, really bad poetry; but it's one of those things that I wrote oh-so-spontaneously - like I was actually feeling every word I typed. I know for a fact there are many others feeling the same way just now; seeing as how a lot of freaks actually went home for the weekend while the rest of us were left behind.

Not fair, I say.

Cheeeeeers to Home and Everything about it!

Why must I die a million deaths in one life?

I’ve made several discoveries after arriving at Law School. One of them, of course, is that people like Triple I aka Cogito Ergo Sum exist. What’s more, they are still alive. Another discovery is that a professor can be a bitch simply because she is frustrated.

Another discovery, and the latest one, is that heat is tangible. You can feel it in the air. If you can convince yourself to reach out from that overpowering lethargy and touch the heat, it’ll touch you back.

I feel SO hot (in terms of temperature, for the benefit of my recalcitrant roomie), I’m beginning to hate everything and everybody. It’s funny how something as external as heat can have so profound an effect on the way we think and behave. I don’t know if it’s the heat, and whether when the season passes by, the following list will change substantially, but as of now this is how it is.

Things/People/Phenomena I Hate

1. Bangalore – Summers
They all lied to me. They told me the weather here is wonderful. Garden City, Pensioner’s Paradise, all that yada yada. I haven’t felt as hot and lethargic as I do at the present moment ever in my whole life, and I earnestly hope that after the five years of torture that I shall undergo here, I never have to live in this city again (giving it another thought; save the weather, its quite an okay city, really)
2. GWC
Admittedly, there are many who refuse to drink water from that cooler in the Mess Block because it is supposed to have been infested with cockroaches. A couple of decades ago, I think. But, I don’t care. It’s HOT. And, there are many like me whose only relief during these hot weeks has been the chilled water from that cooler. It doesn’t work, anymore. And, they are responsible for it, okay. So they aren’t getting paid for it. But, whatever! It is time they realize that General Welfare quite obviously includes the consistent supply of potable and reasonably cold water in the summer.
3. Mess Committee
I’m beginning to like them, I think. That cold buttermilk they serve for lunch is sufficient to make anyone like them. They should just fire that Bong cook, however. Things will be all hunky dory, then.
4. Resident Evil
I’m sure you know who and why. (If you still haven’t got it, you’re a moron; but I’ll tell you this – she shouldn’t wear pearls.)
5. Sudhir Krishnaswamy
I don’t want to sink like a stone.
6. Mobile Service Providers
I hate them ALL. Airtel, Hutch, Spice, BSNL; each and every one of them. I hope they all go bankrupt. Before I go bankrupt, that is.
7. Madhavan Menon
Him. He started it all. Shoot him.
8. Projects
Need I say more?
9. CorpBank
That useless, inefficient, disorganized Bank is always shut when I need money.
10. Dirty laundry


I know, I know; but don’t blame me, it’s the oppressive, exhausting, wearying HEAT.

Mean, Her, inter alia

I’ve always wondered if mean people are born mean. I mean, I’ve met a few mean people in my life, known some of them for a while- never too intimately on account of their being mean; and I’ve always wondered, were they born this way?

Of course, it would largely depend on what mean means. There have been mean people in school. Then, there have been mean people in Law School. Not really mean, per se. But slightly mean, not consciously maybe; but mean, nevertheless. And, I wonder, were they made this way? Or did something happen to them that made them this way?

Was the entrance examination just a scam? Maybe, it didn’t really test our intelligence, logic whatever yada yada. Maybe it was just one big plan to pick out all the messed up, fucked up and totally screwed up people in the country, and put them here. And, maybe, a few of the meanies got in too. Who is to say that smart folks aren’t mean? In fact, to think about it most objectively, most smart people – the kind who turn up at this place- think its quite okay to be mean. Mean in the snob context, maybe. I’ve been around, you know, in my eighteen years. And, never have I met so many snobs concentrated in the same goddamned place. Then again, Nagarbhavi would have been highly boring if it weren’t for the snob and weird factor. They make life amusing. Maybe, I’m one of them too. Yeah, I suppose I am. At least, my friends outside Law School think I’m slightly weird. And, in my own personal view, and in the view of the few genuine friends I have in this place, I’m quite boringly normal as compared to the others here.

But, I’m not mean. I know that. Save to Triple I aka Cogito Ergo Sum in some rare instances. But, I’ve met people who are mean. Maybe they don’t mean to be. But, that doesn’t take away from the fact that they are mean, does it? In fact, my roomie quite proudly states that she IS mean, and that she has no qualms about it. She is easily one of my most favourite people in Law School, in spite of every thing about her- in spite of this admission too. But, I still can’t make sense of this whole proud-to-be-mean thing. I mean, if I figured I’m mean, even unconsciously, I’d be darned ashamed about it. And, I’d do everything within my power to undo my mean-ness. Then again, we all have different definitions of mean-ness. I don’t think sneering at a cashier who can’t do her job right is mean, and I know there are folks who do. But, I do think pushing someone – who you know for a fact could not retort to your smart alecs – over the edge is mean; and I’ve seen lots of people do that here.

I’ve been mean to people only when they deserve it (again, we come to the question of who deserves it and for what reasons). I’ve also been ashamed of it, but I can be allowed my rare share of meanness, I think. But being mean to people on account of their being from another part of the country, another city, having an accent, not having watched a movie, read a book, or heard a song; colouring their hair (you-simply-gotta-know-who) wearing weird (and not, as it should be, different) clothes –is also one of the kinds of meanness that exists here. There aren’t many people who do it, and it probably prevails everywhere else too; but I’m talking about how us (the regular, medium and rare meanies) -being the liberated intelligent individuals that we are, always so willing to accommodate the gays, lesbians, queers and blatantly public making-out sessions; cannot accommodate a little difference in such inconsequential things such as dressing sense.

And, does being mean give us some sort of pleasure? I don’t know about myself. I never really know when I’m mean, and I never feel good about it afterwards. But, while it is happening itself; do we rather enjoy it? Is there a sadist in each one of us? There is, I suppose. There must be some joy for a person who is driven to talk rather rudely to someone else all the time- knowing fully well that the latter is uncomfortable with it. Like, that condescending little bastard who talks so to everyone in class. (I haven’t been able to think of a suitable moniker for him; so kindly let me know if you can think of something appropriate)

What drove me to write this highly incoherent post? I’m reading a book. About a little boy. His mother thinks he is born mean. He grows up to shoot down half a dozen people. And, sadly, his mother thinks he was born to do it. Like, all along. Couldn’t it be possible that her obviously skewed upbringing – seeing as how she thought he was born evil – brought him to that stage? Or, was he just born mean?

I suppose I’m talking a lot about mean. And, I cannot help but bring Her in. The good God made Meanness and dispatched Her to Law School. Now, She IS mean. And, I wonder why (whenever I take time off from loathing Her, that is). What kind of pleasure does She derive from terrorizing Her students? So, let’s make a case study of Her. Is She naturally mean? Is She frustrated (yup, that way)? Or, as She claims, did Law School make this of Her? Is She getting back to the world for something?

The best kind of mean-ness is the getting-back-meanness, I think. Like, when one of my favourite(st) people in class (you know it’s you if you’re reading this) requested me to write a particularly mean post about one of the irritatingly mean people in class; I conceded. Because, I thought, meanness begets meanness.

But, then again, if it really did – She should be dead. Strung by Her thumbs. Eaten alive by vultures. Chopped to little pieces. Tortured. Am I being mean? Maybe.

But you know what?

She deserves it.