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.