Borsalino

Everyone who's read Shantaram would probably find this redundant, but the Borsalino is this wide-brimmed hat made from very particular furs. Now this piece of art apparently digs quite the hole in your pocket, and there's bound to be fakes. In comes the Borsalino hat test. You roll the hat up into a tube thingy, and make it pass through a wedding ring (for SOME reason). After emerging from the other side, if the hat is not all crumpled and messed up and preferably not broken, bingo, you've gotten yourself a deal. If there's creases, you'd better run back and look for the genius who made some quick bucks outta you.

Now some people happened to realize that this makes for quite a handy metaphor. So "putting someone through a Borsalino test" has come to mean putting someone through quite a bit of mental (and possibly physical) stress and see whether he/she (for all you sexists, I said he/she, inspite of HATING it) "emerges" from it without a sign of being "crumpled" or affected by the stress. Us engineers would like a stress-deformation metaphor, but that would involve talking about "hardness" of the person, and it's best to leave that realm of unending innuendos aside.

So anyway, back to Shantaram. GDR describes himself been put through a Borsalino test by a recent acquaintance, to put it very bluntly. Why all this? I suddenly noticed the constant Borsalino tests we keep pushing each other through, in places more than you'd notice if you give it a little thought.

Of course, the "emerging without being affected" now covers a much wider purview. It all begins with the initial one - to put in a more vernacular fashion - the first impression. It goes on throughout the period of knowing a person, and extends to every human relationship that exists. Barring a few relationships with a teeny amount of people, everyone Borsalinos everyone else. I wish that'd become a valid verb.

I'm not even going to begin about whether it's necessary. I probably would have if halfway through writing that, I wouldn't have lost track of the patterns of the present thought vortex. Just that, right now, I think everyone would be much happier if these tests were slashed a bit.

And, I haven't begun thinking about this in detail. Thankfully, I'm somehow able to control these erstwhile unmanaged thought trains. I'll hold on to this thought for later.

Most will argue that these are a part of life. I just wish they weren't.

Oh look, ticks!

Right now, it's just a rant. When I'm thinking a little clearer, I most certainly WILL elaborate, but for now - Politics, is not for me. Not even a little skirmish.

Wherever I may roam

"Jahaan main jaati hoon wahi chale aate ho

Chori chori mere dil mein samaate ho

Ye toh batao ki tum

Mere kaun ho"

Ever had that feeling when a song reminds you of something else but you have no idea of the specifics? The reminiscence is incredibly strong, fully with goosebumps et al. And things like the sound of rain outside at half past midnight somehow manage to attenuate all of that. The feeling was so strong, the pull was so compelling, I just had to put it down. No amount of thinking is going to get me any closer to knowing what the context is. Maybe it’ll hit me some day when I’m walking about Panjim on a lazy Sunday afternoon, or when I’m riding to the SP college ground early morning for football.

The best part is, it’s a happy feeling. And vague happy feelings out of the proverbial blue are always welcome. Which is probably why I’m not thinking.

Yeah. That’s about it.

State of Mind

It never ceases to amaze me how a song manages to sound so incredibly apt and beautiful, that you want it to play over and over again like a background track to your life.

Oh incidentally, have I mentioned that I would give ANYTHING to have a background track to my life?

Radiohead - No Surprises

A heart that's full up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won't heal

You look so tired and unhappy
Bring down the government
They don't, they don't speak for us
I'll take a quiet life
A handshake of carbon monoxide

No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
Silent, silent

This is my final fit, my final bellyache with

No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises please

Such a pretty house, such a pretty garden.

No alarms and no surprises (let me out of here)
No alarms and no surprises (let me out of here)
No alarms and no surprises please (let me out of here)

Radiohead

This is the first post of a series I'd like to call "Thoughts in Transition". Yes, TiT, and yes, I intended it. Thankfully, tit ain't blocked on the campus net, so whoopee! Prior to this, all my posts were ideally well thought-out pieces which I'd edited many times over. This, I realize, doesn't do much good for my precious blog. Ergo.

I think I read an xkcd strip about how some people have four blog posts about being "Sorry for not updating blog". Put things in perspective. I've got quite a few of those too.

Anyway, for those who've not been given a demonstration of it, Radiohead is the new obsession. In the words of Chummi, "makes you floooooat!" True. Special vague mention - the initial acoustic-ish sound on Just sounds ethereal. Like so many other Radiohead moments. It's taken hold of me. I'm abandoning Nescafe to go back to my speakers and Radiohead. Odd.

Nothing too deep or insightful about this one. That's the point of TiT, you just grab the thoughts and let them out!

Er, Baba, if you read this post, try looking over the innuendos.

Late Night Jazz Ballads

In vaguely browsing through the music I have, I came across a folder in my Jazz collection called "Late Night Jazz Ballads". It was 2:30 AM, and I couldn't see any reason not to play it. Work was a good 6 hours away, and a few soothing progressions couldn't hurt. As I lay propped on my elbow, listening to Jimmy Smith, Dexter Gordon, Ike Quebec and the likes, I had this little memory run-through of all the memorable 2:30 AMs I've had. Owing to my wallpaper being this hard-earned photo of the BITS, Pilani clocktower I'd clicked with the sun setting next to it, the run-through kicked off with memories of Oasis last year. Good times. Expectations shattered. The tones of the tenor sax were more than the perfect catalyst to provoke the memory-walk. I was left wondering why I'd never pulled out this folder before. I imagine all the effort that goes behind a jazz piece. To be technically perfect, to recognize that perfect progression to hit that perfect mood. But I guess in the end, every jazz artist just wants to soothe, just wants to sound good.

As I write this, I realize I don't like getting profound about my music. I would never write a post about any music, overflowing with superlatives, because in my music, the two letter word is the operative (Credit to NT for that very useful phrase). I don't like making an epic out of a piece, I don't like writing about it as if I know every facet of it, because I never will. A true priest will never glamourize God in his writings. A true soccer fan will never write about a particular goal in a rambling fashion. For worship brings with it respect, and when you respect something, you want to attach a humble outlook to it. I might speak more than what is good for my well-being about music, and about particular aspects of it, but when I write it down, I plainly want it to soothe. I just want it to physically light up the senses. I just want it to sound good. Just like a Late Night Jazz Ballad.

One good argument.

As the darkness engulfed him, yet again, he posed one question to life. He challenged life to present one argument to support whatever he'd done in life was worthwhile. One simple argument, one reasoning with logic. Everything he'd taken up, he'd failed. Daniel had no idea where to look. To the Beatles song playing in his room, or his non-existent imaginary friend. The one happy thought he had for all those days had abandoned him. He gradually let the darkness take him down. He just wish he'd had the gall to climb up to the terrace.

Free Coffee

As the darkness closed down upon him, the much talked about vivid flashes of memory started making their customary attack. The sunset on the half-made housing society, Brahmani kites riding the thermals and putting up quite a show for anyone who cared enough, the barges making their daily dough, people celebrating yet another goal in their daily futsal routine.

He wanted to end it all, to give up. He could see no reason, no rational thought behind continuing life as he knew it. He burnt quite a few gray cells in trying to figure out where it all went wrong, and then burnt a few more in realizing that nothing of much avail was to happen through that particular process. Sounds of a sisterly concern rang through his mind, but he was positive the world wouldn’t stop turning. He vaguely remembered childhood tales advocating perseverance, and discerned how trivially he’d let them go. Somehow, the distant memory of walking under a flyover, on his way back home, and clenching his fist in determination and vehicles screamed past him played over and over again. He thought of the many who’d take great pleasure at the consequences, those who’d day would be made. The cellphone in his pocket was a dead weight, pulling him further down.

It would be so marvelous letting go. Something new, the change he’d been waiting for. In difficult times too, there is change. And in change, there is a challenge. Completely oblivious to the rat-race in progress, about a hundred meters behind him, Daniel believed it was time to let go. Fate, although, had other plans. For that was when his cellphone buzzed with the delivery of a text message. The one liner caught him by the scruff of his neck, inches away from the abyss and dumped him back onto the cold hard floor of reality.

“Free Coffee?” the message had said.

He felt the warmth seeping in. The overwhelming darkness felt lighter, and the bad taste in his mouth seemed like it would go anytime soon. He saw beauty around him.

He was soon to realize that in times like those, he was a dent in the happy lives of those who are perfect. If underachiever was not that clichéd a word, he would have thought it. Cold as metal, with all the performing capability of a dodo on tranquilizers. A dampener of spirits. But at that moment, he was happy. There were a few things that could act like global anesthesia, even for a few moments. And free coffee was one of them.

Lite

I'd never thought I'd say this, but it's staggering when you realize the full implication of the phrase "Lite can be taken". Every day, every moment, new facets show themselves, and one simply wonders whether whoever came up with the phrase had any idea how much power that one phrase has.

And the best part is, you need to use it, overuse it and abuse it, only then does the significance hit you. How lite has nothing to do with slacking off, with giving up, with reclining, and how it perfectly describes the state of mind which invariably leads to something good. Never have I been this excited about learning the entailment of whatever the phrase has in hold.

Maybe someday I'd take the efforts to elucidate.

Flip Phone

I have an insane urge of stepping on something and breaking it. Very specifically, a flip-phone. I'm certainly not doing it to mine, mostly because it belongs to Abha and she'd kill me.

Butt I almost sat on it a while back, and I just wondered about the crack, about the sound it'll pass. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since. As stupid ass it seems, I just had to post it.

Adieu? Naah, too cliched!

It's just about 20 days to go, and we're all gonna scurry home to comforts, more baths, washing machines and generally more livable conditions. And I don't claim life won't move on, but there are people on campus who will certainly be missed. This post is dedicated to all those people who've left lasting impressions. To all those final year people who I've grown accustomed to seeing around, and passingly wave to. To all those people who'll definitely prove to be sources of inspiration everywhere.

Rohit DeSa. The commanding presence, the guy who I've looked up to as THE person to be, taking life so awesomely yet excelling in everything he's set his feet in. Never have I seen anyone else who has a solution to everything. Er, except for how-to-get-stuck-tunes-out-of-your-head, of course :P
Pralav Dessai. Just, being Pralav Dessai. There will be only one. The overflowing energy, the overoverflowing energy, the rotten-lovable humour, the cunning looks, never a dull moment! Oh, and the guy who uses my room as an encore room :P.
Gurdeep Singh. Guru. Coke. Nescafe. Bad Doggy :P One chap who's just about always there to engage in extreme vellagiri with, one chap who's gonna ensure you're laughing your butt off at his array of expressions, yet has the most profound ideas and thoughts.
Sohini Manna. Manna manna manna! The incredulous laughter, anecdotes always up her sleeve, so full of life and energy, and just pushing little snippets of senior-advice towards me. (Yes Rao, I do take Manna's advice too :P )
Sharan. Although I've moved away from this guy this semester, we've got the most wonderful memories, with the best music always playing in the background. The calling-up-when-listen-to-awesome-songs-when-in-public-place was a sooper thing to do :D
Many many others too. I haven't spent all that much time with these people, but guys like Gill (Sir Flashalot, the name says it all!), Bapu (The Firang guy, always a riot to have around), Subbu (Nobody will ever take you on in drinking dude, your legend will live on!), KB (Yes, the guy who learnt never to tell Manna anything about his life :P ), Jazzy (The flattener, the legendary statements, just jazzy!), Prakhar (Team Vella, yoyo, notsovellaanymore in IIM :P), Popat (Poops! Fofat! Poaps! Convener saab! Annnd a godlike music taste!) and anyone else I've missed out on.

It's just gonna be different without you guys. Everything will move on. Just, different :)

And, the inevitable cheesy line at the end of all this, you guys have been a big influence, shine on! :)

PS - Third yearites, I'll be seeing you guys around, so I really can't come to terms with the fact that it's your farewell :)

Thought

It's not even bloody FUNNY how cynical I've become. Not to mention gullible-to-get-carried-away. TRY suggesting a word for that. TRY.

Birthday

My blog, today, turns two. It's been around through everything major, it's been my canvas for everything nice. The only place I have to show some creativity in an otherwise talentless existence. And the blog has seen me change from what I was in Junior college, to what I am now.

Before I get carried away like once before and pour emotions out on the blog in a stupid manner, I'm just gonna say Happy Birthday! I never thought I'd be the person I am today, two years back, but I knew I'd have the blog! I knew Random Thoughts would stay with me. The same fears that haunted me in the first post haunt me today. Not much has changed on that front. It's a happy day for the blog, but I'm not sure I'd say the same about me!

On a much, much lighter note, I do wish I get to keep the blog forever! Random is now cliche, and criticisms are much in vogue. Someday, I wish to look back at this post and laugh at how stupid I was. But not today. Not today.

As an afterthought, I must mention Bing and Pubby. Through all the times in college, through everything smart and dumb, these two buggers have been constant ports-in-storms and inspiration. There's tonnes of others who've been crazily important parts of my life, but them two deeks have just, well, been there. Non-judgementally, steadily. To another year of corridor-mate-ness!

Bleh

I cannot, for the life of me, write poetry. Except for the ones I write with Suramya, which REALLY doesn't count. I just read 15-odd blogs in the space of the last hour and a half, and everyone's been shelling out random poetry. I tried to get the deep inner meaning and all that, I really did. No dice. Maybe it's the PoM report.

Bleh. Feeble attempts to blow dust away. Mostly resulting in choking on it. Nothing attempted, nothing gained.

Starry night

There’s something about heights. It just takes the idea of being on a “higher plane than the rest of the world” to a completely new level! And when she was on her terrace with the diamond-like stars looking at her with that benevolent gaze, there was nowhere else she wished to be. The stars had always been special to her. She was called the lady with eyes as beautiful as stars. That evening on the terrace, she could let her thoughts run completely astray, with nothing to bring them back to life. Her thoughts could reach out to all the infinite spaces she could see above her, her thoughts could fly!

She spanned her vision across the sky and saw every star that twinkled up above. Each one of them had its own staggering beauty. She had never imagined why the sky was so remarkable to her, but it was. The moon stood righteously in its place, ceaselessly moving towards the horizon. The same journey every day, the same purpose forever, that unending strife. She wondered about the journeys of life.

Why was the human race, she mused, so fascinated with the sky? So fascinated with that dark mist studded with gemstones of unspeakable beauty? Why so many before her times had spent their lifetimes looking at the sky, trying to find meaning out of it? Something she’d heard about the human tendency of being inquisitive. Some conversation she’d had in the past. Something about wanting to know more than what we do already, all the time. The thoughts swirled through her head, and the very idea of that fog gave her immense happiness. If this is what being high felt like, then she wanted to look at the sky forever. She saw one of the stars winking down upon her and she looked away, with a slender grin.

Looking into the depths of space, she knew she wasn’t the first one to look into its profundities and be in awe of its beauties. She knew how much it meant to her ancestors. It was those very stars that had not just stood as the immortal markers of direction to the ones lost at sea, but as a sign of hope to many a writer who lost his source of inspiration. She pictured the generations before her staring into that very sky, those very massive bodies giving out that very light, imagining how it all came to be, imagining how much of the universe there is to understand, imagining how much beauty there is in the world.

“There’s just WAY too much beauty to be unhappy!”, she wondered aloud. She realized how the advents in physics had come to change the opinion of the world about the sky. How, for some, the sky was an object of study to implement mathematical equations. For most, the sky was just a hundred and eighty degrees of a blind spot. For few in every generation, however, the sky was obdurate beauty. An ideology which beings of the earth could never reach, but always strived to. She felt the happiness inside her on so many thoughts of beauty revolving around her together.

She wanted the happiness to linger. She wanted to be happy. Forever!