Superfuzz: My choir of tears-1

It was one of those times when I felt the excruciating urge to talk cricket.I wish I had Boycott around to speak to...and also some Carslberg to guzzle on. Life would have come a full circle!

Anyway, I came up some insights right after the last India-Kiwi round robin game. It looked so much like a nice little article that you would find in Sportstar that I actually mailed a copy to the magazine's moderator. I even made sure that the write-up ended with a rather pompous prediction of a comprehensive Indian win. They will bring this one home, I think I said!

I can be bitter about having to eat my words. I sincerely think its about the bitterest pills there is. The need for a pitcher of bitter transcended this tremendous multiplicity of bitterness quotients. Ergo, beer.

A dark room, a new notepad file, some Coldplay in the background and a coffee-byte in my mouth is enough to get my mental machinery to work up the 'big picture'.
Why is it so unimagniably hard for performance to be at par with potential?

"Once, an old farmer, tinkering with a rusty harrow on a country road, was approached by an earnest young man from the university Extension Service who was making farm-to-farm calls for the purpose of selling a new manual on soil conservation and new farming techinques. After a polite and polished speech the young man asked the farmer if he would like to buy this new book, to which the old man replied,
'Son, I don't farm half as good as I know how already.'
Evokes a hangover, doesn't it?"

On a completely personal level, the pursuit of solutions to such queries would have lent a lot more satisfaction than cracking some soreass C++ code in a placement test that would decide my fate as to whether or not I die a corporate whore. But then, its just me.
Self-pity aside, I sincerely think it is cruel on God's part to let me enjoy a Thomas Harris social psychiatry book rather than a proper Stanley Lippman C++ primer. I mean, really, its one of those several things that render me a serious persecution complex in a class of budding Information Science engineers.

...which brings me to 'my class'.
Apart from the ten odd people in the class whom I pretty much live my life with, I am not as much at sea as I'm shipwrecked when it comes to making a conversation with the rest of them. It is plain 'communication breakdown', as Led Zep would have you believe.
Suddenly, a wiseass idea is spawned. Seeing as we're all in our final year of the course and hence might not see each other for the rest of our lives after the same, there is a 'sudden' need to do something profound as a class. What better than a class-trip out of town?

Now, my extreme vulnerability to such sentiments notwithstanding, I don't have half a mind to go through with this.
In a nutshell, my reasons would be insufficient funds and a deeply ingrained sense of reclusiveness as far as the class is concerned.But in cases such as these, its usually a whole mass of easily impressionable sheep all against your carefully bred moral principles. You become quickly antagonized and rumours of your alleged 'attitude-problem' are strewn all over.
So, in order to stop the ridiculous overflow of such wrong notions, you eventually give in.

And therefore, I'd be out in Kodaikanal for the next few days, very likely chewing on a bunch of caramel or drinking coffee alone on a park-bench singin' "the aesthetic of the bumb".
The silver lining, I find out as I crane to see it is that I get to travel. Its about the most liberating thing there's been since Section Eight (but my respect for the Army stays).

So, yeah I should be back by the 14th. I'd much hope for the BSNL people to have my broadband connection set up by the time I'm home. I'd really want to trust the classy female BSNL employees at that office. They used fountain-pens and knew how to spell 'receive'. God bless!

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I proclaim that I shall deeply miss my blog and that all my acts of conscious awareness would be recorded in detail once I'm back.

And, Sportstar was kind enough not to publish my article. Things can only get better.

Peace, love, empathy, safe-sex.

P.S: I have not-so-conveniently abandoned my social responsibility towards my readers with the length of this post.
P.P.S: I'm also pre-eminently indebted to Percy for that wonderful line!