Cautley Nights...

Past few days, or rather nights, have redefined what awesomeness earlier meant for me, and that too in an unexpected territory. While the might and capacity of bakar are beyond any question, you still can't expect it to unfold all it's awesomeness so addictively in a spacetime you are least acquainted with. And when that happens, in a place where you least expect it to, little is left to be said or done, and you are just absorbed in it's sheer splendor. And among all the places, Cautley, situated comfortably far down away from reach of fair humans who dwell in upper lands, seemed like the last place which could suffice my insatiable appetite for bakar. But it was matter of just a few nights which altered all my previous beliefs and theories.

I am a part of a random campus news magazine and also a random organization trying to promote entrepreneurship, and that gives me enough reason to visit Cautley, for it houses all kinds of fellow random members. I have been in these outlying settlements before, and returning back is always an exalting experience. It gives you a much required break from the hassles of the urban life we live up the slope. And imagine trekking to such a beautiful raw place in company of some highly enlightened writers to discuss relationships. When such refined nobility takes up such a task, you can expect highest level of civility in their conduct. The discourse on relationship started with the moderator guiding it as we moved step-by-step from theory to case analysis, scrutinizing relationships in detail hitherto unheard of. After clearly defining various aspects of love, we applied the concepts to real life. It was then that the "random" confessions were made, "random" love was revived, "random" people were discussed and false and unfortunate, yet some "random" associations were forcibly and just for the heck of it invented. Besides that, a lot of non-random stuff was discussed as well, some of which was obvious, some shocking and educating. The awesome night which titillated every sense of our's had to come to an end, for nature demanded such, and it did end, but only after leaving an impact. The night still stays alive in our memories and will continue to do so for a long time to come.

But just when you thought that you had the best of bakar, it amazes you again. Leave a day, and I got a different reason to visit Cautley. Once the work was complete, Bakar started showing it's true colors. Like an honest wanderer devoutly relying on his instincts, I allowed myself to flow in the stream of bakar that followed with a kondy editor, soon extended to include a pinky one as well. And then from self-actualization to more on relationships, from wild and naked dream confessions to problem of excess, everything under the sun was discussed. Without even realizing how fast the time ticked away and dissolved the night in itself, we went on till the last it was permitted. And after the awe-inspiring session, all through my journey back up home, I couldn't help but think and regret of missing out so long on this bakar paradise. The simplicity and generosity of rural folk, and their intelligent ways, all encompassed within their modest demeanors can humble farce people like us who disguise in urbane flairs. I can just express my earnest gratitude and respect for these beings, who inhabit the awesome lands.

And before signing off, here is brief synopsis of my life unfurling in present:

1. I've got new speakers and I'm vehemently playing hard rock to notify the matkas of my new purchase who have made several attempts to kill me by playing songs from '80s C-grade Bhojpuri films.

2. All my feelings for the department which I melodically expounded in my last post, have been falsified, thanks to the trip that won't happen.

3. Catch-22 is some catch, the best there is !

And with that, I sign off !

Typing, Evolution and department of mathematics

Even after loops of scanning you'll not be able to figure out what is so special about this post. While I have no unreal expectation from the chance readers to come up with an answer, I would indeed like to tell them that this post is coming up at a painfully slow pace, because I'm typing it with the universally accepted rules of typing, involving all eight fingers and two thumbs. I had a dream last night of a beautiful Indian girl typing a love letter on an old typewriter in a decaying government building. I am convinced that I can only find and reach her through a stenographical job, and for that I must first acquire necessary skills. And here I am, practicing typing on freeware online tutorials, where I need to burst balloons by typing alphabet appearing on them to see the animals standing below dance in amazement, and to wait for fart like sounds to fill the room when I press a wrong key. Since the newly induced lag is giving me more time to think, some will plead that I should now be more responsible for the content I put up, not like the toilet bakar, which btw, I still maintain was a valid observation. After an arduous wait, my last blog got just 2 comments (generously counting), of which one was my own reply to a rather squeamish remark. These are the times when you think of the good old days when genuine appreciation wasn't hard to come by and there were takers in whatever your mind could muster and spill.

Just like my blog, even I've evolved over time. It may seem naturally routine, but already being at top of the chain, I find further evolution quite amazing. All my thoughts have been altered, to varying degree, about my own self and about things tangible and intangible. My ideas of own my department have witnessed a sea-change. In my first year, the precincts of mathematics department were darker than Mordor itself, and such thought is permitted if you take into account the conclusive resemblance of everyone in department (from faculty to clerks) to foul orcs. The tales of torment this evil empire inflicts on the poor freshman souls can send shivers down the spine of even darkest of sinners. For an year I trembled and cried for my own fate and things didn't change much until I entered second year and found my own reasons to visit the dreaded territory. And when I did, unexpectedly, I couldn't help but feel waves of patriotism walloping me. Walking down the alleys of the wrecked building is like walking in history through times of our revolution. With valiant names like Swaminathan, Balasubhramaniam, Tilak Raj Gulati, Raj Rani Bharagava, Gangopadhaya - engraved on the archaic nameplates, one is bound to wonder if the professors here are descendants of our exemplary freedom fighters. As patriotism diminished my fears and abhorrence, more mathematics started creeping into my life, and the department became and instrument of that. These small doses of interaction were useful indeed, but could never suffice for my unwavering skepticism and the preparations I was making for the war ahead.

I entered third year with valor and heart of a spartan king, to face and conquer my fears. But even before a shield was raised or a sword was whirled, the far too placative stance of the enemy made the battleground too amiable for a slaughterous war. It wasn't an amusement park ride exactly, but the once dark and spiteful enemy seemed to be indubitably generous and concerned. Though always strict, the professors weren't that bad at shelling out marks, or giving occasional breaks, or cracking occasional jokes, or sometimes asking our opinion and then implementing it as well. In fact as time went on, the hatred was discounted to cordiality. We are a small batch of eleven taking on this evil empire for the first time, and every little struggle of ours adds to our understanding a pinch of its own flavor. The iniquitousness of the professors doesn't seem so obvious anymore, it seems more like a delusion of the earlier years. The place itself doesn't seem so bad, the subject not so hideous. I am still not too senti about the department yet, but I can feel a more stronger association being forged every passing day. I can't say if its good or bad, but the department is indeed finding its place somewhere in the whole of myself and lending a push to the evolution of my spirit and body.

While that is all I can say of my department now, I am being lifted up by the beautiful clattering rhythm of my dabbing fingers, which are getting more quick and musical. My typing speed is taking off even before I draw curtains to this post, which may sound a drastic improvement but is actually spread over two days. I hope that one day this skill will help me get that beautiful women, but even if not, I'll make peace with what it adds to me. Till then, I'll keep bursting balloons and wait for my moment to arrive.