Any IITian who plays Quake or CS or for that matter any comp-game and who as well cares to read The Economic Times possibly couldnâ€™t have missed this catchy bit of gyaan put up today on its front page: Computer games as addictive as marijuana. Wow! As if we didn’t know already!
I tried to look for an online link for the same on the ET website. But damn these guys! They want you to have an Indiatimes Id to be able to visit their e-paper ( so proudly stating that an Indiatimes membership is ‘currently free’). How can they expect the surfers to register for any damn thing that’s FREE? That age is sure gone now.
And now the discussion: Is addiction really that bad a thing to worry about? Aren’t most of us addicted to something or another most of the times? Addiction comes from love for something, right? And love is such a good thing, isn’t it? Then why is it any kind of addiction seen with such a FU@&%NG-ADDICTION-SUCKS attitude?
(Amrit realizes something suddenly: He has lately been ‘addicted’ to blogging! When not keyboarding down his own blog, he is going through other’s blogs; blogs of people he knows to blogs of people he has never heard about; blogs updated almost daily to blogs which get published once in two annoying years; blog A to blog Z all the way through B, C, D, E… and then back to blog A, just to check if anything new has been put up. HE IS ADDICTED! The good thing is he doesn’t care.)
(And then he realizes something else: End sems!! 2 more day to go! To do hell with blogging. 😐 Someone seen his class-notes?)
A Mumbai girl from a Muslim background became an actress so famous in
And then one day this year, came a twist in the tale. The Goddess said something in a Magazine survey that made people go mad; made her fans hide their faces. She said it was alright for a girl to loose her virginity before marriage if she took safety measures to avoid AIDS.
Who said this? Khushboo? Khusboo: the Goddess? How can a Goddess say something so insulting to the Tamil Community? A Goddess? NO, she is a Muslim slut from Mumbai and we should drive her away form our sacred state of Tamil Nadu.
Someone had to do something. Where were her enemies? TheDPI (read Dalit Panthers of India)! They needed nothing else but such an apt opportunity to wage their attack. Khushboo had once supported some Association which had made one Dalit Film Producer say sorry in full media coverage for his shady comments on Tamil Actresses. The time for the Dalits to strike back had come now. And there they started their campaign: demonstrations by the women members of the DPI, more than 25 defamation suits against the actress and so many different forms of attack on the her.
We will show her what it takes to teach our children about pre-marital sex. Our children are foolish enough to start believing in whatever their Goddess speaks. They cannot think on their own. We cannot teach them anything useful. And since we cannot teach our children anything, letâ€™s do something. Letâ€™s at least teach her something. To do hell with the Goddess! Where is the broom and has anyone seen that bag full of rotten tomatoes?
Another icon in the form of Sania Mirza was heard supporting the actress a few days back. But then she took back her words as well (and that too within one day!). An already issued Fatwa against her (because someone did not like her small skirts) was enough for her to deal with. And so it was smart to keep her name off in other such â€˜hotâ€™ issues.
Does this Indian society even allow us to say what we feel like? Is there anything that can still be called â€˜freedom of speechâ€™? A personal opinion of a female becomes such an issue. Such an attitude sucks!
I recieved an e-mail today and found it interesting enough to be posted here. Here it goes:
From: “itdes not matter” matteritdoesnot [at] yahoo dot co dot in
A blog by a human made me reveal the truth about life for once and for all. The world wonâ€™t remain the same once this blog is published (because I heard somewhere that the world changes with every passing count of a second!).
What is life?
At some point of time this question hits you. It hits everyone. For some, the impact lasts only for those ten minutes that they spend at the funeral procession of their best friendâ€™s mother. For some it lasts till they die finally, without any satisfactory answer of course.
Letâ€™s assume an answer exists for this question. And letâ€™s also assume that the answer is a universal truth (without getting into the validity of the existence of â€˜universal truthâ€™ itself). Based on these two assumptions let me propose my hypothesis about life.
Thereâ€™s a creature somewhere. It exists not in some space that science has defined and it lives not in the way the time is perceived by us. But that creature is there; somewhere; and may be not just one, but many more of them. These guys out there in the undefined space and existing in an undefined timeframe are into some experiment. They had generated a random self-sustained process some â€˜timeâ€™ back (time here and for that matter anywhere in this article should be considered just an English word and its scientific interpretation should be ignored).
Life is nothing but the result of that experiment. We, the human beings are the result of that experiment.
The guys who devised the setup for this experiment made sure that those who had acquired life, tried to retain it for some â€˜timeâ€™. It can never be found out how they ensured this but it does work. Talk about human beings. They fear death. Everyone fears death naturally. Had this not been the case, this experiment would have had stopped â€˜long backâ€™. They would have had nothing to observe; no readings to take; no conclusions to make.
If one goes by this flawless hypothesis, interesting conclusions can be made. Some of them are:
- Everything that happens is hundred percent random or at most pseudo-random. It is difficult to find out the exact way all this works but itâ€™s mostly free-flowing.
- We have no reasons to worship those who created us. The Creatures!!
- There is nothing called â€˜a purpose of lifeâ€™ that we really need to find. The observers will note down all we do and whatever we do is supposed to be random. As human beings we can always look for a purpose but it doesnâ€™t matter much whether we succeed or not. We tend to look for a purpose because of some minor flaws in their experimental setup. Ideally we are supposed to look at the world only with our senses (touch, sound, sight, smell etc.). But we do feel a few things without the need of any of our senses. The question about the purpose of life comes from this feeling itself. And this is it.
- Amrit is hazzzar jobless in life. But then thereâ€™s a limit!
I was tagged by The Helmet. I carried forward this story (without any expected twist!). And then I tagged three more (lucky bloggers!).
What you read below is a story contributed by count-them-how-many bloggers. The story is interesting enough to excite each tagged blogger; and excite him enought to carry on the legacy of his taggers by contributing to it while following the rules at the same time (the rules are listed at the end of the story).
Have fun as the journey continues…
He thought it would be an ordinary journey. Standing behind the pillar he watched the train snort arrogantly into the station. With each snort he was reminded of his grandfather’s words “You will fail in the city and return penniless”; with every heavenward whistle, he heard his cousin, “Don’t worry. Come here and I will get you a job at the construction site.” Now he had a 34-hour journey to prove one of them wrong, and he expected the excitement at the end of the journey. He looked at his ticket once again: compartment S9 berth 23.
Pushing his luggage under the seat, he sat close to the window. “Papa, when will you be back?” – his four year old daughter Munni asked innocently. He stared into those soft brown eyes of the motherless kid. He held her frail palms in his, through the window. “Munni, Papa will get you a nice gudiya from the city..Say tata,” his sister spoke to the kid, to avoid an emotional outburst. In a minute, the train pulled forward, and Munni’s little fingers parted from between his. “I need to go..”, he thought, “I have to, at least for Munni’s sake..”
The humid summer breeze and the rattling train coaxed him into an uncomfortable state of drowsy consciousness. He dreamt that Munni ran away, the closer he ran to her, the farther she was, like a mirage.
But this woman was different. She reminded him of someone he knew. In an instant he realized who and the painful memories came flooding back. She looked exactly like his childhood sweetheart Madhu. As teenage lovers in a conservative society, they had often met secretly and had declared undying love for each other.
Then someone had found out and all hell had broken loose. The elders in the village Panchayat had ostracized Madhu’s family as she was from a lower caste. Unable to bear the humiliation, she had committed suicide by drowning. That was twelve years back…
Could it be? Could it really be him? He seems different, weary and downcast. Oh no will he recognise me? No, I am dead to the world. Still she cautiously wrapped her saree end around her head and across her face.
The girl walked briskly away from him, trying to escape his glances, as though she was hiding something, not wanting to be discovered. He stood confused, she had said her name wasnâ€™t Madhu, and should he run after her? Or should he let it pass, after all he still had a train to catch.
â€œI was asked by the Panchayat to leave the village. They said theyâ€™d manage by saying Iâ€™d drowned. Everyone was led into believing I was drowned. I went to the towns, so no one would recognise me. My family disowned me. I struggled to live. Anyway, itâ€™s all made me too immune. Life being a struggle is passÃ© to me! Iâ€™ve learnt it the hard, cold and sharp way.â€
Somebody had yanked the chain.
Some talked of escape. Some, of someone jumping the train.
Others of how this someone had failed.
Alarms rang in his head. Madhu!
Breathe! He commanded his senses.
She wouldnâ€™t. Perhaps she went to the toilet, he reasoned.
He took out a checkered handkerchief from his breast pocket, delicately took off his glasses, and wiped his forehead.
Down, he saw the book lying on the floor.
He shook his head in disbelief.
He got off his seat, onto his haunches and looked for his pen.
He rushed towards the door and saw a crowd which made him fear the worst. Delightfully, the outlook of the gathering was not serious enough to make him feel jittery, but he still needed to find someone, he lit up a cigarette and started gazing at the moon
He had start smoking when Meenakshi had passed away. Anything to ease the pain he had thought. The melancholic tale of the lonely heart is one which repeats itself much too often. He still wondered how he made it through those days. Those terrible days that had sequestered him, from which no one thought he would ever recover. But he did.
It was a cold night and the cigarette was quite comforting. He kept staring at the moon through the train door. The moon! It brought back old memories.
How could he ever forget those sweet nights spent with his wife? They used to stare at the moon for hours. It was during one such cold night that he had told Meenakshi about a story from his past. He had told her about Madhu. She had cried like a child after knowing about the ill-fated end of their love story and had given him the warmest hug in this world.
He never ever missed Madhu after that night.
â€œWhere are you lost?â€ a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts.
Everything below the dashed line above should be copied and pasted with every accepted tag
This is a Story Tree and is best nurtured as follows:
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2. All previous snippets of 90-100 words need to be copied before the new set of 90-100 words are appended.
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4. Characters, scenes, etc. can be introduced by an author
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Atheism! Hold your breath all you religious souls. I am not here to laugh at you. And I am not roaring to support all the hard core atheists either. What am I up to? Letâ€™s discover.
God bless atheism! I read this statement somewhere (on net). And it caught my attention like anything. Does it catch yours? I do not know how those who have been taught atheism, right from their birth (are there any?) perceive things, but I definitely have some idea of those who come from religious backgrounds and later start believing in atheism. Letâ€™s talk about a character called Anuj. In case you know someone by that name, no, it’s not him. The name is fictional. But the story might not be.
Anuj believed in God. It was not just him but so many of them around him did the same; they believed in God. They had been told so many stories. The one that Anuj liked most goes like this.
There was a guru who had four disciples at one point of time. When their learning tenure at the gurukula was over, they had to give one final test. The guru asked each one of them to bring something precious for him from their respective homes, without letting anyone know. Now thatâ€™s an easy task, thought the disciples. They had a time of one month to do so. All of them left for their homes.
A month was over. The disciples were back. The first one showed his guru a gold chain that he had managed to get hold of during a night, from his father’s (who happened to be a King) drawer. Similarly two more of his disciples presented him precious gifts swearing that no one had seen them picking the gifts. The guru turned towards the last disciple who appeared to be empty handed. He was empty handed.
“Couldnâ€™t you get anything for me?”
“I tried but I failed oh guru. I could never find myself alone. At all time someone watched me. Hey Guru, weren’t you the one who taught me that God watches us all the time? So then how could I get anything for you when no one was watching?”
The guru embraced this guy and told the others that he was the only one who learnt all he taught. (I wonder if the fourth kid was telling the truth or whether he was simply smart enough to show his guru a middle finger by putting a smart statement. Imagine if the only intention of the guru, for taking the final test had been to get a little richer by fooling his students, how he would have felt while embracing this smart ass who got away without letting his guru touch a penny of his)
Well the story dragged somewhat but it was important for me to tell it for those who did not know about it. This was a story Anuj liked the most. There were many more that hinted towards the existence of an almighty who controlled our lives. And so did Anuj believe in all this. At times he had also concluded that those who did not believe in God were bad people. Why? Because they could do all bad things since they thought there was no God watching them or to punish them.
Anuj was a kid then; a kid with a religious background. Everyone in his home believed in God. None had ever discussed about the need for it (except for may be moral policing) and none could obviously discuss the proof it. As he grew up, and started giving an ear to what others talked about, he suddenly asked himself one fine day (or it may have been one fine night as well). Why do I need to believe in God? Hey, wait a sec, who is God? He couldn’t get an answer and he turned atheist. God became god. He became a non-believer.
At times he was pained by this particular logic put by the believers.
So, you do not believe in God? Heh! Why? You do not know who is He and so you doubt his existence? But just because you do not know if he exists, how can you conclude he doesn’t exist at all and hence how can you start non-believing in Him?
Anuj used to ask himself. What are these guys talking about? Are they only trying to prove they are smart enough to believe in something which they kind of confess they themselves can’t prove? He thought about their logic some times. It was challenging. And then he concluded that when something just canâ€™t be proved, it hardly mattered whether one believed in that thing or not. But if it really didnâ€™t matter, why were so many of them keen on making him shed his ways? Anuj could never find the answers to all his questions.
Years later he turned old and he died. The day he died, he did say â€œGod Bless Atheismâ€!
It started raining. There was no place to hide. Did he even want to hide? He had always loved the rain, the flow of drops from up above. He wanted to get wet. Well, sure enough, he did get wet.
The road was empty. The rain went heavy. He was enjoying. And then he saw someone out there on that empty road. She was a girl. She seemed to be the same age as his. She was enjoying the downpour as well. And why had he not noticed her until then? He left the question in the air and kept looking at her.
She looked tall and fair. She was there at a distance, sometimes looking back at him. He couldn’t see her face. She was far enough for that. And the rains; they had reduced the visibility furthur. Shall I try to get closer? He asked himself. And even before he could get an answer from his inner self, he was walking in her direction.
She had stopped noticing him. She was too busy with the water falling all over her. Her blue colored jacket and the denim trousers gave her the look of a college girl. He stopped walking once he was close enough to have a look at her face. Was she smiling at him? No, obviously that was his fantacy. Wait a sec, she was indeed smiling. Smiling at a stranger! He had to be sure. He had forgotten about the rain. Now it was only her. He had to be sure how she was taking him and then he asked himself. Shall I go to her and ask? And even before he could get an answer from his inner self, he was walking towards her.
She was indeed smiling. Smiling at him in the rain. Who was she? The rain had slowed down to some extent, but it was still thick. Now her face was clearer. He looked at her but didn’t speak (or rather he couldn’t speak?). He did not know what to speak. She did know. And she spoke
“Hi, this rain is lovely. I am P”
“P? hi, nice to meet you. This is Q”
“Am i beautiful?”
“What? Oh yes, sure you are. Of course, you are. In fact you are awesome. “
“Can you do anything for me?”
He was confused. This girl who called herself P appeared to be crazy. Or may be she was acting like one. What did she mean by ‘anything’?
“What is it that you want me to do?” He replied with the tone of a confused man.
“Do you see that bird there, besides the bush?” She asked him as she pointed towards a small bush on the other side of the road. He could see the bird.
“Thats a duck. Do you want me to catch it for you? I will surely do that.” And even before he could get an answer from her, he had started walking towards the bush.
“No wait. I Want you to kill it”
He paused. He thought he had heard something wrong. May be because of the rains. But had he heared kill? He turned back. She repeated her desire. His face turned dull. She was indeed crazy, he told to himself. Why the hell in this world she wanted a duck to be killed? He had no clue. And why the hell would he do such a stupid thing? He was standing there, frozen. His mind was throwing so many questions and this time it was impossible to move any more before he could get an answer from his inner self.
Why should I kill a bird? Just becaus a crazy girl wants me to do so? Even before he could get an answer from his inner self, he saw the duck moving away. He followed it with a blank mind. In fact he ran towards it. The bird was soon within his reach. And he grabbed it. He brought the duck to P and asked her finally.
“Why do you want me to kill it? What has it done to you? Are you crazy?”
“I will answer all your questions but only if you do what I have asked you to do. And you don’t have much time to think. I want you to do this before the rain stops. And I can already see its slowing down. Do this fast Q. Please kill this bird”.
He turned back. He was still not sure. He could either leave the bird from where he had picked it and leave the place. Or he could actually kill the bird and then get to know why did she want him to do so. He looked at the bird. It was not making much noise. It appeared to be sick. It was sick. He realized that if someone didn’t take care of this creature, it would anyway die. And then he looked towards the sky. The rain was indeed slowing down; time was running short. And then suddenly he felt the bird go cold. The creature had collapsed in his hands. It had died. He didn’t know how he felt. He hadn’t killed the bird but it was dead.
He turned back. Oh my! What did he see? She was lying on the road. Unconscious. He took his right hand to feel her breath. She was not breathing. She was dead. The blue jacket had turned red at places. That was blood. She had killed herself. He ran away.
He commited suicide the same day next year.
Yes, it’s an art. Some people are good at it. From a big pack of waffles to a sachet of the worst packed detergent powder; they can tear open the sealed wrapper in one good go. These guys kind of have it in them. Their hands find the pattern, detect the best spot on the packet, where one slight twist of the plastic in some typical angle will do the job.
I am definitely not one of these talented wrapper tearers. In the small town in which I was preparing for JEE, my bro and myself often used to get candies from shop. I never liked those which were sealed inside the world’s most secure wrappers. My bro has been good at getting things out of the packet pretty fast. It was me who suffered whenever we took halls, chloromints and sealed stuffs like that. What I usually had to do with such candies was to switch to the aid of my strong canines when fingers failed to do the magic. At times even the teeth didn’t work. And finally it used to be my bro who did the favour for me. Annoying wrappers.
This problem persists here in IIT. It happened today. There are times when all you lose is time, putting fight to tear the wrapper. Some times its a little more. Today it was a little more. I took a choco bar. And this ice-cream had been put inside such an annoyingly sealed wrapper that I had almost lost my patience. However hard I tried, it failed to break free. And the poor choco-bar lyed there inside the wrapper; waiting for me; me waiting for it. And here was this wrapper well aware of what was going to happen to it as soon as it was torn. It was like any other wrapper, refusing to obey you. This wrapper looked like the villain in a typical movie, not letting me, the Hero to reach his love, the choco bar. And by the time the villain was finally torn apart and thrown into a dust-bin, my love had melted enough. I had to devour it fast to stop it from leaking in all over my hands.