THE GATES TO ISHTAR
Location: Room 254, Hostel 10
Time: 3: 53 Hrs, 16th June
Dear John,
I finally have gathered enough gall to write you your first entry. I wish I could say it was a child of much deliberation, but sadly its just a hastily done piece, while I'm surrounded by two Telaguites chatting on ear splitting decibel to their respective bouy-frands (no regional flavoring here ;P). To be very honest, I even made a tour of blogger's park to pick up tips for a first entry. Ha! And maybe I would have even picked up some, had not a certain Southern Flava asked for the laptop to speak to her Swiss Faucet every time (he's in Switzerland and she calls him "Tap" :|)
Nevertheless, I "Tap" on diligently on the keys, while listening to Smoke Signals Summer Time ( sweet Lord, deliver me) . And my first piece is completely dedicated to randomness. Oh sweet flight of caprice!
Now I'm sitting in my damp hot room (albeit not stifling) wondering why I'm feeling hungry considering I could barely finish my dinner today or if its just one of those horrible urges to put some grub in my mouth for the lack of anything else to do. And while I continue my useless tirade I'm wondering (also) if you would be snoozing sweet slumber by the time you're finished with this tiresome monologue. But then again i think its better you "entertain" yourself with my rants rather than find out about eel genitalia.
Just as an after thought, I'm starting to think that one of the Human Social Weapons should be boring someone to a mutilating death.It pretty much follows the Gandhian principle of Non violence and is so effective that people avoid you like a skunk-ready-to-dunk. You could try it the next time you are at a "party" and a certain Mrs Ahuja comes over to you, where you happen to be nursing a nimboo-pani cosseted behind your mother's plump hips to talk about your proposed Marital prospects to "Happy Singh from Canneda " drone about the ICT module for the implementation of the Food Safety Act. Not that you should really care to know about what it is ( because trust me, no one else does) all you have to do is think about your dron-iest professor and imagine him giving a 4 hour lecture on it ( I'm clearly imagining a Prof Bopshetty for this one) and I guess you'll figure what to say. (Quotable Quotes: "As mechanical engineers we are not bothered about these kind of things!"- S.V. Bopshetty on why the shape of cooling towers follows involute profile, I'm hoping you're getting an idea of what those lectures consist of :|).
And while each one of has a Professor Binn ( of the harry potter books fame) helping us in character building ( qualities such as resilience, tolerance, silence under torture). There is another, a radically opposite school of teachers who love to ensure your sweet ass is always on fire. But of course the need for calls to the Fire Department depend on how premium a T-school you got into.
Another section of this rather random ramble is that I figure that being a professor or a teacher is a cursed job. You get a collective body of 90-odd (varies) dumb-assed-pimps hurl abuses, insults and invectives and spew more venom silently at you while you're unaware. And that is so unfair, c'mon you're only doing your job! Just for that you shouldn't have people gleefully hope every morning that you don't come to class because you found your wife in bed with a jockey or his horse (!!) or you got a call from the Principal of your daughter's school saying she was found cheating in her paper with sanitary napkins (wtf???? cheater!!! ). Anyway. its just plain mean that people should hope such ill-fortune for you when you have to go through the trouble to having to deal with these pube-less cretins who are far from appreciating the beauty of what you teach.
And while, my friend you have shown excellent tolerance to the bullshit that was placed in your hand oh-so-reverently, I'm thinking I could twist a few somethings and name this THE TOXIC CONFESSIONS OF A BORED MIND ( for the lack of secretion of creative juices at this hour)
And as a parting line, I'd say, you aren't the only one to notice the fetish for brackets.
