Stories, tales and an exam

I had a realisation of my own right now...I so want to write a story/novel/book but besides creating a character set and amazingly sweet or conflict ridden situations and a awesome couple for it, I can never decide what to do with them! I dnt fregging have a story for them...i want an ending to the love stories I start in my head. Maybe why they dnt end or even come close to any form of closure is because I dnt know how love stories are completed! Inexperience you see...darn I wanna know what happens to my characters after they've met and broken the ice and are not fighting/drinking/eating/

studying!! Yes, my characters study :P
So in short when I'm studying(yes) and studying stuff that doesnt engross me for whatever reason, I go hunting to find out what happened to my characters and where have they reached in their lives. I dnt see them often..just every exam time and everytime I think I found a face for my characters. So my faceless characters continue with their lives with and without me. Like I do mine.

Ooh la la!

This is an absolutely random blog post. When I was logging, i didn't know what I wanted to write on, just that i did. Then my dashboard showed me that I had managed a whooping 100 posts! Wow! I can jab! ;)

So technically this is my 101st random musing on my life and I truthfully doubt if anyone cares! Ah well...
So I just gave another exam of another term where a good number people, as always, were practically implementing team work and yours truly kept wondering how come no one noticed all this? Or maybe they did and they were just avoiding conflict. Or maybe once you become an invigilator you can't tell the difference between what's genuine and what's not. As you can tell, probably, I am thoroughly pissed at all this.
I am pissed at people's insensitivity, lack of ethics, morality, humility and general humanity!!
Oh and yes, I found myself a new symbol for myself(I think this sentence is structured wrong)...it's a driftwood. I somehow feel like one :-|

A goodbye

I just have to write this down. A single hug has triggered this post that too half an hour before an end term examination! Of all the seniors that I got to know in the past one year here, I recently said goodbye to a good lot of them. All these farewells were happy. Of all the seniors that I got to know in the past one year here, only one came to look for me to say goodbye and give me a hug. I suddenly realised she'll be the only one I'll always remember no matter what. She lived on the same floor as I and we often watched TV together...bonded over random idiot box content but now that I look back, we genuinely bonded. She was so easy to talk to and just an integral part of the 1st floor...I will miss her!
I am so sappy sometimes. Darn.

Of Mirrors

Sometimes a change of mirror is all one needs to alter one's life. Like I have always believed, life has its own sweet way to teach us subtle lessons. Its upto us to take it as a learning or as just another event.
For me this post is triggered by an event. I was in the mess and I looked up into the mirror over the basin. I saw me. But I also saw a few scars from old pimples, a stray hair out of place and a few new pimples readying to take their place on my face. How come I didn't see these when I was brushing just this morning? Because the mirror changed! Or maybe just the lighting was different, but what I saw had altered.
So I learnt two things...one I needed a good facewash (:P) and two, I had to look at life from different frames. Think about it. Even physics accepts that reality changes with changing of frame of reference! How obvious it always was.
Let's look at life from differing points of view...one side is a personal me, who's just plain confused about life and the other is the professional me, who is supposed to be doing just fine. Hmm.
So what are your frames in life? How would you judge it?

just another monologue...

It's been sometime now that I have had some, or ok a lot of things to talk on. Much has happened since the day my iPod and I sat together on a bench and wondered why life was so weird.
I spent two days being a pseudo intellectual thinking what would've happened to Gautam Buddha's wife after he left her in pursuit of higher goals of life. It triggered much debate within me and with my friends but I obviously have no answer.
One other interesting happening was a rather short discussion I had. It has been my observation for quite a while now that men my age tend to be more loud, immature and quite boyish while the ones who are older are more mature, stylish and smooth. It could, I now agree, be just a personal bias but it was mine. When i did express it to this particular person I got a rather interesting answer. All it said was, " You've seen a wrong sample. Maturity, style and attitude are extensions of the personality and upbringing, not just age." I was floored!
So while I enjoy this super sexy weather of purple skies, cool winds and a calming drizzle from the solitary perch of the lone balcony of this hostel, I am content. I have made peace with life today and I hope I can sustain it for a while. I do sometime miss the opportunity of sharing such simple moments of pleasure with someone but maybe another time. I hope.

Govt's gift on women's day

One female independent director in firms must: MCA | mydigitalfc.com

So here's what the government does...give us another reservation. Am i estatic? I am not so sure. But a pat on their back for trying. The glass ceiling just got that much more brittle!
Happy Women's Day lovely people!

Douglas Adam's little quirky tale

So as I went about stumbling over the internet I found a small tale written by Douglas Adams that I reproduce here without anyone's permission. If I am violating any laws, please let me know and I'd be happy to comply!
So here goes:

Cookies by Douglas Adams (author: "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy")

This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person was me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train. I'd gotten the time of the train wrong.

I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies. I went and sat at a table.

I want you to picture the scene. It's very important that you get this very clear in your mind.

Here's the table, newspaper, cup of coffee, packet of cookies. There's a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.

It didn't look like he was going to do anything weird. What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of cookies, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.

Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with. There's nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your cookies.

You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know. . . But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn't do anything, and thought, what am I going to do?

In the end I thought, nothing for it, I'll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened. I took out a cookie for myself. I thought, that settled him. But it hadn't because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another cookie.

Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice . . ." I mean, it doesn't really work.

We went through the whole packet like this. When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight cookies, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one. Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away.

Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back. A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my cookies.

The thing I like particularly about this story is the sensation that somewhere in England there has been wandering around for the last quarter-century a perfectly ordinary guy who's had the same exact story, only he doesn't have the punch line.

(Excerpted from "The Salmon of Doubt: Hitchhiking the Galaxy One Last Time" by Douglas Adams)

Alone

I'm sittin alone on a bench outside my hostel and it is on moments like these that I feel life, with all it's sorrows and happiness, can't get lonelier or more peaceful. There is no one to talk and no one for company. All I have right now are a bunch of pesky mosquitoes and an iPod.
I wanna just talk. Talk somemore. I haven't has a decent conversation in so long that I can't remember the last time I did. It's almost like except for my mother no one wants to really know what's up in my life! Ironically almost everyone on this campus asks me that when they see me. Life.

Shivani Saksena
sent from my iPod