Goal....my ass

I know i don't like to watch hindi movies and resist with all my will power any circumstance that would force me to do so, but then exam time is the rarest of rare cases. The pull towards everything but text books,like the PC or a novel or the comfortable looking bed or the adorable kittens in the next building, is almost impossible to fight. I mean dash it i say, its a scandal all right, but i end up watching some infernally ridiculous and stoopid movies during these days.

So I happened to watch 'Goal' the other day. Yea the same film for the premier of which our worldly wise Bipasha Basu wanted to get none other than the godly Christiano Ronaldo himself. Well i am so so glad he could not or did not attend the said premier. I know that escaping shame owing to ignorance of the discerning individual is but small consolation, but consolation it is nevertheless.
And consolation is the first thing that I searched in vain after having seen this movie. That it took me many days of excusing myself, blaming the occurance of the event on all sorts of circumstances however remote they may be, is a different story in itself, and beyond the purview of this essay.

To get down to describing the story itself, I confess i am rather impatient with all supposedly inspirational depictions of the 'country men rising above their mental devils and overcoming the oppressing racists with their own weapons in their own backyards' unless it is our beloved Gandhiji fighting the cause in Africa. I also tend to dismiss rather quickly the whole idea of being obsessed with our individuality, our tradiitons, our culture once in the foreign land. And even if I usually tolerate and understand that, these impositions on 2nd generation immigrants (or those are technically borne and brought up in foreign lands) by their worthy families is taking the matter a bit too far.

What i mean to say is I completely fail to understand the Indian diaspora restricting their accented, westernised wards to Indian brides and Indian festivals and the Indian way of life in general.Well anyways we are digressing from the point.

The movie is not at all about the aforementioned complaint, at least not in any major way.
The Movie is about Racism which is the one thing thoroughly conspicuous by its absence. For a plot that has its roots in racism and more or less tells the story of a bunch of oppressed individuals rising above it, there are precious few instances of the act itself in the movie.

Agreed that the fallen-from-grace to-be-coach of the team does run off in mortal fear of certain soccer hooligans who threaten to destroy not only himself but his family too, but even that incident is played out only in a short flashback without leaving any great impressions about the racist nature of the attack that happens on him.

The Plot revolves around a nondescript club patronised by the South Asian Community of London. The said club having once boasted of achieving the pinnacle of success and glory is now infested by a bunch of sorry, discouraged soccer enthusiasts from India, Bangladesh, Pakistan and such like who strive to keep some semblance of soccer alive at the club. The gist of the story is that they are in a fight to review their clubs fortunes and name and more importantly to save it from being taken over by the civic authorities to be used for some commercially fruitful projects. Rather a regular plot, and nothing original or exciting about it except for the change of setting. The story is rather reminiscent of 'Chak De' and is similar in many aspects, including a coach who has been living on the fringes of existence and makes an inspirational return to take his former team to glory. Then the regular see-saw of failures, and betrayals, and long speeches follow finally leading up to sweet victory.

Nothing out of the ordinary except for the phenomenal blunders that this film makes in almost all departments.
The dialogs are the worst insults to our sensibilities . The actors are grossly drab and listless, Boman Irani fails to inspire any respect, Arshad Varsi is permanently under-utilised, Bipasha Basu has the world's most horrible dialogs, and the drool inspiring John Abraham !...., the less said the better, he is excruciatingly boring...that should suffice for him me thinks.

I mean...c'mmon! for the sake of crying out loud... there is acting talent in Arshad Varsi, and there is experience in Boman Irani that could have been put to much better use. While Varsi only almost makes u laugh, when you are so pleading for at least that much respite from a man who was such a Riot in Munnabhai, Boman Irani only has a ranting hopeless character role. Again the horrible dialogs let him down for sure, but the role just doesnt suit him. I mean these Denzel Washington type roles can be done better by only one person in the world and that is ...Denzel Washington himself. Even Sharukh Khan is only a mere sheep before the power of Washington's performances.
Irani is given no persona, he does not have a domineering character, and he does not have a commanding voice. He's almost always a unshaven raving 'almost-hero' with blood-shot eyes and the most humdrum of speeches.
All John Abraham does throughout the film is smile his stupid lop-sided grin so trying to emulate the Harrison Ford that he is not, apart from thundering some powerful volleys into the back of the goal. The one and only scene wherein he ever shows any emotion at all is when he flails his arms in indignant consternation at his father who does not see him being the Indian that he wants him to be. That scene also happens to have the best dialog. Apart from that he is simply the poster boy who is just that, a poster boy, un-exciting and inconsequential. His role is certainly significant but his presence howls mediocrity and boredom.
I had heard a lot about the waves that the busty Bips was making in filmdom but this was my first experience of seeing her in a film. And it is so terrible an experience that i don't want to ever see any film that has even an inch of her person in it. As if to add to her sham of a performance she happens to have landed the most sexist ( like a good friend of mine pointed out) and slutty dialogs.
She hovers around John Abraham in particularly and the team in general trying to act as angelic as possible while her whole bearing cries out just the opposite. I mean she is so wrong in an innocent , girl-next-door kind of character.

If i remember correctly there were also a few songs in between, but its taking such an effort to recollect anything worth remembering in that movie that i am going to let that be.... and not tax my memory too much about it. A NOTE however, the Goal anthem is very catchy and nicely made.
The movie is so horrible, and people are being so shamelessly blatant in praising it that I am rather depressed more than anything else.

Its a third rate movie with a lot of side roles and a lot of worthless crap all throughout. Heaven save us if John's wish of making a sequel comes true. He says he had great fun playing football. For God's sake, please save us the torture simply to accomodate his hobby. They play football everyday in the ground besides my house. Just send him here.

Survival of the fittest...or the best endowed-part I

Life has been particularly kind and generous to me. Or so I’ve been thinking, post a recent conversation with my younger sibling, As he narrated the ridiculous stories of his ‘groups’ vandalisms and anti-social operations, quite invariably targeting some poor weakling and making his or her life a string of abject embarrassing events. While such situations can be dismissed as a cruel hand of fate and laughed over 10 years down the line, how does one go about forgetting the trauma when it has been plotted, not by fate directly but by immediate society itself? Perhaps the only part fate ever played in such suffering is to gift the said individual with a improbable name, or a hopelessly incurable constitution, or a downright unfortunate visage.

It has been said often that to be borne in an unfortunate body, family, caste, neighborhood, is a crime that the unaware infant commits before he ever even learns to breathe. It is the ‘Original Sin’. And as heinous as original sins go he/she is to be punished and punished again for it for most of his life. Their is no penance, and there is no retribution, unless the unfortunate soul changes his situation completely, renounces everything he has ever known and settles down again in the world as a total stranger, completely wiping away his past so that no boisterous fellow employee can ever remember at that blasted corporate party that you vet your pants in your kindergarten, or that you had a father who wore transparent bollywoodesque apparel to PTA meets, or exclaims loudly how wonderfully trim you look especially after the grotesquely fat school days, so that you bury those inhuman cat-calls that colorfully described your weird surname, or your not so generous complexion.

Pondering upon the millions of insults that I had myself heaped upon society around me during my childhood days, I can’t help but heave quite a prolonged sigh of relief that, though not having Greek-god looks, or Nobel prise winning brains, or a James Bond like persona, I was still lucky enough to be nondescript enough to escape that torture and yet well endowed enough to throw the same all around me.

I suppose that qualifies me as quite a bully. Though the western representation of a ‘Bully’ will unfairly exaggerate my ‘behavior’, I am sure I was as much a bully as you get in cultured, ol’ India. Recently while watching a random movie called ‘the bench warmers’ basically about these so called oppressed people get back at the bullies that have haunted them since school days, helped by a former bully himself who regrets having spoilt quite a few childhoods during his school days.

So my brother proudly narrates how just last evening they conspired to displace a romancing couple that had had the audacity to occupy their favorite hangout place. They Decide to play the local variant of ‘hide & seek’. The farcical seeker is chosen. And the hiders all dash off to their hiding places, those that inexplicably revolve around the hapless couple. They hide besides the bench and behind it, they crawl around the bench and under it, all 12 rascals of them, abusing each other and catcalling with meaningful gusto. To take on 12 roguish vagabonds obviously being physically impossible and ungentle manly the guy meekly suggests that they go somewhere else. Well the battle is won. They follow the victory with raucous cries off ‘ ha ha bhaag gaye, bhag gaye’, the couple being well within earshot.

What cruel hand of fate twists and warps such young minds into marching into such criminal endeavours? What else but a blatant disregard of any form of manners, culture, respect whatsoever.

...about great Men and Great Dictators

Like all my interests watching movies is also deeply rooted in a need to learn, understand, and appreciate art or the lack of it. And like all my interests this one too remembers its roots only now and then. When I do stay true to my intentions though I come across some beautiful movies, mostly old ones, often of the black and white era, when they were purely art, and a sincere media of mass mobilisation and education.

Charlie Chaplin is lovingly remembered the world over for brightening up a world mostly ravaged by the devastating wars and impoverished by whole scale depressions and destitution. In those simple yet impactful comedies, amidst tears of laughter what I have come to observe in his films is a thorough portrayal of society and its norms during his time. Acting the role of a hapless happy-go-lucky tramp in most of his ventures came so naturally to him that it makes one wonder if it was acting at all. Perhaps it wasn’t, perhaps he was in fact living his own life on the screen, telling us the story of a society that did not like to laugh at itself very much, one that needed a scapegoat like him to hammer home the point.

I happened to watch ‘The Great Dictator’ the other day. Having scoured ‘crosswords’ and other movie stores alike, around the city for some time, and been unable to lay my hands on this gem of a movie, I finally managed to borrow it from my aunt. I have distinct memories of having watched the movie once when I was really young. And I also remember rolling in laughter over it, in the good old days when watching doordarshan wasn’t a heresy. Well, so I wanted to watch it again, this time to understand it along with enjoying it. It was worth every moment of it. Here’s a few of my thoughts and interpretations, though not very intelligent in nature, heartfelt nevertheless.

Released in the Year 1940, at a time when America had still to enter the Second World War officially, it is a striking take on the madness that was the flavour of Hitler's quest to rule the world on the hypothetical argument of such an event being the God given right and duty of the Aryan race, exaggerated by him into a campaign not only to win military victory over the world but physically exterminate the supposed lesser, inferior races, chief amongst them being the Jews.

Chaplin plays dual characters in the film which begins with a hilarious scene depicting the first world war in which he is a Jewish barber serving as a private with the grand ‘Tomanian’ army, a reference to Adolf Hitler’s stint with the German war campaigns under Bismarck. A comic incident involving the much touted ‘Big Bertha’ gun that was to win Germany the war is only a premier to the numerous pot-shots that chaplin takes at Hitler and Mussolini

Chaplin portrays the helpless goofer to perfection, ending up marching with the enemy ranks after having lost his way or fumbling his way with and aircraft as he helps an injured Tomanian pilot into his aircraft and taxies out of the war front. The aircraft eventually crash lands and he ends up in a hospital where he spends the next 20 years in a state of amnesia. Meanwhile the ‘Tomania’ around him moves on. It is now headed by a ruthless dictator Adenoid Hynkel; Chaplin in his 2nd role in the film. A direct reference to Adolf Hitler down to the intonations of his fiery speeches, Chaplin cuts a hilarious figure, poking fun at the ‘mad-man’ at every turn. As the story goes, Chaplin spent days studying Hitler’s speeches to get the imitation perfect. The speech has one rolling over in laughter at the exaggeration and the overacting that has ‘Hynkel’ coughing and sputtering gibberish that, well sounds like German. His supposed German tirades throughout the movie are a complete riot. Even though the script more or less revolves around the dual roles played by Chaplin, two of ‘Hynkels’ top men
‘General Garbitsch’ modelled on ‘Joseph Goebbels’ and ‘Field Marshal Herring’ having a resemblance to ‘Herman Goering’, make timely appearances in scenes that has one gasping for breath with the sheer comedy of the dramatic situations that Chaplin presents. Later in the movie a character modelled on ‘Benito Mussolini’;
'Benzino Napaloni' as the ruler of the ‘Bacteria nation’ shares the screen with Hynkel. This boisterous imitation of the Italian Dictator bosses around a much perplexed ‘Hynkie’ as he is invited to Tomania to discuss an important power struggle over the border nation Osterlich (Austria); a take on an early altercation between Hitler and Mussolini over Austria that has almost been forgotten by modern history. Most of the movie is taken up by this issue. In the other role Chaplin returns to his barber shop from the hospital unaware of the turmoil that the world around him is in and happily ignorant of the persecution of the Jewish community by Hynkel’s storm troopers of the army of the Double Cross.

The movie switches back and forth between the Dictator and his dreams of world dominion and the simple barber and his budding romance with a Jewish washer-woman ‘Hanna’ living in the ghetto. ‘The Great Dictator’ has some classic scenes that have been etched into the history of Cinema, chief amongst them being ‘Hynkel’s’ dance with the globe, depicting his obsession with world conquest, a delightful scene of oneupmanship between him and Napolini in which they keep raising their seats in Hynkel’s palace barber shop to show superiority over one another, and the touching speech that the barber (having assumed Hynkel’s character after a rather comic sequence of mishaps) delivers to his troops after conquering Osterlich.

As the barber passionately implores Hynkel’s soldiers to start thinking for their own and refuse the rule of ‘Machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts’, the climax makes for a stirring end to a story that strikes right into the heart. ‘The Great Dictator’ leaves you with memories, not just of the laughs that one had, but of characters and scenes that had a story to tell, of madness and the helplessness of the common man in controlling it, of egos and the damage that they can cause, of hatred and the wounds that they carve into our lives, of the gashes that take ages to heal. If any movie could have stirred a generation through laughter I am sure this would have. In a time when dying for a cause had assumed larger-than-life proportions, this is a story that calls men to pray to the religion of humanity, to erase the boundaries and look at each other in their naked personalities, unfettered by the identities of nationalities or race or religion.

In my opinion a must watch for any one tired of the mind less bullet riddled, gravity insulting, sexually outrageous cinema that has us aesthetically numbed and unreceptive.

Proposal

Since i also watch a fair amount of movies and read a fair amount of books, thought t'would be entertaining to review them in this space. However let this serve as a disclaimer; I hate bollywood and I will not read Mills & Boons. As for Harry Potter, LOTR etc. enough has been written about them. One might as well expect a movie called 'Gunga Din' discussed out here. In my experience though, the less talked about the movie the more intriguing it turns out to be.
Having said so I do not profess literary authority or cinematic qualification of any kind. Therefore these essays are obviously no intelligent critiques on books or movies. They are simply the products of a terribly idle mind that has been allowed to decompose for most of its existence.

Coming out of Hibernation

Another semester flys by , and how ! This trivial attempt at writing that i ventured out on before my lsat exams hasnt exactly lived upto expectations, not that i had many. I i have always found it difficult to keep up the same level of interest with which i start of on these self styled adventures. Tis funny really, since no one makes me do this, in fact were i to start on a literary venture it would be becausei like writing genuinely. Inspite of this being the case I cannot make my self shut down those addictive chat windows, or abstain from that senseless surfing or orkutting.

To declare the semester as an eventful one is an understatement to say the least. Reflecting upon the events from the start of this academic year I am often amazed at the nature and quantity of radical changes that have swept throught the halls of my college lefaving most of us reeling and scampering to salvage what is left of our dented prides and misplaced ideals.

The idea of writing about it all has drawn me to the keyboard often, for some reason i have put it off. Perhaps this is a good time. Not that any thing will come out of me spilling out my own interpretations of it all. It just makes the whole issue seem so much more ridiculous and non-sensical when you sit down to write about it. For those who are expecting events of national or even international importance being discussed over here will be sorely disappointed. For my story is more or less restricted to the minimalistic campus of my college. And it is highly unlikely that the events taking place in my collge will ever have any bearing upon any thing or any one outside the gates. The turmoil that we so love to be victims of, the persecution that we are so happy about being subjected to is in fact nothing more than a certain females and her cronies coming into their own, discovering the joy of being the movers and shakers in so many lives, and learning to demand and command loyalties.

And there is the very natural rebellion. Every radical descision in history has been opposed by a rebellion, wether successful or not is not the point. The whole joy of it is in having a cause to fight against. A rebellion of course seems glamorous and the idea of martyrdom ( well not literally) is so inspiring, that we often throw caution to the winds, forget sense and plunge headlong into a fight, making it so much a part of our life that the reason itself is lost.

Now it has come to a point where the fight simply cannot be won, the cause has lost its appeal....sigh...this is why i dont blog so often....I always end up sighing...
Hopefully i just might start writing again, atleast for the sake of writing...prep Leave has begun again, and as usual i don't have anything to do.

Farcifying education ( part II )

Free lectures were rare and far in between thus far, now to our delight we found ourselves free oftener. Rumor had it that the teachers were busy coping with the sudden demand on their mental faculties.

Departments went into overdrive trying to equip their professors with all sorts of logistical and tactical information about their courses.

Direction sign boards cropped up at the most unexpected of places. Places that we never thought belonged to our college suddenly had “Instrumentation department” and “electronics department” pointing to them.

Folk who hadn’t been seen around the college premises for years suddenly took on the mantle of ‘Head of Department’.

We had a gymkhana. Not much of it, a room full maybe, a gymkhana never the less. One fine day we noticed the faint prospect of computers and electrical equipment in the room from afar.

Approaching the oddity we found a so far unheard of ‘Development Lab’ in its place. Development Lab sounds like a cool thing to have. The only hitch here was; no development had ever taken place in this room. Amongst all that cool looking electrical litter thrown around to give it a worn out feel, probably only the Robocon contraption had ever seen that place before.

The poor gymkhana we found to have been scrapped off totally. So now we were to ‘Share’ with the adjoining Bsc, arts, commerce, BMM etc. etc. their Gymkhana.

D-Day, we could feel the tensions rising to the point of exploding. After all t’was all about how well the masks would stay in place, whether the meticulously planned cosmetic surgeries would be flashy enough to fool them, whether the religiously practiced drama be played to perfection, whether the zealously by hearted lines recited flawlessly.

Black boards all over the place cried out flowery messages of welcome. The latrines got a much needed clean over, huge banners proudly claimed the great vision of the college…” To create a vibrant, knowledge oriented environment with innovative teaching practices and to inculcate a tradition of socially conscious application of Technology “

The halls of knowledge vibrated with the overload of humans and non-existent infrastructure, the environment bustled with the anticipation, as with hollow claims and hopes, and we consciously resigned ourselves to the irreversible stagnation.

At least we hadn’t set the precedents; that had been the good work of some other good men. That was our consolation. We would reap the benefits of the deep rooted deceits, why complain then!

The stage was set…

Farcifying Education (part I )

Accreditation - the act of granting credit or recognition (especially with respect to educational institution that maintains suitable standards);

Okay, so Accreditations are a big thing in Engineering colleges, at least so our college would have us believe. Having noticed that almost every damn course in scandalously random and out worldly colleges seemed to have the tag of being accredited (In the DTE prospectus and website), I naturally had come to form the opinion that accreditation was just a superficial farce and was extremely skeptical about the whole fuss being made about it when the honorable committee came to my college.

It all began quite inconspicuously; the preparations for the impending ‘Quality –Control-check’ that is. Having cramped an entire Engineering college literally into two floors, sharing laboratories with the neighboring Bsc. College or with the Diploma section (equally cramped in the two floors below ours)., word was around that we had no chance.

The college had filed applications for accreditation for four of the offered five courses.

We joked about the impossible optimism of the college authorities, the hope of acknowledgment; that we thought would remain only that-a hope. Little did we know that this was business, and the college was going to play hardball.

A few weeks into the news, everything around slowly but surely began to change.

The effort took no time to shift straight into the 5^th gear before we knew what was happening.

Peons and clerks were all of a sudden working over time, gathering files and readying accounts, the teachers progressively began looking a lot harassed, even more than us.

Cheesy sounding Quotations started cropping up all over the place, in the library, the laboratories, the notice boards, even the damn corridors.

“ Do your best, leave the rest” , “ success is 99% perspiration and 1 %inspiration”, the chart papers shouted out their expert comments at us.

Professors started bugging the unfortunate aesthetically proficient folk in our batches to come up with equally cheesy sounding quotations, formulae charts, schematic diagrams etc. etc. to decorate the laboratories.

The attempt would have been decently inspirational had it not been all so obvious in its overzealousness. The only place that gave us overawed folk some respite from all the philosophy thrown at us was probably in the toilets, which thankfully didn’t tell us to “Pee to your fullest, leave the rest” or “ one man’s dagger is another man’s sword” or “ Success is 99 % masturbation and 1 % ambition” etc. etc.

Why ( Vas ) ???

They give even the toughest cold jitters, the hardiest of the hardy feel a chill up their spine. For all our famed resilience and abilities to weather the cruelest of storms, we Engineering Students have yet to come up with a more optimistic philosophy when it comes to VIVAS.

Engineering studies hardly ever make any sense whether they be in the context of relevance or in making we under grads feel some pride in the overhyped glamour that distressingly engulfs this stream. (May be the 'grass is just greener on the other side')

Now VIVAS hold the terrifying potential of making our worst fears come true.

The mere thought of being expected to ‘understand’ all that bullhsit in those overweight Engineering books makes me week in the knees. Forced into a false complacency and security after an academic life filled with complete dependence on the ‘ Rote’ memory, we have hardly ever been tested for our true understanding of the complex equations and awe inspiring theorems that have rolled before our eyes countless number of times. We have absorbed them retained them and felt infinitely smug about being able to do so efficiently.

Detractors will of course beg to differ on many counts to that allegation of the aforementioned fear of being put to the real test.

“ I cannot mug yaar, this theory subject’s such a pain “ ….an extremely fashionable statement of our times.

The hypocrisy of it all is so overwhelming that it has failed to excite any emotions in me any more.

These same folk (often including me) have ridden waves of jubilant success piggybacking on exactly this ability to ‘learn by rote’ all their lives. Some have enjoyed fame fortune and almost celebrity status thanks to the patronization of exactly this method of education. Even while uttering that ever present excuse they are bound to know somewhere in the deep recesses of their conscience that those very subjects which require nothing other than ‘mugging’ and ‘vomiting’ are their safest and certain avenues of high grades and mind-boggling percentages .

Coming back to the question that begs to be answered in the light of such a culture of education is ‘how fair is then the concept of VIVAS ?’ They aim at testing a student’s grasp of the fundamental concepts of all that they learn.

We are often taught by totally hapless and incompetent professors (whose only claim to fame being a mere ‘bachelor’s degree’, that’s like a 4^th grader teaching the 3^rd grade just because he has passed the 3^rd grade a few months earlier)

Thus forced to trudge along through heat sweat and smoke to ‘ coaching classes ‘ stretched from one end of the city to another, and then weighed down by the mindless copy pasting of assignments and journals we hardly ever have scope to retrospect upon the true significance of the nature and reach of our subjects. We begin and end our lessons completely clueless about ‘why’ we just spent an hour or more racking our brains over seemingly impossible set of theorems and equally confusing bunch of equations to follow.

In such a scenario, to inflict upon us the torture of forcing our intelligence to stretch into thus far com pletely uncharted territories,to insult our sensibilities by exposing our ignorance and immaturity and make us unwilling fodder to feed the pompous egos of certain sociopath professors, is in my view nothing but ‘Criminal’ and could amount to ‘Mental Molestation’.

Having claimed thus an interesting conclusion comes to my mind.

The very mechanisms that have been structured to makes us think beyond written literatures, to force interest (in hopes of eventually making it voluntary) in the real world and the very tangible link between ‘Theory’ and ‘Practice’ , have succeeded in accomplishing the exact opposite.

And the week link probably has been the manner in which we have been introduced to all the concepts in the first place. Very few can actually interest themselves for the sake of the depth of the fundamentals and minute details in the Theory itself. For the rest of us commoners it would be a lot more interesting to have some knowledge about the end towards which we learn a particular concept etc. In knowing such we would, I believe have a sense of equipping ourselves (through such knowledge) to make a meaningful foray into the practical nature of Life around us.
It would give us a sense of following in the footsteps of the Great Minds of our age. To learn about a theorem and know exactly how Edison used it to make the ‘bulb’ or how C.V Raman used another to measure the age of stars, would make us feel in some way on the path to greatness.

The great breakthroughs of our times have loads of residual glory left in them. Were we to taste these while also being exposed to current progresses in the same, and encouraged to dream about how they could still be taken further; numbers, equations, codes, machines and such like would suddenly seem a lot more interesting and worthwhile then they do at this point

Call of the Wild Blog

Place of Birth:

‘The Jungle of the Egg Naans’ then migrated to the ‘Jungle of smoke and fat’, more particularly lived in the ‘Electric Lair’.

Place of Education:

Inception: Dark Brazen Coning Society (D.B.C).

Advance Inception: Solidly Vandalized Howlers Society (S.V.H.S)

Wildlife Simulation: Surreally Vain Junior Congress (S.V.J.C)

Wildlife Apprenticeship: Veritable Enforcement of Stupidity Information about Technology (V.E.S.I.T)

Ambitions: Engineering to claw and rip a life out of a mosaic mess of
Pseudo-opportunities, impossible dreams and rag-tag ambitions.

Life Interests:

1] Murdering other animal life under a hopeless pretext of taking up the noble responsibility of maintaining Ecological balance.

2] Also relishing on the entrails of the afore-mentioned animal life

3] Constantly learning about the plain superficiality of my life till date, and ruing the lack of remedies to the same.

4] Borrowing wisdom from all and sundry and shamelessly passing it on as me own.

5] Pretending nobility and greatness of heart when all that my heart can or will ever feel is the obsessive greed for opportunity and selfish gains from in all such demands on my nature.

Reason to Blog:

Constant need for reassurance about my non-existent creative and imaginative skills and an unfounded conviction that my wisdom is absolutely impartial,

Generously fair and universally original