Manjunath

Due to the untimely collision of several circumstances, I find myself travelling between home and college more often than a sane student shouldin his winter vacation. This one particular journey back home I find worthy of mention.

My enthusiastic entry into the homeward bound bus was somewhat retarded by the overwhelming stench of rotten feet and vomit. There was also of course, the customary bawling four year old that usually comes free of charge with every bus ride in the country. Sources cite said four year old as the reason for the unbearable reek. The bawling was however counteracted by the equally loud but way cooler new-age indipop of the religious, though tech-savvy Sabarimalaite, who had conveniently gone off to sleep while his laptop dealt us its soothing night-time music.

The headrest smelt of stale cockanet oil, which surprisingly, and thankfully kept the rest of the stench away. I found the seat covered in both cigarette ash and mallige flowers, much to my bewilderment. The bus itself wasn't as bad - the wheels felt only remotely circular and like they were carved out of rock, which I believe was the culprit behind the periodic beating my butt was absorbing. Each of the ladders leading up to the berths were secured by one screw at most, and were very happily rattling along, apparently to help soothe infants and otherwise annoying four year olds.

That apart, the windows were absolutely unmoveable, to let in the five degree Western Ghat air. To keep my nearly frostbitten toes from falling off, I was forced to open my bag and shove my feet inside. Yet another noteworthy mention is my first bus-time bedbug, which was rather unfortunate to be jettisoned somewhere in the midst of the Ghats.

Manjunath provides a refreshingly new experience to even the most seasoned of travellers, so please do make sure your next bus ride is a Manjunath ride!

Filthy Pig

He wakes up with a jolt and wipes the sweat off his brow. He reckons it was cough roughly ten miles away that woke him up form his normally hefty slumber. Was it a dream? Or was it really there? He wastes no time pondering upon these issues, neither does he raise any more. Jumping off his bed, he bolts out the door, away form the source of the sound.

He runs as fast as his legs can carry him, all the while confident that his every move is being tracked. He continues running. He knows it's gaining on him, and all of a sudden his chest clenches. He's nearly sure it's here. A sneeze. Affirmative.

Anxiety takes the chequered flag, and kills him. The virus, it turns out, had to exit soon after it started, due to technical difficulties.

Kitchen Chemistry

In my travels across the internet, I've been prompted to carry out an extremely cool experiment. This one that ranks first in my book, on account of being both simple and spectacular.

I've gone on a somewhat sporadic publicity campaign, rhapsodizing over it's sheer awesomeness, albeit at inopportune moments, when availability of raw material is highly unlikely (like at a canteen, over lunch or on a bus). So, here I am, hopin you're at home when you read this, and more importantly, that you get off your bottoms and get your hands dirty once you're done.


What you will need (to have) : Cornstarch/Cornflour , Water

What you will need (to do) : To a cup of cornflour, taken in a wide bottomed container, gradually add 1.5 cups of water, mixing gently. Take care not to add too much water, or you'll have to add more cornflour to compense. Add water till the consistency is sort of gooey.

Now dip your fingers in and feel the liquid. Or, you could try jabbing at it with the tip of your finger or a spoon. Also, you could try hammering it. (with a hammer or your fist, whichever works your mojo)

Tips:

• If you're not motivated enough, these might help.
• If you're still not interested, fie on you.
• If you're a geek, this will interst you.
• If you're still not interested, thu!

Also worth trying: Mentos + Coke
(Works best with original(mint) flavoured Mentos and Diet Coke)
Not nearly as cool as the cornstarch experiment, but definitely worth it.

Hail science!

Meter

Sitting at my desk, slightly sore
Mind restless, wandering
Compels fingers to sketch
Verse, meter hardly approved of.

On routine

A month into summer, it dawns on me that things have not been the same since it started.

There has been a somewhat astonishing shift in mindset and in focus over the last few weeks, reputedly funded by ominous thoughts of the future. Not completely unexpected; astonishing nevertheless. A memento of how organised I can be if I need to. A reassuring revelation.

My activities over the summer have regressed into what one might call a 'routine'. A stark contrast from my usually desultory thought processes. That is, of course, excluding the rigorous effort invested in planning and executing hours ( years maybe?) of DotA, ritually performed on a day to day basis. That being said, it seems that a routine is not necessarily a bad thing, particularly if there is an underlying impetus. Very enjoyable in fact.

All in all, I seem to be more content with myself and my quotidian activities. Disappointingly enough though, I cannot help but feel that I will return to my usual self, squandering away my time on frivolous pursuits. (Which I will enjoy, nonetheless.) In any case, there's a little over a month of summer left, and I intend to exploit it thoroughly.

Summer Visitors

Knock knock.

"Banni banni! Will you take some coffee?"
"Illa illa, we just had at home and came."
"No no you must! Only one cup."
"Okay okay. Bari half cup please."

At this point the lady of guest troupe deems it appropriate to rise and present the bagful of mangoes in her hand to the lady of the house.

"Here we have brought some mangoes.(Which are available right outside your doorstep and which you are bound to have a quarter of a million of in your house already....But still, we have brought them.)"

Smiles politely.


"Oh! Thanks!"

Smiles politely, grabbing the bag and rushing inside to stash it along with the other mangoes, thinking,
"Oh! Our guests are so thoughful, giving us mangoes. We have so many at home already, which we will never get through before they rot...But still, our guests are such thoughtful people."

Living just to Die
Dying just to Live
Twisted.

Shell

The words are not flowing, and neither is the music. I find myself looking for inspiration, hoping maybe that the air would deliver it to me, sadly without success. Puffs of dust float around my brain, rendering it invisible to the light. Exorcism is on call, but I fear it must be done from within.