Hell's closed...Rot in Heaven :P

Wish I did, but I take it..I could not have written something so thoughtfully hilarious.. So with my limited capacities, I could at best Copy-Paste this amusing Forward (Courtest: Santosh, a dear friend) for you guys.. It also does good to my sense of guilt for not Blogging (only Twittering all day) for a long time now. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

The following is an actual question [so say all Forwards] given on a University of Washington chemistry mid-term exam. The answer by one student was too "profound" to miss out...



Q. Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?
Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.


One student, however, wrote the following:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it cannot leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving.



As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different Religions that exist in the world today. Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there are more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially.
Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.
This gives two possibilities:
1.. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
2.. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.


So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa (a girlfriend of mine during my Freshman year) that, "It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you", and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number 2 must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is Exothermic and has already frozen over.

The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct...leaving only Heaven thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa kept shouting "Oh my God."

No guessing...THIS STUDENT RECEIVED THE ONLY "A".

PS: The pic's one of my favorite and when I found it while searching for Heaven & Hell pics, couldn't resist using it although it doesn't suit the content perfectly.

I set the streets ablaze

Two driving classes made of "your side", "my side", "left", "right", "u-turn", with me on the steering wheel trying to use-not-my-head and follow commands and I am already dreaming of Fast and Furious.................And when I finally do that (DRIVE ON MY OWN), I hope I do not set the street ablaze - literally. Like crash into cars and trucks, one after another. Augh, that might actually KILL ME you know.....................If not that, I will surely be jailed for "Amateur driving lead to 5 deaths"...................I will tata blogs (jails can't have internet, at least not in Hyderabad. Right?), may be take to the pen (assuming they would not allow my laptop/even if they would, I'd rather not take it/my in-mates are not MBAs and Medicos you know, but sheer thieves and killers) and write a novel.... ........How about "Counting stars from a cleft in the prison". Long names. e.g. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, are so in....................What the hell, if there is a cleft, I might as well drill it quietly every night and cloak it with a Shahrukh Poster (yes, I just plagiarised a Hollywood plot)...............Heck, after all my Bollywood-binging, with neck craned and lips parted, Shahrukh is the best I could think of? I suddenly realize I cannot readily think of any Favourite hero/heroines. Ok, I like a bunch of them, but none so much to stick up his/her headed-torso on my wall. That would be so gay....................And look who is saying this. Our pigeon-coop of a hostel room (during those 10+2 days) had all of Shahrukhs, Salmans and Caprio posters and with what not written on them. And they were just eye-candy, at least for me and Ashmita (my roomie), unlike Bandana (it went "Bandana Talukdar, Sorupeta" every time we passed the boys hostels, she was our batch's hottie) who was pretty possessive about her Sachin poster. One day when she was snoozing (so we thought), we got Geetali (another mate) walk up to the poster and give Sachin a full-on Lipishtic kiss. That was it - Bandana suddenly sprang out of bed, up went her leg right at Geetali's feeble frame and as she turned around for us we ran for our life. That night we pledged never to kiss any body's lover, boy friend, husband, poster, photograph, whatever. FYI, I still haven't...................The first time I ever kissed, I was imagining I am looking at myself from above, as if I was the director, sitting up on that crane thing and shooting myself with a camera that went round our heads.........This is something I do very often - imagine I walk out of me and look at myself. Like I did when I was getting married. Amongst the incessant chanting, the fire, the cameras, the relatives, I quietly went out of me and was looking at the entire spectacle from a vantage point. Draped in all that silk and jewellery and in the October heat, I was practically melting down. I did not have much to do then nod and mumble whatever Greek or Japanese the Pundit asked me to repeat. And then I stood up, walked out and ran, throwing away all that baggage on me piece after piece till I was in a bikini and dived for the sea..............That reminds me, I am to learn swimming soon (driving, swimming - I will soon be a super-woman). And since I will have Preethi for company, there's a hope that I will not feign losing interest and escape mid-way.........................Like I did for my Salsa and painting classes. But quitting painting had deeper reasons. I was in Class VIII and had newly learnt to bi-cycle. I cracked everything but the brakes. I would hit men (one on a cycle, other an egg-wala), animals (a pig amongst others), walls, lamp posts, impromtu - just fucking forget the brakes. On top of that there was this gang of trouble-makers who would follow me to my house and once I even fell down trying to speed up. Gosh, what a sissy I was. One slap and those rascals would have dissappeared. But those rides seeded a fear for the road. Hitting something, injuring somebody came so naturally to me then...........................Umm what was I talking about?

A cliche one on B's black-headed girl friend

She had those scrutinizing eyes that dissent eye-contact and instead scan you as you talk, stopping at places you would hate to be stared at – at least not by a woman almost half your age. Even when she looked straight into my eyes, she seemed to focus more on the lines under my eyes then my pupil. How could B. have fallen for this girl – I thought. She barely smiled, simply stared on....

After few minutes of disjointed conversation and when she had stared long enough at every visible part of my body and at every nook of our living room, I concluded there is no way I can feel comfortable with this girl around. Not just because she made me highly conscious of my fledgling wrinkles and my streaking hair set against her "22" self, but because I could see she is clearly insensitive and lacks basic etiquette.

It usually comes naturally to me – I have met so many of his girl friends in the past, but with her I had to consciously maintain that pleasing demeanour. B. brought us some coffee and sat next to me. I felt so relieved. At least she will have some diversion.

She could be a different person altogether with B. - the thought made me so curious that I could not wait to confirm. As they chatted, it was my turn to scan. Hers was a pretty head, I have to admit, with jet black curly tresses that bounced a little every time she tossed her head laughing. In that white frock, dotted sparsely with brown flowers, she could be passed as a school girl in her mid-teens. Her legs looked a little too lanky for that little frame, but with flats she could have easily camouflaged that. With apparently good dressing sense, proportionate breasts, not entirely abominable when she opened her mouth – she could be quite a prize at one’s arm. And my B. is just 23 and has this thing for the womankind.

I know it is too early to imagine her as a potential family member and lose sleep over, but what if they stick around till they are of age? B. has never got any girl home. I have always met them at restaurants and shopping malls. What if B. is really in love? What if he does not realize she is not my type? What if she weans my son away?

“Why don’t you join us for a drive?”

(Formality, of course)

“Why don’t you guys carry on while I make some food, your Papa will be home anytime!”

We quickly exchanged pecks. Their heights complimented one another, I thought, as they walked out and instead of it providing me mirth – I suddenly turned very depressed.

I would not want wrangle if we were to be left alone in the house. But she is just not the type a woman of my temperament would readily want to hug and kiss. Were she my girl, I would have ladled her a good one on rolling your eye-balls only as much as you are required. My poor B.! May it remain purely hormonal and doesn't get into his head - this girl!

It was too much for my frail heart. I searched for the TV remote.....

(To be contd. -- hopefully)

Ask Neela!

It has only been 7 months in Hyderabad and right from the commonplace where-to-eat-whats or what-to-buy-wheres, to the not-so-common, which Telegu movie is running its 7th week in which theatre or which artist is Kalakriti Art Gallery hosting this week, have all found themselves secure lodgings in my otherwise always-too-full-to-store-more memory. I do not aspire to become a Tourist Guide or pen "Know Hyderabad" post marriage, nor do I gorge on Hyderabad Times every morning. All I do is.... write for asklaila!!

And I am glad I chose India Syndicate to Deloitte as my career launchpad in Hyderabad or else it would have taken years for me to know the city the way I know it now. At that time India Syndicate meant an opportunity to make my 'pen more fertile' (it feels better to refer to it as the good old "pen") and good moolah right from the comforts of my giant revolving chair at home, while Deloitte meant nothing more than the hugest office I'd ever work for (well, I kind of regret that decision now and that's a different story altogether). I was also a little unsure about how I will weave my stories out of a city I had just landed. And how I love challenges - all you do to get me doing something is give me a - "You can't do it"!

The best part about being an online writer is you may edit what you wrote as and when you want to. So every discovery, overlooked or missed out on in my first dig, due to lack of first hand experience, would promptly appear in or dissappear from my features.

And the way I'm being Google'ed lately by friends, I am actually tempted to set off an askneela.com myself with honest, no-frills-attached reviews and informations. And then I'll expand it into a local Just Dial service of sorts. Gradually I will expand and will answer to all your city specific queries of the entire nation you'd have otherwise Google'ed for. Next, askneela.com will go global (remember askjeeves?) and very soon tabloids will be full of Askneela Vs. Goolge warfare and then one fine day Misrosoft will send me an acquisition proposal. By then I'd have become quite rich and it would not give me an heart-attack like I'd have had today counting the zeroes in the offer. I'd show it to Don (I'm convinced Don will retire as a Microsoftian by then) and inspite of all his convincing, I'd refuse the offer.

Tabloids would next read: Askneela Vs. Google Vs. Misrosoft.

Then somebody will write a book on me and you'll see my photographs and interviews splattered all over...........................

Sometime mid-way while writing this, I felt like listening to Don McLean's "Starry starry night" (a tribute to Vincent Van Gogh)...which I did....

I'm sure Larry Page or Bill gates sounded as crazy some many years back.....if you know what I mean!

Hail Insanity!

Home for a Vagabond

Preface

V. S. Naipaul’s post-colonial fiction “A House for Mr. Biswas” (drawn from his own father’s life-story) looked too fat with pages to be squeezed into that one month before my M. A. exams, along with Alice Walker’s “Color Purple”, Salinger’s “Catcher in the Rye”, Rushdie’s “Midnight Children”…to name a few from what retains in my memory! After browsing through the ‘Preface’ of Mr. Biswas, I settled happily for a summary and felt... ‘done’ to sit for my papers. My pre-exam cramming has always been scary and uninspiring, and perhaps a comfort for the likes of those who still hope they’ll not flunk, because I never have, so far. And from the little that I read, Naipaul’s phrase – “How terrible it would have been…to have lived without even attempting to lay claim to one’s portion of the earth…” – set me meditating…

For those who didn't read the book, didn't click on the link (too lazy / disinterested, here goes a little synopsis: “A House for Mr. Biswas” talks about how a certain Mr. Mohun Biswas spends his life shuttling from one house to another and how he constantly craves and pines to purchase a house of his own. He ends up buying one and the way Naipaul winds it you just realise it is but a man’s primal need to claim his “portion of the earth”, to be able to call a house his home, not just because he loves to come back to it every evening, but because he owns it.

What follows is partly fictitious and inspired by “A House…”.

A Home for a Vagabond

“This is huge!” I gasped, as I walked into the second room. Balmy sunbeams etched the window panes on the white tiled floor, and imagining all those languid, frosty noons this ‘roomscape’ must have, and will continue to witness, I almost felt my eye-lids droop.

One entire wall was embossed with wooded wardrobes. A small door led to a balcony that jutted out over a garden-turned-dusty-playground, fringed with malnutritioned trees. It would be colourblind to consider it ‘green’ per se, but it made-up for my ‘I want a little greenery around the house’. Another door led to the bathroom, so spanking clean that it can be passed for a mirror-house (hyperbole, obviously!). The first room door’ed the kitchen – petite, but well-shelved, well-ventilated.

By the time I was done inspecting the house, I had already visualized which of my belongings would stand where and rearranged that arrangement at least thrice.

“Jst wot i alwys wntd: a white house” – I sms’ed Don.

Like most expats, I have spent my life (dated to begin on day I landed in Delhi) shifting from one house to another to ease commuting from college and later from office; shared my space with others and even compromised on the “quality” everytime I chose to stay alone. Money so conditions our lives!

Eye widen, still, and my most used swear hushes out as my slacking jaws counting my ex-houses.

First House: Kamrupa Girls Hostel, Shakti Nagar
Second House: Sardar Uncle’s PG, Hudson Lines
Third House: The PG next door, Hudson Lines
Fourth House: Raju Bhaiya’s PG, Outram Lines
Fifth House: Dingy one room, Maharani Bagh
Sixth House: Burhe Uncle’s House, Old Double Storey, Lajpat Nagar
Seventh House: Tarun ke samne wala Ghar, Old Double Storey, Lajpat Nagar
Eight House: Billu Bhaiya’s House, Munirka Market
Ninth House: Baa’r Ghor, Noida
Tenth House: No-Light-No-Sight House, Munirka Market
Eleventh House: Sandeep Asshole’s House, Munirka Market

Eleven houses in 5 years? Dang!

How promptly and unabashedly have I exercised my right to choice – selecting one, dumping another! No, packing and unpacking a whole house did not appear in my list of hobbies, neither was I fascinated about draining my wallet at the Property Dealers. The thought of a new space, new corners, new wall paint, new kitchen, and a faint hope that I might finally find my kind in my new neighbourhood - did occur. But these were never reasons enough to turn me into a happy vagabond for five long years. Everytime I shifted, I thought "this is the one", till it groomed in me a taste for the best. And fortunately, or else the feel of ‘this is it’ on seeing the ‘white house’ couldn’t have been so profound!

(Few years hence…)

Stretched on my mattress, I lazily counted the winters me and my home saw together.

“More to come”, I whispered to myself and slept off contentedly, as the balmy sunbeams etched the window panes on me and the white-tiled floor.