On why I deserve the Nobel prize

Psst…. I have news. No, a view. An epiphany came to me during the dying minutes of the exam that will decide my future. It was the funniest thing ever. One second you are furiously working out the intricacies of the English language, and then a steamroller comes out of nowhere, making you jump and wonder why you didn’t see it before.

The views voiced in this post may face the jeremiad of millions on Earth. As far as believers go, I shall be committing blasphemy. And yet, one must remember that fortune favours the bold, and that if I do not get the truth out, maybe we have to wait for the Earth to be destroyed all over again for someone to get an inkling of what I have to say here.

Now I know why we are truly here. The Answer, my friend, has not been blowing in the wind. It has flashed on numerous computer screens. The only problem is that the people who have had the fortune of looking upon it are not as precocious or perceptive as I am. To cut a long  story short, they are not the geeks that they are expected to be. And yet I, having missed it  more than once, have managed to decipher the code that underlies the very foundation of geekdom.

Confused? I should think so. I haven’t mentioned anything yet. After all, Deep Thought only gave the Answer, and never did get to know the question. Much has remained unsaid and unasked. For example, no one really did question computer semantics, did they? Hell, millions of years, and nobody thought of that??? I mean, how perfect can a computer be? Only as good as its creators. And mind you, they weren’t English. So, I postulate that the Babel fish translator is flawed as far as interpreting mathematical data is concerned.

Getting warmer, are we? Time to get it out, I suppose. The answer is forty-two, all right. But we only heard forty two. We never ever had it in writing. Maybe Douglas Adams mistook us for Vogons. Or maybe he was just as ungeeky as the rest of the crowd. Observe:

Forty- Two = 42 x (wrong interpretation)

Forty- Two = 40 2 (new interpretation)

= 40 ^ 2

= 40 x 40

= 1600

The Ultimate Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. How could we have missed it (Yeah, buddy. How could you have missed it? 90 isn’t even a multiple)? Here we are, going over the scores of scores, and we miss the square of two score? Therefore, I propose the following theory regarding the Earth.

1. ETS is the CPU of the giant computer known as Earth. There is no other plausible explanation for the Answer to be so deeply embedded in its working.

2. The answer is not a measure of geekiness. It is merely the answer.

3. The people who achieve the Answer are mere switches in the Earth’s circuit board.

4. I am the only true geek on the planet. And I am as great as Archimedes himself. No, Newton. No, Feynman. No, Gordon Moore. Hell, I am inimitable!!!

Gee, I think I just declared myself the Question.

GREy Area

Two hours. Two tortuous, arduous, almost grotesque hours. And the funny thing is, I am still ready for more. Just taking a break in the meantime. Let me gratify my stomach and mollify my mind. Too much has passed since the alarm rang at 6:30 today. Resume verification was bad enough, but now I actually have to prepare for mathematics and english???

Did I mention it before? The small, salutary room hosting the GRE shall witness august presence the Monday after next- yours truly. Of course, I shall not be alone, and LL shall be waiting to give me company through four and a half hours of pure torture, doing maths a two year old could solve and English that might possibly stump the Bard himself. Months of poring over words and thesauruses, dictionaries and problem books, mock papers, softwares, credit cards, communities and hot coffee will see the effort culminate into the score predicted by one exam. That’s kind of like the last time I gave a major competitive exam. It got me here. I was a wildcard entry. No, worse. I fought my way in, minus the sedulous study that the sincere put in. You see, I was BORN brilliant.

This time, there is a hitch though. The Hopefuls have not inspired confidence with their performance. The Darth Canine did start off on an extremely optimistic note, but the momentum he provided has flagged. Tedium has crept in and the Followers look on with anxious fear and trepidation as the elite go and are split asunder by the heavy axe of the GRE. My neighbour’s proclivity to be cantankerous has got the better of him and saw me being told off for trying to salvage the wrecked remains of my CV. L.O.V.E, managing to survive under heavy fire, gave sage advise- read P.G. Wodehouse, and all will be right. Heavy-handed individuals turned to me for  more pragmatic options, only to learn that they left them months ago, when they would have worked. Lithe department hoppers are refusing to come to class in order to mug up the last few dregs on their word list, while the more porcine never actually did go to class, and weigh down the delicate chairs of our library with surfeit fat.

The Cats, though, are having a ‘jolly good’ old time, their course being on the verge of completion, and ribald old men being forgotten under the sands of time, food and love. They look at us, ask questions to get prolix replies in periphrastic language that addles their temporal lobes and keeps them awake well into the next morning. These ingenuous children do not face the tunnel that stares at us, beckoning with sensuous dreams of ‘ijjat’ (respect) and money.

The likes of me face a grey area. It is a barren world, the best time for studying and the worst time for competing. Our parched lips search for an oasis, but all we find are mirages, so near you can reach out and grasp at the dust that forms them. We have miles to go before we sleep, and the road is getting harder by the second.


Contrary to what the title reads, it’s actually three in the morning right now. Making up your mind to miss class has its advantages. I am just a teeny bit worried that the profs might call on the 75 percent criteria the very year they should worry least about it. But I’ll scrape through, as I always do.

About the title. I don’t plan to wait for golden rays to aureate the sky and foreshadow the arrival of that giant fiery orb. No sir. I plan to go to sleep and sleep through. Of course, if the light does wake me up, it is a bonus. I get to attend class, as does half the gang. But for now, I am beat.

The weekend ended on a happy note, with the exams going decent and the day passing unwasted. Coffee quality in this sleepy little town has doubled and the prices have increased by a factor of ten. Good food, though scarce, is still available, but can be enjoyed only if annoyingly garrulous people zip their lips, which would defeat the whole purpose of them being garrulous. Mercifully, the net still works and the room is as comfortable as ever.

Not a lot has changed since the exams. As I might have mentioned(or did I forget), they were a minor irritation, a low hump, a tiny mosquito bite while wading with anacondas. Life will go on in the same circle it has for the last three years.

I just yawned and noted that I missed five minutes of typing time. Might as well curl up. See you at daylight.

Of 1812 Overtures and Walther PPKs

Back again. Yes, I know you noticed. I also know you are not surprised. After all, who leaves a blog to rust and dust after two posts (Did I hear an ahem from LL?)?

News updates include a trip to the financial capital of this country, which, for the fifteen who went, translates as the ‘masti’ capital of the nation, and, indeed, of all Earth. Pigs drank, dogs smoked, sundered hearts talked for extended hours on the phone with pining quadravalves a thousand miles away, but all ate and were merry. Horizontally challenged parvenus and the pilgarlic beings dropped in to ease the pecuniary burden incurred off us, and we hailed them as the true avatars of Bhai Parmanand.

Back home, the usual jest of ‘treacherous Raps’ made its quotidian rounds for the rest of the week, and all went on in good humour. Only the impending exams could put off the obvious celebrations that should have followed. That, and the fact that we achieved little more than what our hedonist impulses directed us to. The lure of the green bill was snatched by more powerful fishes, some by little more than half an inch. And so we came home, empty handed, to a delicious lunch at the other great city on earth, before proceeding to our home for the last three years.

I miss those days. Just five wonderful days of joyful abandon, relived only through pictures now. Five days- a working week. The sort of time we’ll probably never get again. The sort of time we’ll be milked in in the near future. Lefty asked me if it is about fun. It is not so much about fun as about what I’ll miss. I still maintain that it is his roseated vision that has worn off rather than a change in my countenance. But this time I have good reason to be sullen. And the kids! I have always liked the kids in the group, but this is when you realize how much they actually mean to it. The heart and soul, the very core is composed of these tyros, who, till recently, were relegated to checking the answers by themselves.

The wise old friend who turned up acknowledged us when he introduced himself. It was lovely to hear him call out our insti name on stage. It tells you how close we really are. Even the grouches like me. We are certainly not family, but heck, a family is not about closeness.

I have to go sulk. As usual, I have more than one reason for doing so. As usual, I’ll add that the post has nothing to do with the current bout of melancholy. Feel free to comment or add untypable material in the comments section. You see, here, what kids don’t know can’t hurt them.