The complexity of the problem is in its simplicity...


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Two of a kind...

I had a corner seat to the left, three rows from the back. It was the second day of classroom training in Mysore and we were in the midst of the irritating L&D(Learning and Development) sessions. Basically, those were three days of English and communication classes that I thoroughly hated because they involved communication and people skills, both of which I lack and have no interest in acquiring. We were given a task, speak to five random people in the classroom, introducing yourself and start a conversation with them. So here I was, making no effort whatsoever to introduce myself to random strangers, when the guy who sat in the last row, directly behind me, came over. " Hi, Dhruva! Tui bangali?" That is how I first met Dhruva. We didn't have the longest conversation at that point, but I distinctly remember, the very next time we spoke, later in the evening, his first question was, "Baba fukish to?" I was like, "What the hell is 'Baba'!...
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The IIT story...

I wrote this when I was utterly bored, during one phase of the 3 hour IIT exams couple of years ago, much to the amusement of the invigilator. I found the question paper on which this was written yesterday while scouring through my cupboard. Its a work of fiction, first and foremost(please don't sue me) and its a tad longish. Bear with me. The moonlight crept through the thin wisps of cloud, casting a pale hue on the sea below. The sound of the waves crashing on the rocks, deafening, majestic. But all this was lost to Vaibhav as he stood there on the 5 th floor attic of the main building. His body numbed by the shock and horror of his realisation. “This can’t be” he thought, “How..”. A muffled scream, a soft thud, and a huge splash. It was over. The dining hall had never before been this quiet. Shocked eyes, excited murmurings and the sound of newspapers crumbling as everyone hurriedly turned over the pages to get the full story. “Another suicide at the IIT’s”, the headlines r...
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Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice...

Haven't blogged properly in a while now, but I'm really short of ideas. Looking around, for some old content among my school notes, I dug this one up. I don't remember why I wrote this, or even, when I wrote this, but after a week of many a tiffs and fights, this seemed appropriate. Is holding onto little grudges really worth the while? Instead of sounding all preachy, I'm going to let someone far more wise, and far beyond the scope of retribution, sum it up for me. “ All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust. ”  -J.M.Barrie Anyway, as promised, here is something of a post. A poem that I'd written sometime in my youth. I really liked naming all my characters and titles after movies and songs, I notice. Brother's In Arms We met in school on a summer's day, Toddlers spending time away. Scribbling with my pencil new, He came up to me with smiles afew. "I really like your pencil" , he said, "Such bri...
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