Of the Binary Family

I just came back from a wedding. I also happen to have a Digital Logic paper tomorrow.

First, lets talk a bit about Digital Logic (God knows I can use the revision)

Digital Logic is basically making finite decisions in the form of a 1 or a 0. Using multiplication, addition, comparison, and inversion you take one or more inputs and spit out an output.

But that’s not important right now.

Weddings are a great place to find out the weirdness of the bride/grooms family. In this case, the wedding was a family one. (Not my cousin’s that’s still a week away) You find out all sorts of stuff. Like who hates who, what a certain person is called behind his/her back. etc.

Anyone one of you who have old relatives will be aware of the obsession people had with nicknames.

• You’ll have an 60-year-old vast entity of an uncle who every one calls “Munnu”
• A grandma-ish person who stares at the face of death every day called “Pinky”
• A thin-as-a-rail uncle who everyone calls “goolu-mian”

You get the point? Now at this wedding I met the kids of a certain uncle of mine called “No-no”.

Now, me, I’m desperate to score an A in Digital Logic no matter what. So, I’ve been studying the subject like crazy. And as soon as I heard “no-no” my brain went into overdrive. I grabbed the nearest person (of my age group) I could find and after explaining the concept of digital logic to him pitched my theory of what No No’s family tree would be like.

Since he’s “No-No” and not “No-No-No” that means he as 3 siblings. 2^2 = 4  vs  2^3 = 8

His brothers and sisters would be named; Yes-No, No-Yes and Yes-Yes, . He’s the eldest of the siblings. Not to mention they should be thankful that they are only 4 siblings and not 8, because if they were 8 siblings these would be some of the conversations their family might end up facing.

Mommy (introducing her kids to some relative) : … and this is  Yes-No-No, he’s in class 6. Finally this is Yes-No-Yes, she just started kindergarten.

Stranger:  Wait, who was Yes-Yes-No?

Mommy (patting husband’s arm) Yes-Yes-No’s not here yet. Maybe next year.

~~!~~

Daddy: NO-NO-YES!! Bring back my slippers! How many times I’ve got to tell you not to tame my slippers.

No-No-Yes: Abbu! No-Yes-Yes took them! You always blame me!

~~!~~

Teacher (accepting project proposals): Yes…No…No…

Yes-No-No: Yes Miss, you called me?

Teacher: No! I wasn’t. …Yes…No…Yes

Yes-No-Yes: Yes Miss?

(both are twins)

~~!~~

So that’s how I see my family. Thankfully the guy I had grabbed just stared at me and then smiled politely. There could be worse things he could be named No-No-No-Yes, with an entire cricket team backing him up to beat the hell out of me. I doubt he would then let me explain the concept of Hexadecimal to him.

Of Con-Men and Kurosagi

In this world, there are three types of swindlers…

Those who defraud other people out of their money….

 

Those who deceive others by manipulating their feelings….

 

 

And then, using these two as his only source of food…

 

…is the ultimate swindler in history…

 

…a swindler of swindlers…

A year ago, I saw an 11 episode series about swindlers. Kurosagi. It’s one of those awesome shows that keeps you guessing what will happen till the last moment. Old school plot progression that fleshed out the main characters each episode all the while juggling new ways to evade the good guys, and bringing the smack down on the bad guys. Not to mention the soundtrack was amazing

 

(I’m a sucker for good stories and soundtracks)

 

So naturally, after watching Kurosagi, I became a bit more educated in the various conspiracies around me that wanted to cheat me out of my money. Some investment people came to work (yeah this story is that old) and wanted us to invest in their organization and recruit other members to invest too. Basically a pyramid scheme.

 

Fortunately I saw an episode of Kurosagi where this exact scam took place. I remember yelling Sagi! and walking out of the auditorium (which in hindsight is what probably bought me into the sights of the upper management as an employee they could do without)

 

By the way, Sagishi is a swindler or a scammer. Sagi hence is scam (Ataka, correct me if I’m wrong).

 

The reason I remembered this is because I nearly got scammed twice today. In the span of one hour.

Would Be Scam #1

I was at Corporative Market looking to buy a framed slate with Quranic Letterings on it. Loh-e-Quran if you want to be really technical about it. Mum forced me to go buy it since a family friend living abroad wants two.

So I found a sober, decent looking one at a roadside stall at an intersection. The owner was a springy elderly gentleman. I asked him if he had another one in stock. Now the slate cost 300/- and I had a 1000 rupee bill. So, he asked me to give him the money and he’ll go get me my second slate. While he was doing that, he asked me to sit by the stall and keep an eye. Wore his jacket and went.

 

I sat there like an idiot for a few minutes, and suddenly I feel the urge to hum “Daite Daite Senorita” . . . which I remembered happens to be the theme for Kurosagi. My mind started to work in overdrive with turbo-boost.

• The guy asked me for money before delivering the goods.
• He didn’t let me follow him.
• He wore his jacket and went (it was quite warm at the time)
• He slipped away without telling any of his neighbouring roadside stalls to take care of his stall.

Now for the next 15 minutes I was freaking out. I half expected the real owner to walk up to the stall and ask me why I was sitting there. I even contemplated taking that one slate and making a run for it, but the tailor from the nearby shop was staring at me (which further reinforced my being scammed theory)

 

Finally the old dude came back. With another slightly different slate. Honestly if our craftsmen had their way they’d cover every single picture of the Kaa’ba with glitter and mirrors (forgive my blasphemy but if you saw the Loh-e-Qurans I saw, you’d be saying the same thing.)

 

In short I didn’t get scammed, but the possibility existed in spades. Also note, if you ever go to buy Loh-e-Quran there are two variations. A 15 block one and a 9 block one. Who knew?

 

Would Be Scam #2

 

Finally with one slate in hand, I was heading home. The problem with being poor is you have to depend on buses to get you places. Buses also have a habit of being late or at times unreliable. So I went asking every Taimur, Dilawar and Hamza where I could catch Z-2 from.

 

I was in the middle of asking my 13th Dilawar when a Hamza rudely interrupted me asking me how weak my eyesight was. (I hate being a Leo – fucking curious as a cat)

 

I answered, which probably in Hamza land… (btw these names are a stretched out play on Tom Dick and Harry in case it escaped your mind) …meant lets start with an “OMG True Story” type routine.

 

He has a son, who had a –6 when it came to his vision. And you wouldn’t believe it, after a full herbal treatment he was back to 20/20. Hamza then told me about these herbs I was supposed to get from some guy from some shop. Sounded interesting but the herbs he told me about went over my head. So, I ended up following him through an alley to this guy’s herbal medicine shop. Hey, atleast I was cautious enough to firmly grip the 8 inch long micro-Phillips head screwdriver I bought moments ago, ready to take an eye or something if he started to undo his zarban.

 

Shady medicine shop. Hamza asked Taimur #14 to get a bottle of 60 rupee herbal paste. Sealed and it even had a hologram on it. wooo! Since I seemed interested, Hamza got Taimur #14 to add the necessary herbs in to the sealed bottle after breaking the seal. About one and a half tablespoon of something that looked like white pepper went into the paste, and roughly the same amount of powdered ginger. Hamza ‘authenticated’ the herbs by dabbing his pinky in the powder and rubbing it on his gingivitis infested gums. How drug-dealer-ish innit? 

 

Apparently these powders were given out in doses costing 30-70 bucks per dose. Guess how many doses in a tablespoon? 11 freaking doses. Taimur #14 was busy mixing what looked like flour (what is it with powdered herbs and white? Where is the shocking pink herb or the sparkly diamond dust)

 

Hamza, now running at full steam, was busy mixing the “medicine” and telling me how I’ll be throwing my glasses away in a month’s time. He took a butter knife from somewhere and scooped some of that slimy green goo and told me this was the required dosage.

 

Just then, totally grossed out by the paste, I looked at the receipt book Taimur #14 was filling out. The paste and three powders were currently at 580 or so. I faked a coughing fit and headed out the door for some “fresh air” I heard Hamza tell Taimur #14 to add the anti coughing herb (which I’m guessing would be Plaster of Paris.) Still ‘coughing’ and with Hamza following me, I quickly walked out the alley.

 

 

 #1 is where I found Hamza. #2 is Taimur#14’s shop. Blue is my escape path trying to lose Hamza. #3 is where I finally stopped (it is, in fact, the next road) I didn’t double-back intentionally, I got disoriented. –_–  

Of Tik-Tok

Til we see the sunlight…

…Tick tock, on the clock…

…But the party don’t stop…

…Woah-oh oh oh…

…Woah-oh oh oh…

NO WAY!

Tom-foolery aside. this has got to be one of the most awesome posts I’ll ever do in a while.

Second semester at uni came with a course called Digital Logic. We learnt about pre-computer generation parts. Gigantic chips that when combined in the right order would tell you if your answer matches with the answer key, or you could even make a calculator that only adds numbers together and gives you a sum. Such stuff.

Each course this semester required us to make a project for it. For logic people made counters, traffic lights, alarms, and other basic shit.

I proposed I’d make a clock. A decent AM/PM clock. With an alarm. Since I reasoned, that once these people made their useless counters and alarms, few would have to foresight to integrate it into their everyday lives. Hence I told the prof I’ll make a clock.

I had no idea the shit I got myself in.

(Below this line things might get technical, still I’ll try and keep them simple for most of you)

• The 555 circuit I made to drive the clock’s seconds kept speeding up for some unknown reason. so in 5 minutes it would be counting 30 seconds for every real second. in ten minutes the minute display would turn into the new second display.


• The 7490 and 7492s I used to count the seconds, minutes and hours were retarded. Theoretically one poke means one count. They would either ignore a poke or count it as 5 like there was some sort of animosity between them and the 555.


• No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the hours to move. even though I made simple double-delay poke thingy that would reset the hours from 12 to 1 instead of the normal zero.


• Since the hours weren’t resetting I couldn’t toggle the AM/PM light, which worked beautifully.


• And various glitches involving AND gates, negative feedback and god knows what else.

Why is it that whenever I try to make something it has a ton of glitches. So, after a long talk with a friend of mine, I went back to the book I tracked specifically for this purpose (TTL Cookbook by Robert Lancaster) Due to desperation and a looming deadline I ended up changing a few things at the last moment. I’m noting going to even go into the design phase.

Sheet #2	Sheet #1
Sheet #4	Sheet #3

Sheet One. Crystal Oscillator vibrates, goes through dividers, gives 1Hz pulses. 74160s count seconds and minutes. 7493s are easy to reset.

Sheet Two. Soon as the hours turn 13, it switches back to zero in an instant. The pulse that resets the clock also gets delayed and hits the count pin of the 7493 advancing it to 1. So in a fraction of a second, 12:59:59 turns to 0:00:00 to 1:00:00. I connected the reset clock pulse to the clock-pin of the edge triggered flip-flop which toggles AM/PM lights.

Sheet 3 is just the alarm logic. Each 10’s of Hours, Hour, 10’s of Minutes, and Minute is basically a Binary Coded Decimal (BCD – No I’m not making this up) The purpose of the circuit on this sheet is to check if a certain pattern is present and to eliminate the possibilities of it finding other patterns, When all 4 patterns match…

Sheet 4. A pull-up resistor (or a transistor) will power the two 555s in tandem create a two tone frequency that is used as an alarm.

Overall, it took me a day to fix all my problems and get it to work on breadboards.

Yeah, 8 breadboards, and I still need to wire the alarm logic. Feel free to question my sanity.

Oh, and it got the first prize in the Second Semester Hardware Contest. Wooo!

Of Being an Asshole on Bakra-Eid

I’m really happy today. I’m happy because I’ve started to write again after such a long time. And I'm writing because I’m happy. I. happy cause I got to talk to Hime.

HIME!! <3

It’s not like I didn’t have anything to write about over the last few months. I had a ton of opinions I wanted to pollute the web with, I just didn’t feel like writing.

I’m so freaking tired most of the time that I don’t even want to type anything. I have a few dozen letters I want to write to a friend of mine, but I can’t even bring myself to do that. Second Semester has been so shitty you have no idea.

• I hate Bakra-Eid.
• I hate the smell of poop that fills the air.
• I hate how people leave their cow/goat feces on footpaths and you have to walk really really carefully.
• I hate how those stupid mindless animals keep bleating over and over again in the middle of the night (I’m trying to sleep for fuck’s sake.)
• I hate how Eid Namaz is followed by a priest praying for the entire freaking world, one person at a time, can’t he group humanity and offer one prayer for everyone?
• I hate how the feces on the sidewalk are replaced by blood on the first day of Eid.
• I hate how you don’t get any money on this Eid

All in all I hate Bakra Eid.

So, three days ago, I was walking around my neighborhood trying to do any last-minute shopping. Considering the amount of homework I’d been given to complete during this 5-day long Eid Break, I was in a really bad mood.

I saw a cow. . .

Well, not this particular cow, but I saw one, surrounded by little kids oooh-ing and aahhh-ing over it’s majestic (lazy, smelly) self. Petting left and right, photo-op sessions, you name it.

Feigning interest, I went over to the kids. I asked the youngest one, as sweetly as I could, to tell me the name of said cow.

“Raju” came the meek reply.

“Raju? That’s quite fitting! Look at that majestic beast! Did you name him that yourself?”

“Brother did” said the boy.

“Can I pet him?”

“Sure!” chanted the kids, obviously happy that I was taking an interest in their cow. They even showed me how to pet him

I looked deep into Raju’s big black eyes, and in loud yet gentle voice (so that the kids could hear me) I spoke to him with soothing words:

“Raju, tomorrow a man will come, and he will slit your throat, you will bleed. If you’re lucky you might be able to kick him and walk a few feet with your head dangling by a few inches of flesh. You might even vomit once your throat gets severed. Next year they’ll bring a relative of yours and kill him too….”

I made two kids from the group cry. The rest were looking at me in horror.

I love being me. :D

Conspiracies Galore.

Yesterday’s Air Blue Crash is a tragedy. Lets move on now. No? Why?

This is where our media fails to be a valuable source of information. 152 people died in a plane crash. So now every news channel is going to milk it for all it’s worth. Geo is going to air a clip of an animated plane slamming into a mountain with a fountain of blood instead of explosion and the text “Air Blue: BOOM” slowly appears as the cartoony blood drips away. Samaa TV is going to steal the same clip, blur out Geo TV’s logo and show it, on loop.

The poor old retired PIA pilot is being blamed for the crash. The black box is missing. And everything is being done to make it sound juicy.

So let me get this straight. If I want my death to be broadcasted on national television for three days non-stop (with those cool Geo animations) I have to cough up 12k, and die in a spectacular explosion in some remote area of the country. No popularity for me if I turn out to be a victim of a suicide bombing or a massive car crash or even a railroad accident.

So, while watching the news for the umpteenth time, mum uttered something so mind blowing that I just had to blog about it.

She said: “This is all a conspiracy. The Americans are behind it. Guess why?”

* Blank Look *

Mum: “The Wright Brothers were American right? Had they not discovered aerodynamics, this plane crash would have never happened.

Makes you think doesn't it? It just proves everything right. World Trade Center, and now this.

American Conspiracies.

Of A Delayed Revival and Loads of D.I.Y.

Man. Vacations sure stink, but I’m not going to whine about it here. Sorry. I took a page out of an idiot’s book and made a seperate blog to whine on. Spent the last few days filling it up with rants and whining that would make me look like a little senile bitch.

True, some “well wishers” (saber – I’m lookin’ atcha) will try to find said blog. Sadly, I have decided to keep my whiny miserable-as-fuck life separate from the Spud-tastic orgy that is this blog.

So, recently I was talking to a friend and we came to the conclusion that depression causes people to act out in the weirdest ways possible. For me it’s turned out to be picking random fights with people, and long walks to areas I’ve never visited before. So, if I don’t post for ummm like a month – no more like six months to a year, assume I’ve been “accidentally run over” by a bus or something.

Ah 4Chan’s been there for me all the time. Sadly however, PTCL’s fucked up static IP system has caused me to end up with a perma-banned IP. Not to mention they won’t unlock any proxy sites. You google the word proxy and all you get is access restricted. BITCHES. I was never a lurker and I don’t wanna be one now!

Still. Rather than make you worry or give you jollies (yes kiddies, lookin’ atcha) I won’t announce my plans to end my life anytime soon. Hey, I just spent a fortune buying power-tools and I ain’t gonna kick the bucket before I make some use of them

Speaking of which, my room’s lacking elevated working surfaces. So far I’ve got a desk (littered with anime, CD towers, this laptop, and loads of paper), a full size single bed (used for studying and sleeping and storing things temporarily while working on them – they’re then shifted to the floorspace around the bed) one “mini” bed sans mattress (stores writing paper, origami paper, books, and anything that would stab me through the foot should I leave it on the ground) 

…

Yes, my room’s always a chaotic mess. Good thing no one visits me. :)

…

So yeah, elevated work surfaces. Obviously, make one needs a workbench. So, since I had a 2’x4’ piece of MDF I decided to make a table. Yes, this is me showing off my carpentry skills.

Buy me a nice cellphone someone? I’ll make furniture for you?

Of The Electronics Paper

Dear old Sir Munaf.

Mid semester he gave our batch of first years a killer project. He wanted us to stage a robo-war. Top three groups get an A grade in the course, no questions asked.

We worked hard on the robot. (Details once I get the robot back)

Now, we had our Electronics paper on Friday. Upon opening the paper, half of the class burst out laughing. See, Sir Munaf is lazy. He took all the questions he gave us in the first and second hourly test and made a finals paper by combining them.

The following is the only thing he said to us during the entire paper.

Kid: Sir, this is the same paper. What happened to the “you solve a hundred books and I’ll make your paper from the hundredth and first book”??

Sir: But I’m always there to deceive you *big smile*

 

I see my future. Somewhat. Maybe.

Of Ohhh CRAP!

Today, Mum kinda put two and two together.

Now she knows about my ex. *sigh* Dear old Ex.

Waiting for Mum to explode. Or something. She is definitely going to explode.

Of Being Serious

If you ever want to make a promise to someone, and you intend to keep it no matter what the future holds, you need to look them in the eye and then choose your words carefully.

If you are in front of them and you falter, you can never keep your word.

Easiest way to test your resolve.

Of a Forced Essay

As an Engineer

Ashan was a remarkable kid. He was saved from a burning building when he was only 5 by a retired civil engineer. Since then he had one aim in his life: “To make the world a better place . . as an engineer.”

He studied hard day and night to get the grades required to realise his dream. In Matric he failed. He paid someone money to give his exam for him and managed to barely pass. Same was the case with his Intermediate certificate.

He got an admission in a university and finally pursued his dream. However he was kicked out during his 4th semester for showing up for class intoxicated.

Heart broken, he was about to end his life by hanging himself from a bunch of helium balloons when the spirit of that retired civil engineer came in front of him. Keep in mind, the civil engineer wasn’t dead, but had perfected the art of Astral Projection.

“Son, I hoped you would carry forward the legacy of my fore-fathers but it seems like you need a lot of help” Said the Civil Engineer’s Projection

Boom! Lightning struck Ashan and he felt his mind change. Theorems and formulae filled his head. He could feel the spirits of Newton, Einstein, Plato and Abdul Qadeer Khan  (who unlike the Civil Engineer, were dead for centuries – the current AQK is actually a cyborg designed to fool the Americans) all talking to him. Lo behold, now Ashan could, with a flick of his wrist, calculate trajectories, completely solve Pi and take the square root of infinity. Heck, even his sneeze was faster than light.

Truly Ashan Engineer could do everything (except fix the title of this essay)

He, however, was still lazy. So he flew off to find Superman (He was also an idiot for believing superman actually existed.)

Ashan Engineer did nothing useful even as an engineer.

Another classy essay submitted by me for English. I pwn!

Of “God-Damn! It Hurts”

Ladies and Gents. I present to you, my wrist. Apparently, I’ve gotten immune to the pain in my left wrist from all the writing and typing and various other mundane tasks, that now, my right wrist is giving off referred pain. (Hey don’t look at me, the chiropractor said so)

And yes. I took this picture while writing the Island Survival Post.

Anyways, I’m resigning myself to smelling like Tiger-Balm. =(

Of Stellar IQ Levels Around Me

Yesterday, during English class, our teacher decided to split us all into groups of three and wrote down a list of things on the board

a pen and papers	a bottle of Pepsi	ointment
matches	a nylon tent	20 meters of nylon rope
an axe	a knife and fork	a saucepan
a blanket	an atlas	knitting needles
a camera with 5 rolls of film	radio with batteries	Flashlight

The dire scenario that the teacher presented was that we were all going to board a plane and we were allowed to take 8 things with us. The plane is going to crash on a deserted island and we’ll be stuck there for an indefinite period of time. Needless to say the 8 things each of us chooses has to help us survive.

Once each of us had made his/her list, the teacher wanted us to come up with a group list (by convincing others to agree to our logic why we chose something) then two groups were merged with the same concept, and so on and so forth till there were two lists in the entire class. Leaders of both groups had to come up and present their reasoning and make one final list.

Easy eh? Hardly. As soon as the class started with the exercise, you could hear 4 very sane people sigh out loud and curl up into a fetal position.

The basic aim of this exercise was to develop one’s reasoning, listening and speaking skills. Throw listening and speaking down the drain, the reasoning was enough to make us 4 cry.

So, the gas canister (who happened to be in my group) suddenly decided to take knitting needles with him. Why? To sew up wounds. >.> Yeah, I can so imagine taking a knitting needle and using it to sew up a gash. Why not take the axe and chop off the offending appendage as it is.

Now, everyone in this class is on his/her way to become an engineer. So, naturally one would assume that problem solving is a key attribute to becoming an engineer.

The majority of the class rejects useful items like:

• Radio (“who will listen to FM91 on a deserted island” and “the batteries will run out”)
• 20 Meters of Rope (“what will we tie with it?”)
• an axe (“it will get rusty, knife and fork better”)
• a flashlight (“we can make a fire” and “batteries will run out”)

You can use a radio to transmit morse-code, or scan incoming traffic for any sign of incoming planes etc. You could use a rope to tie logs together to make a makeshift raft or erect a bigger structure for more people than a nylon tent. . . oh well.

I’m sorry people if I seem like I have a stick up my ass. But honestly, can you blame me for wanting some level of maturity from these people. Its like I never left work. I’m still surrounded by little kids who want mommy to do everything for them.

Of Meh…

Of Death and Extra Credit

The following piece was supposed to be an extra credit assignment. Sadly the teacher left without notice. So, just like the teacher’s name vanished from the roster, so did all forms of seriousness and sanity from this essay.

DEATH

“The author of this supposed essay has an appointment with me. The essay will have to wait. For Eternity” –Grim Reaper

Death is a force necessary for balance. Imagine if no one ever died, the entire world would be over-run by people to the point where anyone born tomorrow would be living above the ozone layer (assuming that the world has saturated to the point where newer generations thrive on a layer of older generations. . . kind of like an onion.)

Whenever there is a sudden increase in population somewhere in the world, a disaster wipes out a colony somewhere else. This just shows that the world obeys the laws of physics (albeit lazily) in every form.

I find Death to be fascinating. If you were to read up on Death, you’d see that almost every culture has some perception of Death. Some believe that Death means the end to everything, while others believe that actions done now will decide how your next (material or spiritual) life will be. There are people who believe that Death is the answer to everything (at times I am one of them) while others wonder how it will feel like. When you’re depressed, occasionally Death drops by and asks whether you’d join it for some tea and crumpets . . this would explain why depressed people eat alot – as long as they aren’t hungry they won’t be seduced by Death’s offer. Also, this is why skinny depressed people commit suicide more often than fat depressed people – I however am on the fence waiting to tip over to either side)

Fascinating isn’t it? The average person . . no people . . no, in fact, humanity ha spent so much time on wondering what Death is like. Not the person obviously. There are literally thousands of versions of Death. A robed skeleton, a ghostly apparition of your loved ones, a spiky orange haired gruff youth with a huge sword, a effeminate man with hair-clips, a creepy creature who loves apples, even Rick Astley.

Imagine, you’re lying on your Death bed and everyone’s around you crying and sobbing. Suddenly there is a chill in the air and everyone falls silent. Then a figure wearing a hooded robe glides towards you. You’re freaked out. Your great grandson bursts into tears. You feel a sudden rush of adrenaline and get out of the bed and tell everyone that you’re feeling better. You tell the robed figure that he need not come any closer. The robed figure stops. In one swift motion from under the robe Rick Astley pops out and says “We’re no strangers to love / You know the rules and so do I …

So as I was saying, people wonder what death is like. Isn’t it the same as when your watch breaks or the bulb fuses or the tape in your VCR gets mangled by evil spirits working for the DVD industry. I don’t spend time wondering whether my watch was in pain during the last few seconds (literally) of its life. I don’t wonder if there’s a Casio Heaven, or a Phillips Hell, or even a Panasonic Purgatory.

Similarly I don’t feel much when a person dies. I’ve lost relatives, friends, and loved ones. But other than being sad for a few days, the only impact on my life is that I’ll miss talking to them. That’s it.

So ladies and gents. I submitted that, got an A+ grade. And two smiley faces.

Of Chest Punches and Dead Drives

My laptop’s hard-drive died. All my pictures and my music and well everything is gone. I feel empty.

On a less related note. I am working on the Identity Post.

Secondly, all eligible bachelorettes interested contact me before I get myself killed.

I think I should elaborate the last point. You know how some people emo-blog due to lack of companionship. Others indulge in compulsive gaming. I piss off people.

If anyone tells you that companionship isn’t important. You are deluded. Every human being requires some sort of relation where they can be themselves. People with fucked up family backgrounds require one even more so than everyone else.

So, finally. Chest Punch. We were all acting like goof-balls in University yesterday. This asshole thought it would be funny to get really personal. He ended up saying some shit (which I won’t replicate on the blog for obvious reasons) about someone I care about deeply. It pissed me off, so I jabbed him in the stomach with my shoe. He watch-strap punched me in the chest. Though nothing is broken, now my chest hurts from both psychological and physical pain.

I am so gonna get myself killed.

Oh well. Need to do something about the content of my posts. The Quality of my work is on a decline as of late.

Okay, I promise the next post will be minimally emo.

Of My Current Status

And It Scares Me!!

Of My Awesome Readers

I use the word Awesome alot. . . . AWESOME!

Okay, so in this month and half that I've been in Uni, I've turned into a full fledged harami. This is sad. Oh well.

POLL!! VOTE NOW! ---->

So, last post was a good one (or so you say).

One thing that I point out time and time again, I write exactly the way I talk. Since most of you (save my IRL friends) haven't ever heard me, we need to give you an idea.

So, for the time being, (as in till I figure out how to podcast for free and whether it's worth the hassle) I'd ask you to use your imagination.

Imagine a voice laced with sarcasm, putting emphasis on words that don't need emphasis, and slowly stretching out words that do need it. Oh and I talk about my ideas like a mom would about her kid.

"Chunnu ney aaj pehley kadam leay!! :D"

Of Reality Sucks

Apparently people are tired of living real life. Real life has no appeal it seems.

This would explain why there is such a huge demand for “Reality TV.”

Who in hell comes up with the concept of Reality TV Shows anyways? I mean, how many times (in real life) do you see a group of 16 strangers stuck on an island, with each one being systematically eliminated by a group of primates until one is left and that one gets a million bananas.

Honestly, the hype that these shows create really doesn't make sense. Take the Amazing Race for example. If, and this is a hypothetical if, I was to go to Japan for an all expenses paid trip, I’d rather be doing something easy like sight-seeing rather than climbing the exterior of Tokyo Tower to retrieve a clue hidden in a pigeon nest at the top. I mean come-on, if you’re going to an exotic country, go as a tourist, not a fugitive – always running from one point to the next yelling and screaming at your partner, running after people, running from people.

I was channel surfing a while back, which is rare given that I don’t really like watching TV. I landed on AXN, after enduring clips of clichéd “Bold and Beautiful” and a weird music video of an equally weird Sindhi song. CSI was on. Or it was on had I been a little quick with my surfing. Sadly the adverts had started.

1. On the next season of TOP CHEF! Watch as 12 different contestants battle it out blah blah blah blah we think if we keep yelling out the details you’ll actually want to watch the show. Look we even threw an Indian chick and made this show about spicy food. This is different from last season since now we have two Indian chicks. Do watch the show! Please!
2. On the next episode of Beauty and The Geek! Watch as how we go to the extreme and take the hottest chicks and make them date the ugliest guys around. You know this will never happen in reality so it’s going to be fun to watch. This week we’ll focus on developing convolutedly fake emotions between Hot-chick-with-a-huge-rack-that’s-draining-her-brain-of-much-needed-blood and Social-outcast-who-loves-penguins-to-the-point-of-obsession. Oh The Drama
3. Next Week on So You Think You Can Dance? Watch how limber couples dance in ways you can only imagine. Watch how one nutcase nearly breaks his neck during a break-dance routine. Look at this crying couple, did they lose or win? You won’t believe this but the asshole-British judge just gave a heart-felt compliment. Did he really mean it or was it sarcasm. Find out Next Week.
4. Coming up Tonight! Rachel Zoe Project. Watch how a skeletal corpse with more botox in her face than actual fat launches her line of creepy clothes with the help of incompetent help. We shall even throw in some dirty talk and innuendos that you can only dream to find in The Apprentice! We have no idea why anyone would even bother watching her show? Okay, lets show the clip with the metrosexual help crying once again.
5. On the next episode of Australia’s Next Top Model, the girls who have no marketable skills save their looks will battle each other in a pool filled with mud. Actually, it’s all for a “photo-shoot” for a high-profile client. *cough*playboy*cough* Witness how this show is remarkably similar to America’s Next Top Model, we just got a cast with a funny accent, some super-famous designers from Australia (who are actually struggling designers in America – but you shouldn’t be aware of that.) And finally to give you that feeling of being in Australia, we’ll give out shit prizes to our winner. So, to distract you from mulling over the similarities, we’ll show you a clip of this girl crying her eyes out (the surprise here is that she wasn’t eliminated, but rather someone else was, for whom she had no particularly strong feelings)

There must have been other advertisements, but I must have tuned them out. Anyways, when they ended, I found out that CSI was over too. I used to really like CSI at one point. Keeping aside CSI:LV’s Gil Grissom and his epic deductions or CSI:M’s Horatio Caine and his infamous one-liners, CSI makes forensics fun! I am pretty sure the only reason anyone watched the bullet analysis parts was because of the catchy instrumental tune. It’s like asking KISS to sing a nursery rhyme to a bunch of orphans.

I dare you to imagine our desi Richie Rich (you know, whose dad owns this country) being asked by daddy dearest to go work in each province to prove his worth to the country. GeoTV follows him to Punjab, where he mucks around in knee deep rice paddies; Sindh, where he helps his wadera brothers with poultry rearing and Pajero maintenance; N.W.F.P. where he becomes the trainer and obstacle course for the Taliban forces while harvesting opium on the side and Balochistan, where he. . . relaxes?

So yeah. Reality Does Suck. Imagine the next Pakistani Reality Show: A Simple Rickshaw!

Of Being Sad

So, I’m still feeling blue. Somewhat.

Listening to Lost Prophets isn't helping much. They make such sad music.

So, I’m going to do a picture post.

Of The Forests of Lollywood and Bollywood

Life is full of predictable patterns. The sun rises from the west and sets in the east. What goes down must come up. Winters are warm and the summers unbearably cold. Tiny little birds hatch into big grown eggs which subsequently lay more tiny birds.

Well, at least all of this should be happening in movies.

When I was a kid, I had the misfortune of enduring through Pakistani and Indian movies that my grandma loved to watch.

Now that I’ve grown up, dad loves watching Indian movies, and I end up watching old Urdu movies on Filmazia to cheer me up when I’m feeling blue. Trust me, if you haven’t done so already, tune into a 90’s Pakistani movie airing on Filmazia when you’re feeling down. Just the pure WTF-ness and blatant defiance of logic will cheer you up (unless you plan on going into the movie business)

If you show the old movies to any Engineer, he’ll tell you that they had their script written before Newton had an apple-tree shit on him. They have no concept of . . . well, anything! Gravity doesn’t work, nor does force and motion, nor does logic. I mean, hero punches minion and minion flies half a mile back into a solid concrete wall, punching a hole in it. Hero then grabs an empty machine gun, and unloads a thousand bullets into the remaining minions without ever reloading the gun.

No offence to my readers across the border – come to think of it, our media is equally messed up. It’s just that yours gets a lot more exposure and is more interesting, (not to mention has comparatively lax censorship laws than ours) since we see it way before our industry copies 80% of it and force feeds it to us.

Most desi movies (and TV Serials) I’ve come across have certain things that are almost like a requirement that needs to be fulfilled before it’s even considered to be aired.

• A hero and a heroine. They can be evil or good, romantic turned murderer, or terrorist turned McDonalds busboy.
• Five or so songs whose combined budget seems to be twice that of the entire movie. These songs are rarely real life. Most of them are imaginary with either the hero or heroine snapping out of it by some randomly placed extra who’s only job in the entire movie is to put an end to the high budget song.
• A sex scandal. Though these have (or rather their shock value has) become rare  these days, they still pop up. It’s like a last minute thing they can throw in to spice a long running drama or a movie that’s gotten really boring in between two flashy songs.
• An unexpected pregnancy. Again, to spice up a dying storyline.
• A pregnancy complication. (All for the drama!)

We Pakistanis are like India’s little sibling when it comes to Dramas. We copy and modify everything from Indian dramas.

Hey, personally I find watching 90210 (the newer sluttier version) better than an Desi Drama. At least you aren’t shocked by the goras having flings and shit. It is expected from their super-liberal society.

Now, excuse me. I’m going to to go watch Dexter. Blood-Loving-Serial-Killer-with-a-Heart-of-gold trumps Crazy-Ass-Family-Politics every time!

Of Comedy Galore

So, tonight I went to see Saad Haroon’s This is Stand Up Comedy.

Danish Ali is brilliant. I mean, he’s freaking awesome!

I mean, anyone who looks like this, is awesome!

I was planning on writing something long and meaningful as to how cool the show was (since watching him perform is just amazing.

I apologize to people who aren’t living in Karachi or Pakistan, since most of these jokes are based on the various happenings around us. I will try and give you an idea what’s going on. The rest can skip this paragraph and click on the link below. Our Bollywood superstar Meera has horrible English, due to which she’s an embarrassment to the film industry. Mr. Zee is, well, a very corrupt man. Certain cyber-laws prevent me from actually naming him. Use your brains. And we’ve got an abundant supply of refugees who’ve taken upon themselves to rush at cars stopping at an intersection and washing their windshields without the consent of the driver (who keeps yelling at them to cease and desist) and then guilt-tripping them out of money. And lastly, our electricity supply is nowhere near our demand for the stuff.

Danish Ali – Batman in Pakistan

I had a lot of fun. Hope you understand what he’s saying.

Of Prediction Cat

While the rest of you are total buffoons and follow horoscopes and Psychic applications on Facebook that deduce how your day is going to be based on the way your Fishville fish are swimming (Okay, horoscope following people aren’t buffoons. the latter are.) I have a living breathing psychic at home.

My cat’s like a super-charged Magic 8 Ball. We just started to exploit her abilities.

• I asked her if I had a chance of getting into KIET (so that if I did I’d apply there.)
• I asked whether I should go to KIET or SSUET.
• My sister asked her if she would be the anchor for the mega event our school’s holding (the one for which I’m slaving away.)
• Mum asked whether she and her sister will become friends (Not that she’s dying to be friends … family politics)
• Mum asked if a relative of ours who recently eloped with some guy and just came back would be welcomed by the guy’s mother (since now she’s the mother of the heir)
• I asked her if a friend of mine should respond to this chichora guy asking her out (even though the obvious answer is no)

And lo-behold.

• She said yes, I applied for KIET and got in
• She said yes, and I paid the fees.
• She said no, and turns out that the event got delayed by a week and my sister has some fashion show at the exact same day in school.
• She said Yes and in Feb (this we’ll have to wait and see. As it is, my other khala, who can’t stand siblings fighting is coming over to Karachi in Feb)
• She said no, and yesterday Mum found out that the relative’s mother-in-law still hates her, and has disowned her son
• She said no, even she knows he’s an ass.

So yeah.

I know most of you must think I’m insane – have you even read the blog? I am insane and proud of it. But the cat’s prophecies are true. Sure she can’t talk, but she can move, meow, and sit on things. Like a parrot, only a thousand times more accurate.

Today, the headmistress’s office is getting a total make-over. New paint, new chairs, new upholstery. The last time this happened, our old head, Ms Farah, was booted off to another section. I should go and ask Prediction Cat if our current head has job security or not.

BTW, TOMORROW'S SINGLES DAY! MAKE YOUR NEAREST COUPLE MISERABLE!!

Of Fathers and Tailors

If you live in Karachi, you must be familiar with this building. It’s Moosajee’s Defence branch,

Moosajee’s is a well known brand of bespoke suiting. My awesome cousin from the UK decided to treat me to a suit too. So, since he’s footing the bill, I’ll be in possession of an awesome suit soon

Now, today was my trial fitting. Naturally, trial fittings mean that the suit is no where near complete. It’s just a bunch of pieces of expensive fabric loosely stitched together.

Dad was really eager to go with me to the trial. Now, before I continue, let me tell you something about my dad. He picks a fight with everyone. He’ll get pissed at the smallest of things. We go to celebrate mum’s birthday at Pizza hut, salad bar’s out of cucumbers, dad throws a fit. Naturally keeping such incidents in mind, I tried my best to somehow leave dad home. Sadly my luck sucks.

So, I’m at the trial, the tailor gave me the trousers, tossed me into the dressing room. Now, i found out that the trousers didn’t have anyway to keep the fly completely closed. Soon as I wore the trousers, dad barges in. One look at my semi closed fly and he’s up in the tailor’s grill. Statements such as “In England suits are made with precision” “I got suits made when you were still a little kid” etc were tossed about the dressing room.

So needless to say, the tailor was bullied into pinning my fly shut (an uncomfortable experience for the both of us – which I’ll get around to blocking from my memory as soon as I’m done with this post.) Then dad saw that I was without shoes. He sweep kicked them from across the room towards me yelling at me to wear them.

Then he continued to order the tailor around, altering my suit (which looks damn good as it is by the way) to a style that was in fashion in the 1940s.

So, not only was I extremely embarrassed, even the tailor was getting uncomfortable and since dad was shadowing me, I never got the chance to apologise for dad’s behavior or ask him to ignore all the alterations dad made him do.

After a very silent trip home, I finally had the brilliant idea as dad was out of the house to call the shop. The tailor had some trouble remembering who I was till I said “I’m the guy whose dad is uh…ummm *ahem* *ahem*” to which he said “OH YESSSSS!! What can I do for you.?” Undid all the weird ass changes.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t particularly like undermining dad’s authority. Dad’s got his huge-ass flaws, but I would rather let him believe that he’s doing the right thing than shatter his dreams. Not to mention piss him off. Pissed off dad is very very bad for health.

Of V-Day

The world's most pathetic celebratory event.

This isn't a case of sour grapes, but please! Couples get all sorts of opportunities to celebrate their love for each other. You have week-iversaries, month-iverseries, dates, and hot make-out sessions as it is. Do you honestly need another day to rub it into our single faces?

We should have a S-Day. Singles Day. Where single friends get to embarrass the couples by revealing secrets and deep dark thoughts of one half of the loving couple to the other. Basically one day when couples would hide in their own closets (alone) afraid to even call the other one.

Single people unite! I propose every Feb 21st be an Anti Valentines Day! We will make every happy couple uncomfortable (no, we won't break them up... just make them regret ever rubbing their happiness in our faces)

So spread the word. 21st Feb we make people miserable. Because we all are very very single and very very harami.

Of Radioactive Potatoes

Two days ago I was talking to a friend of mine, and thought she loves my rambling stories just as much as the next reader, she really hates my blog.
She hates:

• The Colour Scheme: "Honestly, green and blue? Do you really love mold that much? The entire thing promotes a feeling of nausea in me whenever I open the page.
• The Blog Name: Why is it called Radioactive Potatoes From Outer Space Will Enslave Us when there's nothing written about radiation, potatoes, space, outer space, slavery, or us. It's just really really confusing.
• The Post Titles: What's with the "Of Monkeys and Monsters" or "Of I Have A Stupid Blog" or "Of I make You Feel Nauseous Just By Looking At This Page" or "Off! The Mosquito Repellent" (The last one is my creation. She had nothing to do with the super-lameness)
• The Blog Picture: You had to ruin a perfectly good potato just to make your corny mascot. Now I find potatoes creepier than usual.

So, this has forced me to think, how many of you actually like the entire thing. I mean, how many of you actually enjoy reading the blog as a whole, rather than go “OMG THE COLOR SCHEME!!! IT BURNS!! hehe pushto movies are awesome!! THE BURNING!!”
I have an idea. If there’s anyone with the time and the motivation to fix up the blog’s appearance (you can change everything short of the name) you are welcome to try. Just mail me at bakemono (dot) imo (at) gmail (dot) com. If you want the code for this template to be your base, I’ll be more than happy to send it.
That being said. I’m off for the while, need to rest up a bit. Some asshole gave me the flu.
Remember: bakemono.imo@gmail.com
Looking forward hearing from you.

Of Imo in the Real World

As you all know, I'm a university going student now.

So I will continue to bore you with University Stories till the novelty wears off.

Today, I discovered that my Potato-ey alter ego (This thing) has been seeping it's way into my real mild-mannered life. So, the scenario is like this: English Class, the teacher asks us to form groups. Now being a natural leader, I rallied two people and assumed control.

The exercise was to choose three pictures from a pile of newspaper clippings and then use them in an oral presentation in such a way that they can be related to each other. I didn't get much of a choice being the second-last one to sift through the pile. I managed to blindly pick three pictures. They were (descriptions can be found if you hover the pointer over the picture): Now I know what most of you must be thinking: “Imo, dude! What the hell? How will you link these three pictures together? They’re miles apart!” Well… even though I don’t have a stock-pile of fairy dust, I do make miracles appear out of thin air. Behold

Once upon a time, in a lush jungle in the middle of China, a family of tigers lived in peace. They were happy.

However, one fateful day, a rogue employee escaped from the nearby industrial area. He happened to stumble upon the tiger cubs while their mother was away hunting for food. He had a devious idea. He kidnapped them and took them to Bagdad where he sold them and was never seen again.

When the mother tiger came from her hunt, she saw that her kids were missing. Now two things to note here. First is that the kidnapping and selling took place while the mother was hunting, and secondly, you should know that cats have an amazing sense of smell.

After the tigress had locked onto the scent of the cubs she went out to search for them. She hitchhiked on a bus along the Silk Route. Then swam the Atlantic, and even camped in the Arctic.

Finally after 3 months, the tigress tracked down her cubs to a zoo in Bagdad. Now, if anyone of you have kids – and I’m pretty sure at least a couple of you do – you’d know that if someone takes your kid away from you, you’d go to the ends of the Earth to get him/her back

(over here, someone from the audience said “no”)

Then you don’t love your kid. Don’t become a father. Put him up for adoption. The rest of you agree with what I said, yes? YES?

(you literally have to poke these people to get a response out of them)

So anyways the tigress saw the zoo keeper trying to feed her kids. She pounced on him and tore him to bits.

While the tigress and her cubs were feeding on the Zoo Keeper, his dying screams attracted the attention of the visitors, who ran across the road.

Now as everyone knows, animals can’t cross roads. Why else do you think they have so many “why did the chicken cross the road” jokes. Animals can’t cross roads and that’s final.

So, after feasting on the Zoo Keeper, the tigress thought that it’s time to go home. As it is it’s been a long vacation and now they should head home. But wait! Soon as she reached the main gate, she smelt something really familiar. She had found the scent of the hunter who took her cubs

Now, lets look at the hunter. After selling the cubs, he took the money and opened a Pan shop across the road from the zoo, as was his life long dream.

The tigress was outraged. Not only did this man ruin her family, he continues to do so with the families of millions by supplying pan, gutka and cigarettes to their offspring. Enough is enough she thought. This. Ends. Now. (*narrows eyes*)

(*whisper*) And as she slowly advanced towards the pan shop, the air became still and the last thing anyone ever heard from the shop was the hunter’s terrified scream…(/*whisper*) and they lived happily ever after.  (*big insane smile*)

Now, not only did I get a hearty round of applause from the class, during this short story, the teacher’s cell rang and rather than ask me to stop and answer the call, he cut it off without even looking at it and apologized to me. Imagine. My story was that captivating (and senseless, since the teacher kept asking for the logic behind the sudden scene changes)

Hope you all enjoyed this story as much as I did concocting it.

Of Fair Skin

Today I saw this advert and it got me thinking, I should really watch more TV. Actually it got me thinking why Indians and Pakistanis are so obsessed over being fair. Can someone count the number of Fairness Cream adverts on air? You have Fair & Lovely, some haldi whitening cream, brido whitening cream and what not.

Sometimes it goes to the point where these adverts prey on the innocent minds of young girls. They brainwash impressionable minds into thinking that if you aren’t fair you will never get married. And as we all know, every desi girl who hasn’t been corrupted by western ideals of feminism and liberalism wants to do her matriculation and get married and start pumping out spawn (shame on the readers who got corrupted.) So you need to be white if you want to even get a tiny bit of attention from a guy. And apparently, same goes for guys now. We need to be sparkly white if we want girls falling all over us… wait… sparkly white? Edward? HELL NO!

Now, if you look to the west, you’ll see people dying to get a tan. All the westerners want a nice tan. So, if we extrapolate (Google meaning if you don’t know) the scenario, we have something like this

The Story of Two White Girls: Quest for The Tan

One upon a time, there were two girls. Lets call them Cindy and Sara. So, Cindy and Sara were two very pale white girls. So pale in fact that both used to volunteer at a nurse training institute because of their near translucent skin (which made poking needles in to veins really easy for beginners)

But all wasn’t cakes and marshmallows for them. Dashing young guys used to come to the training center and go on to become rich successful doctors. Yet, no one asked them out (and it’s not because Cindy’s a painting and Sara looks creepy)

One day, their neighborhood aunty was in search of more juicy gossip to share at her Bridge-Party (which didn’t involve being near any bridge for some strange reason) and she happened to come across Sara, who at that time was crying her eyes out.

Upon inquiry, aunty found out that Sara’s nearly 30 (doesn’t look like she’s 30 does it?) and she still hasn’t had a first date. So, aunty smiled gently and after rummaging through her gigantic purse for a good 10 minutes, she pulled out: After handing it to Sara, she started a long, rambling monologue as to how she was once too fair for American Standards and got a job as a reflector-board for modeling gigs. And then her neighborhood aunty gave her Dark and Lovely, and after a month of daily coats, her skin got the healthy chocolatey look that every white American guy longs for.

So, for a month Sara uses dark and lovely.  And voila.

The 32nd day she showed up at the Nurse Training Institute and immediately got proposals from every male nurse and doctor wanna be. The scene ends with her looking at a blank wall and saying “If it wasn’t for Dark and Lovely, I’d still be lonely and dateless. Thank you Dark and Lovely” Then an orderly tackled her and locked her in a padded room (30 years of being dateless and ignored by the opposite sex can severely unhinge you, especially in a liberal country like America)

Now, you must be wondering what happened to Cindy, well…She moved to Pakistan and a wadera was instantly smitten by her pale skin. He took her to his village where they got married and she proceeded to dilute the melanin count of his bloodline.

The End.

Of The Cartoons I Study With

No, not cartoons. That's like insulting cartoons themselves. These people belong in a Zoo. Well, technically so do I, but I bite so they don't dare come near me, not to mention my cheetah like reflexes, though won't save me from banging into static objects, do protect me from hunters and trappers.

Anyways. These unique specimens, are as follows (mind you, due to the sensitive nature of this post, no pictures will be displayed. Use your imagination):

Silent But Deadly

He's one of those silent, innocent kids with a huge beard who've been pampered by mommy a lot. However, he claims to have broken the front teeth of some guy who was harassing him in Inter. Now, this claim alone might scare off people wanting to poke him with sharp-sticks (I'm not one of them - you'll find out why) My sources however tell me that he's one of the most harmless and equally spineless kids on the block. The seniors who travel with him in his van asked him to pay 200/-, he in a fit of jawani gave his entire wallet to them.

Not only that, he’s called silent but deadly because he passes leaks noxious gas. All the seniors in his point are sick and tired of him, and I was unfortunate to sit next to him during a double lecture. Needless to say anyone looking at me would have naturally assumed I was pretending to be a goldfish. Hence, poking him with sharp sticks is out of the question. As a friend of mine says, “Dude – one leak is enough, why make more and suffer the consequences”

Fight Club 

Okay, so we were all asked to introduce our selves in three different sessions. Two of these sessions contained all 82 kids (yes, they’re kids in my eyes) Now, imagine if Barney the purple dinosaur meets you in person and says “Hi, my name’s Barney, I’m soft and cuddly and a serial rapist” Can you wrap your head around it? I mean his image screams child friendly in every way possible. Same is with Fight Club. He claimed that he’s a short tempered guy who usually beats the other guy into pulp.

He looks nothing like it. He’s one of those sickly sweet and annoyingly nosy people. Also he’s dense. I mean, I’m talking to some guy and Fight Club pops in “heeeeellllooooooo gentalmans!” I have tried to ask him to leave, but he never gets the drift. Also, no matter how bluntly I tell him to piss off, he’s got this stupid smile on his face. He’s exponentially worse than the urdu-medium version of me, if such a person ever existed.

3 Idiots Boy

3 Idiots is a stupid movie. I would have actually liked it if every frigging person in University wasn’t quoting it all the time. 3 Idiot Boy is your typical, lazy, bottom feeder who has no worth in the real world. He’s in my group. A friend and I are practically carrying him with us so far. His only worth, bringing a box of smokes for us.

He believes that 3 Idiots is short for “So you want to be an Engineer? Here’s a visual guide to how every Engineering university works. Exact down to the ants roaming in the grass”

So naturally, all you hear from him is “yeh to Virus hai!” or “yeh Silencer hai” or “mein Rancho hoon” or “3 Idiots dekhi hai? Yaad hai Virus kaisey badley leyta tha?..” Dude. Give it a rest and do one freaking assignment yourself.

But I Think

But I Think is a girl. An unfortunate turn of events has placed her in my group. Now she’s useless, and that’s saying something when we’ve got 3 Idiot Boy in our group. She hasn’t got the first clue about using the Internet. On the first day I was in the library sorting my forms, when she asked me to help her with something on the net. She didn’t know how to make an E-mail account, so she asked me to make one for her.  Then, she asked me to make a Facebook account.

The next day, I find out that she’s forgotten her passwords to both things. And I had to send an important assignment to the members of my group, since I’m their leader and all. So, I had to make her a new account and sms her the password.

The reason why her name’s But I Think is simple. She doesn’t listen to anything, save her opinion. It’s so pissing off at times. Especially during graded group assignments. Sad part is we’re stuck with her for the semester.

I Know All

Know it All dude is super annoying. He’s the product of generations of selective breeding of Forum Trolls. He believes everything he sees in movies. His knowledge is unparallel (when it comes to movies.) Oh and his hobbies, apart from being a pretentious dick, include being a wuss and a cry baby.

He reminds me of my bastard of a Khalu. That, however is not the reason why I dislike him. Dude thinks he’s just awesome. He’ll do all sorts of shit just to make us all look bad. Sucking up to the teachers, giving pointless answers just to show everyone that he knows more than the rest of us (even if it’s bogus)

So, naturally Faraz (a fellow Know It All hater) and I have made it our mission to piss him off whenever we get the chance. Recently, we all had to present our Leadership & Motivation presentation. Now, the teacher (who also happens to be our Dean) constantly told us to keep it specific and to the point. Mr. Know It All here, decided to choose such a topic that covers 75% of Engineering, and made a long an seemingly impressive presentation. Dean got pissed. I literally bounced in my seat to be chosen next. As luck would have it, mine was just what he wanted. So for the entire lecture Imo’s presentation was referred to as how everyone’s should be. Know It All got dissed and instant popularity in one swift motion.

The Priest

This guy is like the hyper-evolved state of all the above idiots. He appears to be a normal skinny, mullah (priest) with trousers ending at mid-shin with a prayer cap super-glued to his head. Poor kid was dropped on his head numerous times as an infant apparently. He thinks he’s the class clown. So naturally he’ll ask all the pointless stupid questions and make the most idiotic remarks (He and Know-It-All if combined would destroy my university with a tidal wave of stupid).

A girl volunteers to write something on the board and Priest asks the Dean “What’s the female of ‘author’?”

We’re having a Linear Algebra & Differential Calculus class and he asks the teacher “Why do we solve quadratic equations” (I assume we’ve all asked that question when we were 12)

His laugh is out of this world. He waits for everyone to stop laughing, and goes “Ee-he-he-he.” This guy is definitely two years old.

Actually, the worst trait this guy has, is that he’ll sit in the front row, and after every stupid act, he’s going to turn around with a goofy grin plastered on his face. The class unanimously feels that whoever’s sitting right behind him should slap him hard when he turns around. I’m pretty sure that next week we’ll be throwing things at him to get him to shut up.

 

That’s about it. Cheers

Of The First Two Weeks in KIET

The first two weeks dealt with nothing but seminars upon seminars aimed at new students. They taught us how our GPA is calculated (which I found pointless because I already knew it, and also because majority of the students there had no motivation to understand it.) And every session hammered one thing into our skulls: “You’re no longer kids. You are university students”

Aacha baba, we got it on orientation day!

The first week was basically about the Director of Engineering boring us to death.  Honestly, it’s like when he opens his mouth he releases sleeping gas and sings lullabies to knock us all out. Then he turns into an energy vampire and sucks out all the life force out of us leaving hollow, barely alive husks of our former selves.

However, something I failed to mention earlier, we started one formal course along with the long long speeches of DoE. It’s called Leadership and Motivation. Our Dean teaches this course. It’s supposed to be a hot-shot course that will make us all think about our future and how to go about it through step by step planning. It’s a fun course. We’ve gotten a semester long project where we have to plan out a vision for 2040 and how we’re going to achieve it by making intermediate visions. Sounds boring, but trust me, the Dean makes it all seem fun.

So, now we come to the non-educational side of it all.

As you know, I pissed off my van. KIET frowns upon ragging. So, as long as they keep their hands to themselves I’m fine. I don’t know how many people look forward to be picked upon after enduring long sleeping-gas laced rants from the Director, because I for one hate it. Here’s how it went, in a nutshell.

• The first day the seniors left me alone.
• The next day they they realised I existed and started name calling. I back answered.
• Third day they kept repeating my back answer and sent over two spineless cretins to harass me. I refused to shake hands with one of them and he went ballistic (insecure much?) Called me a barking dog… I woofed, pissed him off more.
• Fourth day they sent in a pathan who was dropped on his head a fair number of times. He lacked the basic skills of comprehension, so he thought that “still can’t remember my name” meant “Sheikh”
• Fifth day they sent a guy who I assumed to be a decent person. Fridays there are horrible. You’ve got to stay till 5pm. Pissed off as it is (my group has an idiot who won’t do his work so in order to keep it afloat I had to do the work) I asked him if he knew a “Waqas.” He didn’t. So I went back to ignoring everyone. The rest of the way they held a conference as to who Waqas was. Whether he was some MQM hot-shot who would kill them over the weekend, or whether I myself was Waqas, etc. You have no idea how hard it was to keep a straight face.
• Sixth day (Monday – weekends are off for us.) It turns out that I’ve been travelling with 4 other freshmen. They should give me protection money since I’ve been diverting the entire van’s attention away from them. Anyways, apparently there’s this stupid tradition where the juniors each semester pay for the senior’s treat. I ain’t paying jack squat! However, the spineless freshmen paid, except for one preachy guy who brought in Islam into the mix. Seniors left him alone.
• Seventh day they sent one of their own to get money out of us. Preachy dude and I refused.
• Day 8. They sent another senior to get money out of me. I said no. Called him pretentious. He blew a fuse and gave me a long lecture on how my attitude needs to be adjusted or I’ll die a sad and lonely death (in a nutshell) I told him i was okay with it. Got ready to get off at my stop. Turned around, gave them all a flying kiss. Exited the bus.
• Day 9. Before I could get off, the ring-leader stopped me and told me in the most frank of terms, that if he ever caught me blowing kisses to the bus he would break all hell loose on me. Also stated that we both will leave the other alone respectfully.
• Day 10. No one bothered me. I AM AWESOME! Sure my methods were un-conventional and probably made me look like a loser at times (which is something you all have already experienced many times reading this blog)

So that’s about all there is to tell. I’ll post the line-up soon.

Of An Apology

Before I dive right in, I'd like to take a moment to explain something I said in my last post.

See, doing your intermediate isn't a bad thing. So, if anyone took offence on my comment, let me elaborate. You guys are definitely computer-literate, have functioning English and won't throw a fit of giggles if someone whispers the following word: "Pishaab"

I am pretty sure there must exist Cambridge students who can't operate a computer or whose English is worse than their Vietnamese (and they don't know who or what Vietnamese is) These people might have done their A-levels from Mehran or some remote region of the country. They must have been exposed to a segregated environment, hence when they ended up in co-ed society, they see the other sex as some fascinating species that should be stared at (and passed sleazy comments on) from a distance.

Keep in mind, I've had prior university experience, and the inter crowd at my previous uni could easily kick these kids asses. These kids are the ones that time (And the Sindh Board) swept under a rug and forgot about.

I mean, if I close my eyes and let my hearing take over I get to eavesdrop on such conversations (They aren't in English mind you, this is just for your convenience):
A: Yaar, I want to read a good book. Suggest some tight book for me
B: Buraham Storker's dracula is a lush book. Very lush. Your mind will be fucked when you read it
A: Hmmmm.
B: Very lush. Do read it.
A: What colour is it? I saw a brown book once....

So, to all my awesome readers who follow me, or have me on their blog-roll or even just plain read my ramblings, I'm sorry if I might have hurt your feelings with my blabbering.

Of My First Week

I wanted to write a day by day account of my first week in KIET

Sadly the first three weeks for Engineering Freshmen is filled with seminars and workshops aimed at, quite frankly, brainwashing us into mindless engineers.

So, naturally everyday followed the same routine.

• Wake up
• Travel via private van
• Sit through 90 minutes of droning by the Director of Engineering
• 10 minute break
• Sit through another 90 minutes of droning by the Director of Engineering
• 10 minute break
• Sit through yet another 90 minutes of droning by the Director of Engineering
• 10 minute break
• Sit through yet another 90 minutes of droning by the Director of Engineering (ab bus bhi ker ja)
• Travel back home via private van
• Sleep

I'm in a class with 90% intermediate crowd. Don't get me wrong, people who have done their inter can be classy (like three of my dear friends)... this lot sadly isn't. Cheap humor and "OMG we have 4 girls!!" is all you get out of them.

I managed to piss off my entire van within two days.

I'm very sleepy. So I'll go into the details later.

Good Night!

Of My Pre-First Day

Today was Orientation day. A day where bright-eyed students with hopes and dreams were told . . . that they’ll be ragged on. The administration is doing everything in their power to prevent ragging, but it will still happen and you better resign yourself to it.

I went there at 9:00a.m. Dad dropped me and told me to get on a bus or a cab back to something that remotely looks like civilization.

So, I made my way to the reception office to ask where new students were supposed to report. The lady at the reception must have been thinking something pleasant because as soon as I asked her, her face contorted to something like this:Okay, well maybe a percentage of this. Anyways, point being she thought it was a silly question and without getting up, pointed out the door and said “There’s a sign. Auditorium.” I looked out expecting to see a huge sign and was even ready to kick myself for being stupid, and I saw the sign. It was one of those tiny displays you see outside hotel conference rooms that have been reserved, with a 8x6 sign saying “Auditorium”

Side Note: If I ever run a university, or any other event for that matter, I’ll make sure that I put a frosted doughnut huge sign right by the main gate that gives clear directions. Probably even light road flares along the path they’re supposed to follow.

So, 9:15 we got to sit in the auditorium. Soon as there were 17 people, the head of the Admin Department came in and started what we assumed was the actual speech. It turned out to be time-pass. It was fun, the guy clearly knew how to keep his audience interested.

Around 9:50 he started talking about ragging and how they’ve taken preventive measures. He reassured us that raggers will be dealt with strictly, as they have been for the past 3 years. True, unfortunate incidents have happened before, like once a kid had his arm broken in two places . . . (wait!! What??) Before he could continue, some random guy in a suit, wearing those huge-ass sunglasses and an equally big-ass grin abruptly burst into the room and equally abruptly burst out of the room. That ladies and gentlemen was the sign that the orientation was starting.

The President of the Institute came and spoke for 40 minutes about how hard our parents worked to send us here and how we should not let their money go to waste and basic rules of the university. He even stated that since English was the primary language of instruction at the university, everyone has to speak in it. No matter how bad you are, speak in English. Finally I learning bad Eenglish. Yey!

While President Sir talking, rest of dean and director came and take seat. One sir very smarty looking. Wearing sweater without sleeves with tie. Another sir not having spine-stick.  He sit in seat like big pile of pudding. Third sir very thirsty. Need water drink every 5 minutes. President sir say to us, send car home, you go in our bus. bus.

Hope you understood that. So, the president ended his speech and called forth the dashing gentleman in the sleeveless cardigan. This, was the Dean of Engineering.  The way he was dressed I totally expected a British accent. He was a total desi. But, he had a major redeeming quality.

He, it seems, grew up on Star Trek and majored in Aeronautics. He started talking about how we should go about our 4 years here and used airplanes as a metaphor for  our studies.

• Whether we’ll be flying the first Wright brother’s plane that never flew (i.e. immediately drop out)
• Or fly the second Wright brothers plane that flew for 50 seconds (i.e. drop out after a month)
• Or fly a rickety two-seater (i.e. stay below probation)
• Or fly a Boeing (i.e. stay on the borderline)
• Or fly a Concorde (i.e. maintain a good GPA)
• Or fly the Starship Enterprise at warp speed (i.e. get a scholarship)

Mind you, these are all my own assumptions. When he started talking about planes it took me a while to register that he meant it as a metaphor (when he got to Starship Enterprise) He repeated pretty much everything that the president said, but he presented it in an entertaining way which made pretty much everyone hang onto his every word. He did however have a distracting habit of standing on his tip-toes and spreading his arms whenever he wanted to emphasize on something (which was every 10th word or so)

So an entertaining half-hour was killed off like that. Then, the Director of Business came and spoke a few words like a train-wreck. I only caught “hat” “stars of the show” “dean” and “business” from the string of words he uttered.

The Dean of Business was the perfect case of stage-fright. He started off well, by saying “I’ll keep my speech relatively short.” This earned him some laughs from whoever was keeping track of the time. It was 11:25 now. He started off by stating nearly the same things that the President and Dean of Engg. said so, along with a few tidbits of information. Everything was punctuated with pauses and shaky hand gestures. He literally bored me to tears.

At 11:45 all us engineering students went off to the engineering building and got the fourth variation of the same lecture from the Director of Engineering.

Then we went for a very confusing tour of the campus. Our guide was obviously paid off by the seniors to make sure we would be totally lost on our first day of uni. He took us to one lab, then another lab on the next floor then the library in a different building then back to the room next to the first lab we saw and so on.

Then we submitted our library forms and ID card forms, got into our respective buses and went home.

Oh well. I crossed over the 1000 word mark (as far as I know I’ve never written such a long post.)

Cheers and See you Monday.

Of Quenching Intellectual Thirst

Before you start reading this post, be warned that it’s highly disjointed and you’ll need some patience to read it.

During Christmas season, some weirdo I follow on Deviant-Art, asked people “If Your Friends were an Inanimate Object what would they be” Now I don’t know how this relates to Christmas or anything sensible for that matter, but I thought of answering it none-the-less.

I see my friends as Chess Pieces. Here’s why:

• Most of my “friends” are no different than a simple pawn. A pawn moves forward and attacks forward diagonally. These people are nothing more than a social symbol. I don’t normally talk to them and I know better than to rely on them.
• The Rooks, Knights, and Bishops are the ones I rely on. These people are the ones who’re ready to act at a moment’s notice. Whether it’s something trivial as spotting me some credit, or something more meaningful like helping me out of an extremely stick spot.
• The Kings, I shall always protect
• The Queen is an “imba” piece… and I am not really looking to fill that slot

Anyways. Chess Pieces aside. A while back, I whined about being intellectually thirsty. If you don’t know what I’m talking about I’ll save you the trouble of reading said post. I have been living in social isolation for the last 11 months. That’s taking it’s toll on me and I recently cracked.

So a friend of mine decided to grace me with her presence. It reminded me of the good old days when Intellectual Bonga-pana was abundant and our adopted child FWL (It’s a now dead community on Orkut) was alive and free from all the teenage problems (bratty kids, Brazilians, preachy assholes, (wo)man Walnut cookies* looking for their next booty or even Telgu Nuts who side-tracked every thread towards Bollywood Bakwass)

(* Rhymes with Horse)

Had her British Asim Net not been mauled by a British Neighborhood Aunty’s equally British Flea bitten British Dog, this conversation would have gone somewhere meaningful (who am I kidding, it wouldn’t have turned meaningful even if it carried on for all eternity.

Imo: Really?

Lady Z: Yes.

Imo: Ahan

Lady Z: do you not believe me, muggle?

Imo: I see. I do believe you, muggle

Lady Z: good, muggle.

Imo: I know, muggle

Lady Z: so, muggle...

Imo: yes muggle?

Lady Z: what's up??!

Imo: I’m bored.

Lady Z: Why but?

Imo: I’m bored because I have nothing fun to do. I kinda miss the FWL days

Lady Z: I do too! It has died!

Imo: Overtaken by Indians (who are so unlike the ones I’m friends with)... they are somewhat an intellectual mutation of the Brazilians.. The overtakers that is.

Lady Z: Ack. painful when children die like that... even adopted ones, do you remember etymologically speaking?

Imo: I was just going to mention it. It died too no?

Lady Z: Yes! Almost stillborn

Imo: More like a child with a forked tail and horns born to a super Christian family

Lady Z: hahhha

Imo: "Kill it with fire" yelled the doctor

Lady Z: "It's my baby!" the pale mother pleaded

Imo: "it's the spawn of Satan" cried the nurse before fainting (I shouldn't be dissing your attempt at making an intellectual group)

Lady Z: "It's all YOUR fault, woman!" the father turned on the mother

Imo: "Hehe" chuckled the mother sheepishly

Lady Z: While all this was happening, the baby had tripled in size...

Imo: And tried to go up hill on a unicycle

Lady Z: Having failed, he turned his wrath upon the miserable doctor

Imo: Whose name was Mark Zuckerberg

Lady Z: With one mighty flick of his wrist, the baby

Imo: Forced Zuckerberg to change his diaper

Lady Z: The nurse tried to escape while no one was looking

Imo: But Zuckerberg switched places with her while the baby's eyes were closed and ran away instead

Lady Z: The baby fell asleep, snoring like a tractor..

Imo: The dad took this chance to record an informative program aimed at Farmers for PTV World, with his wife manning the camera. You know, "nazareen, yeh tractor hai. iss key aage do chotey payye hote hain aur peechey do barrey payye hote hain. yeh khait khodney mein istemaal hota hai

I went after Mark Zuckerberg because Facebook Chat (which we were using at that time) sucks Doughnut Biscuits. It kept lagging and disconnecting. Lady Z, never again are we going to talk on FB Chat. Skype deffo, not FB Chat.

Sadly I can’t have the same kind of conversation with anyone else that I have with her. So, it’s a limited commodity.