project decadence.

What a week. And what smoldering experiences.
Should i enumerate them? But that means following a method, an order. Pip.

Heck, i have so much to write about. On second thoughts, no, not really. Stuff that i shan't write about, cant write about, stuff that i, unfortunately, forgot.

About Rorogression then. Its a progression of a unnerving variety. Shattering content, as you will see.

First sms: Rick. tor hobe.

Second sms: Rick, tor ei hobe, shei hobe.

Third sms: You will shatter everything.

Fourth sms: Tui dhongsho kore dibi.

Fifth sms: You will earthquake everything. Tui bhumikompo ghotabi.

And so it continued, growing more dramatical everyday. Somewhere in between, beautiful women were imposed unfashionably. And frequently, my earthquaking potential was being accentuated by a red haired Brazialians.

"Rick, all the women are gonna fawn over you. You da man."

And then, i was expected to save the city from Aila.

However, today, it culminated to something amazing. The stars were consulted(Its imperative that i have a tete-e-tete with these elusive, infernal stars) and i got this-

"Rick, the stars told me that you are gonna have the greatest impact after Jesus."

I am very eager to see what happens henceforth. Cant deny that it is an exciting prospect.


I got into the front seat of an auto the other day. The driver was in an unorthodoxly chatty mood. He complained about the lack of sports channel in the television. He opined about Federer's dip in form. He was all for R.P Singh's guile. And to top it all, he drew a comparison between ESPN's head honcho and Mamata Banerji. I got off from the auto with my head bulging with fearsome knowledge. I was a changed man.

At the ice cream shop, a bulk order of 25 ice cream elicited hectic exclamations. The fact that it was the day after madhyamiks results made themselves known(oh! i passed.) gave impetus to the exclamations, and they swooped on me with queries about "result-er ice cream". And other questions pertaining to that topic. Hence, I ran.

***

My Pishi, who is related to me through several layers of relations, took an active interest in my mob. She somehow read an sms. Roro's. About women. Shit.

Monday saw Tabby cat emerging out of the inner quarters of a restaurant. Rohan was all for a quick escape, Russian style. Fast and quiet. However, we prevailed because that kind of behaviour is considered unacceptable in a restaurant. The manager had just given us the menus, and was looking expectantly at the young sirs.

At the end of the day, all said and done, I am glad to announce that Tabby cat is perfectly human in the delicate confines of Crystal chopstick. She laughed good naturedly. She did. Honest.

***

Wednesday was Subhojit sir's class. I feel very acrimonious towards him for saying bad right things. He loves to think that he is the chess player and we are the pieces.

"Just follow what I am telling you. Rest is crap. What i say is right. Follow it and you will succeed."

Maybe he is a moron. Maybe he's got his heart in the wrong place. Thing is, cliched or not, what he says is approximately right most of the times.

And the anecdotes! A good many of them are associated with his comedy of errors. But those are for another day. Today, I shall restrict myself to the projectile one, to highlight my active participation in the physics class.

What he basically hoped to explain was that two projectiles following a parabolic path or something, having the same range, projected with the same velocity are projected at complimentary angles.

Well, Sir chose a very unconventional analogy to explain. With analogies like that, with students like me, things are bound to get jittery.

"There are two big hitters in the Indian team. Sachin and Sehwag!" he said, looking like an an old Hindi movie villain. "Both clear the boundary easily. However, there is a difference. Can you tell me what it is?" he said, smiling.

There were some muffled noises, some murmurs of confusion. Of course, me with my exceptionally acute sense of logic chose to break the silence.

"Sir, You see, Sachin is technically very sound, but Sehwag bhul bhal khele." I said.

Sir's smile faltered.

"Dhyatt. Physics class eta."

Highly depressed with my judgment, he went on to tell us that Sachin hits flat and Sehwag's shot go higher.

"Their shots cover the same distance, and are hit with the same force(who considers the tons of milk that Sehwag drinks, huh?)..."

So thats were projectiles came in. And he expected us to understand that.

"So, what did we learn?" he asked at the end.

Me and Ratul were contemplating the answer.

"That Sachin and Sehwag-India's best hitters-hit sixes at complimentary angles?"

***

The other day, a disturbing thing happened in the bus. I was in the last row engaged in the delightful occupation of observation. I was imagining the passengers in very excitingly compromising situations.

In the the row before mine, two guys and a girl were having a very animated conversation.

Suddenly, some loud bangs and thrashes were heard. One of the guys took a header towards the floor. I couldn't see the other two, but suddenly a mobile came flying towards me. It fell on my lap. I cautiously peeped over the seat. The girl was shooting murderous glances at the boy on the floor who appeared to be frozen between a grimace and a grin. The other one was clutching his sides and laughing hard.

"Having fun?" I asked, looking around.

The murderous glance was extended to me too. The laughing guy thumped my back while the one on the floor risked a laugh.

"Okay." i said. And i picked up her mobile.

"Thank you." she said, extending her hand.

Before i gave the cell back, I saw the name that flashed on the screen of the cell.

"Oindrilla".

[I am having serious doubts about the stars, Owl.]

***

I am really looking forward to school. Moreover, I am also dreading the commencement of school like never before. And this kind of ambivalence gives the impression that i am terribly confused about one thing or the other. Or both. But, not really. I know perfectly what hopes and fear fuel these feelings, and i know why. But the fact remains that i am ambivalent. Clearly ambivalent.


And, I think, all the guitarists who play barre chords are truly gifted. I cant get the hang of it. As in, i cant do it perfectly every time. I hate the second string for going out of tune like that. And i hate the third string for muting itself just when i manage to pressurize all the others. Its an organized conspiracy that's standing between me and barre chords.

Also, interestingly, I am listening to Dream Theater. The track "Another day" is wow. A fusion of progressive metal and jazz, its an amazing track. James LaBire with his amazing range, and the rest of the band(Portnoy, Petrucci, etc) with their incredible technical proficiency, really boggles the average unassuming mind. This particular track uses a saxophone to brilliant effect!

I was never an appreciator of metal, death or otherwise. However, Dream theater has some songs with sensational music which, coupled with some excellent lyrics, are good enough for me.

That apart, I am thinking too much. Scarcely has a second passed when i enjoyed the bliss of blankness. Thinking about myself, about all the hims and hers. Thinking about the world, about life and its vagaries. I am thinking. And, its not always good. Ghum ashe na.

Spiflicate and decadence are two very sexy words. Dunno why. They look good on paper.
I always wanted to tell someone that "I shall SPIFFFFFFFLICATE you!" WITHOUT spitting on their face. Though i do not associate any such remarkable desire with "decadence", its a good word.

I have effected a fundamental change in za brainz. I deemed it essential for my survival. And maybe because of it, or because its a Thursday, i suddenly feel famished after a meal.

tata.