14 years before the event took place, in 1898, a novel “Futility” by Morgan Robertson released which described incidents incredibly similar to those involving the incident. What incident does the novel speaks about ?
Answer (Highlight Blank Space to view): The sinking of RMS Titanic
Initially, I had thought I would just my blog to rants and things close and personal but then wouldn't it be a little too boring, no ? Here is an oldie, a gem that makes you laugh your guts out. Ladies and Gentleman, presenting Mr. Vishwa Bandu Gupta.
I found these awesome celeb doppelgangers on Quora. Frankly, admitting I see a lot of non-celeb ones in my real life too. Friends, Acquaintances, Strangers. :D
Now that I am
relatively free, I think it’s high time I continue with my blogging activity
and as always I promise to be fairly regular. I write this article on a lazy
Wednesday, sitting in an empty room. I apologize for any tone of negativity
that my surroundings and my frame of mind may render to this piece.
When I was a kid, I had this fear of being left alone. I was mischievous as a rat, with an everlasting
curiosity that provided me with the audacity to meddle with all that came my
way. Be it a person or a thing, I constantly mused myself by my
surroundings. Life was bliss. People-people everywhere. They were all nice to
you. Smiles, hugs, kisses and candies were more than common. Everything added
up so easily. You could stop talking to friends with the little finger and make
up with your thumb. Cricket and Football games were the only places where you
bickered and cold drinks and Uncle Chips were the ultimate panacea that swung
your mood instantly. Reductionism at its best. You could be Sachin Tendulkar
one instant, Spiderman the next. When your day started with a hot glass of milk
and Pokemon and ended tucked up in bed by your father’s side, watching news and
asking the silliest of questions and having them answered patiently, you know that
this just was it. In short, life was
simple.
Then, I grew up.
I met a whole new
set of friends when I moved to Nainital. Since I used to live in a boarding
school they were pretty much all I had. I don’t know whether it was some fault
of mine or just the fact that I was a vulnerable kid, I faced a tough time with
some of my batch mates. The bad-ass ones – you know the kind that act really
smart in school and then end up nowhere. Had it not been for a select few ones
who stood by my side, I’d have dropped out midway. This was followed by
friends, cousins and relatives in when I pursued my higher education in Delhi.
New relations were forged, some old broken. I learned several lessons one of
which was that no matter who you are, where you stand and what you do, deep
down everyone is alone, for good.
You are your own warrior, your own savior and
you need to fight your own battles. Your problems are your very own. Shifting
either the burden or the outcome to friends/relatives only strains the relationship.
Most of the times, nobody is going to think for you. You need to think for
yourself. Don’t expect people to solve your problems or share your woes. Without
being unduly selfish, it is you who need to love and take care of yourself.
Expectations are an unnecessary complication and getting rid of them leads to a
happier and healthier relationship. I’m not asking you to be selfish, just
independent. If everybody took care of themselves and fought their problems,
there would problems left for us to face. After all in order to live happily
with others, it is important to be happy by yourself first.
An old favorite written by one of the most genius man ever to have walked on
the face of earth and sung by another as competent:
I never thought I'd be writing before I get through my CAT, which is on the 29th of October. Though my preparation is quite not what I wanted it to be, I still feel, with my mock results, there is a good chance that I may strike gold. On some other parameters, 29th is the day to be. Why so? They're coming back again. Fear. Anxiety. Panic. Anxiety runs in my blood, a quality that I attribute largely to my mother. I have never felt what it is like to be calm in tight situations. It is a quality I have always fancied, but never possessed. Most of my defeats in life have have been a result of my failure to hold myself together when faced with adversities and uncertainties. Over-thinking has been as genetically passed to me as thick black hair or my large white teeth. Damn! Not now. Not once more. If there is a time to get rid of it, it is now. I believe CAT tests you more on your mental strength than your preparation. Even if I do not perform to the optimum in CAT, this is a test I should not fail. Not again. As is true with life, winning is more about character and less about skill. It's time I start winning. or at least start making efforts to win. And they come back to you Demons of the Past And if you don't fight them now May be you'll never do. It's time to sleep.
Okay, this one is special. It was my first tryst with public speaking when Mrs. Rathore (I still remember that benign lady, our Geography teacher) handed me this piece. I absolutely loved it. I worked round the hours with Miss Deepa Shah and Miss Nirija Bisht, and tried my best to master this piece. I still vividly remember how nervous I was that day. The competition was among six speakers. While the fact that the "Gods of elocution" like Abhay Pande did not participate was true, we still had the better and more experienced speakers of the two sections which included stalwarts like Pappi Don (Swapnil), Sagar Lohani, Dushyant Joshi, Nishant Joshi and Craig Mcgowan. I was the only first-timer. I was a great deal scared. But somehow I had faith in my piece and (a little) faith in myself. Moreover, Miss Deepa Shah told me that I was improving significantly which did more to boost my confidence than any other thing. The day arrived. I had to speak sixth. The fact that everyone had spoken smoothly did enervate me a little. I made a few mistakes and flinched at them, which is a bad thing to do as you let the judge know that you have made one even if they may have actually missed it. However, overall it went quite fine. When we climbed down the podium, the speakers from the senior class who had spoken just before us congratulated us. A few of them told me that I did a decent job and stood a fairly decent chance to win a medal. I kept my fingers crossed. The results were announced. There was no doubt that Craig would win it as he had both a wonderful piece and a handsome persona. I don't exactly remember the name of his poem but it was something on men versus women. Nishant Joshi with his awesome recitation of Christabel by Samuel Taylor Colerdige stood second. By now my hopes had dwindled. But then, Mr. Emmanuel, in his usual slow way, announced my name. I was absolutely elated. Then I have no idea what happened. A lot of merry-making perhaps. Enough of jabber now, here is the piece:
WHAT IS A BOY ?
- Alan Beck
Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood we find a delightful creature called a boy. Boys come in assorted sizes, weights, and colors, but all boys have the same creed: to enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day and to protest with noise (their only weapon) when their last minute is finished and the adult males pack them off to bed at night. Boys are found everywhere—on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around, or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them, and Heaven protects them. A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair, and the Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket. When you are busy, a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise. When you want him to make a good impression, his brain turns to jelly or else he becomes a savage, sadistic, jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it. A boy is a composite—he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword-swallower, the energy of a pocket-sized atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Paul Bunyan, the shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a firecracker, and when he makes something, he has five thumbs on each hand. He likes ice cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street, woods, water (in its natural habitat), large animals, Dad, trains, Saturday mornings, and fire engines. He is not much for Sunday School, company, schools, books without pictures, music lessons, neckties, barbers, girls, overcoats, adults, or bedtime. Nobody else is so early to rise, or so late to supper. Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs, and breezes. Nobody else can cram into one pocket a rusty knife, a half-eaten apple, three feet of string, an empty Bull Durham sack, two gum drops, six cents, a slingshot, a chunk of unknown substance, and a genuine supersonic code ring with a secret compartment. A boy is a magical creature—you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can’t lock him out of your heart. You can get him out of your study, but you can’t get him out of your mind. Might as well give up—he is your captor, your jailer, your boss, and your master—a freckled-faced, pint-sized, cat-chasing, bundle of noise. But when you come home at night with only shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams, he can mend them like new with two magic words, "Hi Dad!"
I know I had promised stories of my Mumbai extravaganza but I guess I am still powerless against my lazy self. Maintaining a blog takes much more effort than I had imagined. That story, along with many others, is lying there in my draft box waiting to be completed. I guess they will all have their day. For now I shall continue with my rants.
Life has once again been paced at a fast-forward mode. College. Quizzing. The Attic. Placement Committee. TIME. and much more almost always keeps me pretty much busy. Of late, I have been been listening to some real good music. What a wonderful world, Soundtrack of Five Hundred Days of Summer and a number of other songs. Needless to say, primary credit goes to my music specialist, Miss Shruti Bhati :) . However, the last four days have been a complete waste. I realized that these exams not only kill your time during the period for which they are scheduled, but have an after effect too. Post exams I have resisted all work and have either slept, read or loitered around at facebook. I feel sleepy and out of words. For now I'll leave with this one:
