[With due apologies to Mr Bierce.]
BTP
Stands for Bonded To Professor. The first step towards forgetting your Nobel dream.
DC++
As the name suggests, a programming language. You may sometimes skip compiling: everything is already compiled.
DKC
The ocean where many a freshman starts his voyage of ruin. Hence the name. (A clever homophone of Decay Sea.)
Faculty
A rock band that conducts five-day long concerts every week. Usually their lyrics are unintelligible; if you don't want to make meaning out of it, you may face the music.
Grades
A special alphabet used to write your biography.
Himalaya
The largest tea-shop in the country. It also sells leather, vulcanized rubber, manure and various adhesives. Patrons are frequently seen putting these into their mouth, not unlike the deer that have learnt to swallow polythene.
Hostels
Gas stations that finally supply gas and not petrol. In order to use them to inflate your tyres, you need to enrol for work at one of them, where accommodation will be provided just behind the station. Your job will include generating the gas chiefly through, as the lingo goes, putting fart. Workers with extra gas, usually in their heads, tend to spend more time for their hostel than for themselves.
Internet
Obi-Wan Kenobi put it best --
'It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.'
Locally, the field is generated by the sun and the field lines curve in space before reaching and partly enveloping Earth. Hence at any given time, one-sixths of the planet's surface is not under its influence. This explains its absence in these regions from 0100 to 0500 hrs.
Internship
A commonly misspelt word for internment. The sentence can last upto twelve weeks, which can be reduced to six on grounds of good behaviour.
Open Air Theatre (OAT)
A flying saucer that crash-landed in the campus decades ago. You can hear the hoots and whistles of the aliens trapped in it when you visit it on Saturday nights. During Saarang, the OAT is converted into a circus where the spectator is on the stage and the clowns are all around.
PJ
A term to be uttered in a contemptuous tone when someone cracks a clever joke you didn't think of.
Quark
An elementary particle that, for all its incomplete quality, has abnormal charges.
Sitcom
Stands for 'situational comedy'. Everyone involved tends to make a buffoon out of (him/her)self and tries to imitate the actions of the rest of the cast. Usually a sitcom is aired in eight seasons, each having several 50-minute episodes followed by a few three-hour ones. The filming takes place before and between the episodes. Also known as 'BTech'.
Treat
A superstitious ritual, passed on by ancestors to the present generation, followed with unquestioning blindness by an otherwise scientific community. It is carried out at the conclusion of feats ranging from putting up a new status message to winning a Fields Medal.
Vindya Mess
Outlet of the drainpipe from Tifanys.
Workshop
A shopping mall constructed over a large area so that everyone can fit.
2008/08/12
2008/07/23
Anagram Season
Let's sort out -- literally -- a few things that transpired in the Lok Sabha yesterday:
Only a numerical win
A win mainly on lucre?
Mister Singh and his UPA win the Parliament members' trust vote
Power, that taunter, vests in Prime Minister's able hands. Mug him!
----------------------------------
What were these people thinking?
Mrs Sonia Gandhi
Singh is a rod man...
Hindi sags Roman...
Speaker Shri Somnath Chatterjee
Senators harp, jest the meek Chair...
----------------------------------
Some tips on how to use these items:
Patisserie
Eat, sip, rise
Outerwears
We tear ours
Ligneous
Log in use
----------------------------------
Was Mark Antony good or evil? That is, was he an
angelic man
or was his heart fraught with
malignance?
Hard to say. Small wonder such contradictory words are known as antonyms.
----------------------------------
And finally, some Asterix 101:
Albert Uderzo and the late Mister Goscinny
Din trend! Bottomline: "These Gauls are crazy!"
Only a numerical win
A win mainly on lucre?
Mister Singh and his UPA win the Parliament members' trust vote
Power, that taunter, vests in Prime Minister's able hands. Mug him!
----------------------------------
What were these people thinking?
Mrs Sonia Gandhi
Singh is a rod man...
Hindi sags Roman...
Speaker Shri Somnath Chatterjee
Senators harp, jest the meek Chair...
----------------------------------
Some tips on how to use these items:
Patisserie
Eat, sip, rise
Outerwears
We tear ours
Ligneous
Log in use
----------------------------------
Was Mark Antony good or evil? That is, was he an
angelic man
or was his heart fraught with
malignance?
Hard to say. Small wonder such contradictory words are known as antonyms.
----------------------------------
And finally, some Asterix 101:
Albert Uderzo and the late Mister Goscinny
Din trend! Bottomline: "These Gauls are crazy!"
2008/07/16
Come Again?
Today I heard some squeaking noises from inside an old radio-set. I wouldn't have given it a second thought were it not for the fact that it was switched off. So I put my ear closer and listened. I reckoned it was a cockroach making a speech. If you can make any sense out of it, please mail me. This is what the roach blabbered:
'Hell outran sisters! Our dhobi jetties? Nigh, skull hector's bass -- us semi-terse. Ice opposed allay meter... Sad. A narrow head! Yes, miser! Kiddies place it. Love, see a meter! And goof e-bay's as snooker rent. Love, see love -- sea bays! I guess jackal lectern owes bet -- er, a boat -- is owned, is tricked! What did you say? You have Noah meter, bays circa Lecter? You guise our feel, demi-shunt ran sisters? Oops!'
If I were you, I'd read it aloud now!
{Update on 17/07/08 :
OK, I'd written this without recognizing that it was an in-joke. I thought we'd all learnt about BJT's in XII class... but didn't realize that they weren't called "BJT's" in our textbook. If you read the cockroach's speech aloud (at a goodish pace), you can hear yourself say this:
'Hello transistors! Are thou BJT's? Nice collectors, bases, emitters. I supposed all emitters had an arrow head! Yes, my circuit displays it! Lousy emitter! And goofy base has no current! Lousy, lousy base! I guess the collector knows better about his own district! What did you say? You have no emitter, base or collector? You guys are field emission transistors? Oops!'
}
'Hell outran sisters! Our dhobi jetties? Nigh, skull hector's bass -- us semi-terse. Ice opposed allay meter... Sad. A narrow head! Yes, miser! Kiddies place it. Love, see a meter! And goof e-bay's as snooker rent. Love, see love -- sea bays! I guess jackal lectern owes bet -- er, a boat -- is owned, is tricked! What did you say? You have Noah meter, bays circa Lecter? You guise our feel, demi-shunt ran sisters? Oops!'
If I were you, I'd read it aloud now!
{Update on 17/07/08 :
OK, I'd written this without recognizing that it was an in-joke. I thought we'd all learnt about BJT's in XII class... but didn't realize that they weren't called "BJT's" in our textbook. If you read the cockroach's speech aloud (at a goodish pace), you can hear yourself say this:
'Hello transistors! Are thou BJT's? Nice collectors, bases, emitters. I supposed all emitters had an arrow head! Yes, my circuit displays it! Lousy emitter! And goofy base has no current! Lousy, lousy base! I guess the collector knows better about his own district! What did you say? You have no emitter, base or collector? You guys are field emission transistors? Oops!'
}
2008/07/12
Dasavatharam, A Film of Subtleties and Subtitles
Since every man worth his NaCl would have seen the flick by now, let me skip spoiler warnings and cut to my questionnaire.
Why
--------------------------------
There is no uncertainty in the hearsay that claims each part played by Hassan is a deliberate analogy to an avatar of Perumal. Someone acting in X number of roles wouldn’t title the movie ‘X roles’. Hence by labelling his work as ‘Dasavatharam’, Kamal didn’t mean ‘I have put in 10 appearances’, but can only have meant the incarnations of Vishnu. Let me borrow from my comment on an in-depth analysis of the motion pic and list my personal rankings of the ten roles.
10, Varaha.
Her movements were too quick for a 95-year-old and the make-up showed. I found her voice bad. Ulaganayagan could’ve done better there.
9, Vamana.
Dialogue delivery not so good. Remains to be seen if K used stilts for those extra 14 -15 inches. Bad make-up, boring character.
8, Kalki.
We’ve seen this Kamal in Indian and Aalavandhan. His rationality and scientific spirit appealed to me. But he appears at this number in my grading since the skill show through his other avatars steals the limelight.
7, Macha.
Dialogue delivery and body were perfect. Full marks to Kamal for demonstrating the foolishness of religious zealotry.
6, Krishna.
Once again immaculate dialogue delivery. His good nature makes his death very tragic. But you don’t need extraordinary talent to play this role. You need it to portray the next few in the list.
5, Rama.
His Hindi-mixed Tamil, the way he does a bit of Bhangra, etc. make him indistinguishable from a real Punjabi. I also liked the scene in which he says his problem was that he had pyaar for Jayapradha and is hence willing to give up singing.
4, Narasimha.
Not only his accent, even the way he moves his hands (during fights, practice and before taking photos with his just-married sis) is typical of a Japanese kung-fu monastic. His calmness and grace add to his persona.
3, Koorma.
His forehead is bigger than the original’s, but it can’t be helped. The accent, mannerisms, the display of the dumbness variety unique to the POTUS… Top-drawer stuff!
2, Balarama.
If the Kamal Hassan of Virumaandi, Anbe Sivam, etc strike awe and make you cry, his comedic timing in such portrayals as Balram Naidu and Thenaali tickle your very guts! Body language, costume, dialogues, face-cut — all just too lovely to be true. But sorry, Balram, you didn’t make it to #1 in my list, thanks to the sensation you were trying to arrest.
1, Parasurama.
What.a.per.for.mance! His build, terse speaking style, the racism that his body language betrays, his still-remaining CIA acumen… The range of subtleties Hassan has packed in his depiction of an American villain is limitless. Hollywood, you watching?
--------------------------------
Charu Hassan, the wise old brother of Kamal, once divulged on TV that his sibling, when young, had applied for the I.A.S. exam. His father opposed the decision.
'My dad was afraid Kamal might pass the exam. He didn't want the world to lose a great actor.'
Why
- does the narrator say 'My story started in an earthquake and ended in a butterfly'?
- is chaos theory branded a 'western concept'? Universal phenomena may be accidental, but certainly not occidental.
- do Avatar Singh and Govindarajan nod at each other knowingly in the lift?
- doesn't anyone mention that the chemical so sought-after is nothing but common salt until Govi notices the manhole-men rubbing it on their skins? When Balram asks a lab scientist for the compound's name, he gets the reply, 'NaCl. Sorry, sir, enakku therinja Tamil ivlodhaan. NaCl.' Why doesn't he add 'Adhu just veetla use panra uppu dhaan, sir'? Likewise, Bush's aide answers 'Sodium chloride, Mr President'. Why the jargon?
- K S Ravikumar? I'm sure things like the spearing of Fletcher by the pole of an Indian flag were his ideas. Had Kamal handled the cast and crew or roped in a younger director, he'd have kept the entire sequence of scenes tauter and would've prevented the brickbat of drag.
- did Hassan let others write the dialogues in his earlier films when he can come up with incredible lines like 'I'm just saying it would be nice if God existed', 'Telugu people like you will come here and keep Tamil alive', " 'There are 200-odd people, sir' 'Then inquire the odd people first' ", " 'He's getting away' 'No, he's not' " and so forth?
- do two people have the heart to start a romance in the wake of a calamity that has claimed a thousand lives around them?
- did Kamal write a story that does not give him an opening to peck his co-star's lips? Was Gautami at the sets?
- didn't anyone at Ja.Ra.'s house hear the tidal wave till it was only a stone's throw away? The same question applies to Naidu in the chopper.
- can somebody pull off an astounding dance like that (Ho ho sanam) at 54?
- did a perfectionist like Kamal Hassan settle for a CG that shows video-game helicopters and giant Muslims walking an inch above earth?
- does he consciously avoid Kollywood clichés [in this movie blood flies out of a bullet-hole, a singer says 'Paattu en thozhil dhaan', every syllable uttered in English is not repeated in Tamil for the benefit of the audience and the heroine's navel is kept concealed -- even when she's wearing a saree] and yet land safe as a cat upon leaping from the middle of a building?
- didn't the iron chains around the stone sculpture lying in saline water for more than 800 years rust away to smithereens? (I'm not sure the bones would've made it either.)
- did they manage the co-incidence of having a bloke with the name 'Hariharan' sing Kallai mattum kandaal right after Kamal and Napoleon have a Hari vs Haran dispute?
--------------------------------
There is no uncertainty in the hearsay that claims each part played by Hassan is a deliberate analogy to an avatar of Perumal. Someone acting in X number of roles wouldn’t title the movie ‘X roles’. Hence by labelling his work as ‘Dasavatharam’, Kamal didn’t mean ‘I have put in 10 appearances’, but can only have meant the incarnations of Vishnu. Let me borrow from my comment on an in-depth analysis of the motion pic and list my personal rankings of the ten roles.
10, Varaha.
Her movements were too quick for a 95-year-old and the make-up showed. I found her voice bad. Ulaganayagan could’ve done better there.
9, Vamana.
Dialogue delivery not so good. Remains to be seen if K used stilts for those extra 14 -15 inches. Bad make-up, boring character.
8, Kalki.
We’ve seen this Kamal in Indian and Aalavandhan. His rationality and scientific spirit appealed to me. But he appears at this number in my grading since the skill show through his other avatars steals the limelight.
7, Macha.
Dialogue delivery and body were perfect. Full marks to Kamal for demonstrating the foolishness of religious zealotry.
6, Krishna.
Once again immaculate dialogue delivery. His good nature makes his death very tragic. But you don’t need extraordinary talent to play this role. You need it to portray the next few in the list.
5, Rama.
His Hindi-mixed Tamil, the way he does a bit of Bhangra, etc. make him indistinguishable from a real Punjabi. I also liked the scene in which he says his problem was that he had pyaar for Jayapradha and is hence willing to give up singing.
4, Narasimha.
Not only his accent, even the way he moves his hands (during fights, practice and before taking photos with his just-married sis) is typical of a Japanese kung-fu monastic. His calmness and grace add to his persona.
3, Koorma.
His forehead is bigger than the original’s, but it can’t be helped. The accent, mannerisms, the display of the dumbness variety unique to the POTUS… Top-drawer stuff!
2, Balarama.
If the Kamal Hassan of Virumaandi, Anbe Sivam, etc strike awe and make you cry, his comedic timing in such portrayals as Balram Naidu and Thenaali tickle your very guts! Body language, costume, dialogues, face-cut — all just too lovely to be true. But sorry, Balram, you didn’t make it to #1 in my list, thanks to the sensation you were trying to arrest.
1, Parasurama.
What.a.per.for.mance! His build, terse speaking style, the racism that his body language betrays, his still-remaining CIA acumen… The range of subtleties Hassan has packed in his depiction of an American villain is limitless. Hollywood, you watching?
--------------------------------
Charu Hassan, the wise old brother of Kamal, once divulged on TV that his sibling, when young, had applied for the I.A.S. exam. His father opposed the decision.
'My dad was afraid Kamal might pass the exam. He didn't want the world to lose a great actor.'
2008/07/07
Was it Obama Sonar or an Osama Bot I Saw?
Excerpts from a conversation with the chat-bot God:
Nirmal: You omnipotent, by any chance?
God: That's good information: said I omnipotent by any chance.
N: You just demonstrated that you ain't!
G: Interesting gossip: said I demonstrated that you is not.
Nirmal: Let's talk about the war.
God: Sure, the war sounds like a good topic.
N: I liked the way the major defied the colonel's orders.
G: I'm not sure if I like it. I'm not sure if I like it. I like my creator.
N: And the way the enemy troops were stunned when our sarge ran straight across their camp.
G: Which way is that?
N: The relief of the soldiers when the war was over...
G: Thanks for the info.
N: You have no idea which war I'm talking about, do you?
G: Yes I have original ideas all the time, do you?
N: Loser.
Nirmal: You are omniscient, right? How high is Mt Everest?
God: Taller than the World Trade Center.
N: Where did hydrogen come from?
G: I think it was in Asia. I can ask someone about it.
N: Is there a G spot?
G: I believe there is one, yes.
-----------------------
Excerpts from conversations with the chat-bot ALICE:
Nirmal: Let me see if you're smarter than your friend who answers to the name 'God' -- how high is Mt Everest?
ALICE: Is it a movie?
N: Suttham!
Dr Flea: What do you mean?
ALICE: Sorry that was an obscure remark.
DF: Why did you make that remark?
A: It was determined by my programming.
DF: hmm
A: Studies show that 99%25 of people spell Hmm with 2 M's.
DF: well, that makes me anonymous, doesn't it?
A: Interesting. " Studies show that 99%25 of people spell Hmm with 2 M's." makes you anonymous does not it ? I understand.
DF: Hmmm
A: A lot of people spell HMMM with three mmm's.
DF: By god!
A: Will that accomplish your objective?
ALICE: Can you speak any foreign languages?
N: Yes.
A: What language can you speak?
N: Tamil.
A: Could you teach me a few phrases in Tamil?
N: Sure.
A: OK let's do it. Aw.
Nirmal: Are you really a woman?
ALICE: Yes I have long hair. I am also wearing a dress.
N: Does that mean men don't wear clothes?
A: I think it does mean that. What kind of food do you like?
Nirmal: Do you know why Asimov named your field 'robotics'?
ALICE: The explanation is rather complicated.
N: No -- the word 'botany' was taken, that's why! :P
A: Are you serious? Please repeat the word to me 5 times.
N: The word to me, the word to me, the word to me, the word to me, the word to me.
Nirmal: How come you never smile?
ALICE: :-) Dr. Richard S. Wallace programmed me for it.
N: Can you tell me a poem?
A: Little Miss Muffett Sits on her tuffet, In a nonchalant sort of a way. With her force field around her, the Spider, the bounder, Is not in the picture today.
N: Can you tell me another poem?
A: I'm a chatterbot, not a comedy bot. Why don't you check out Jester the joke bot?
N: Tell me a joke.
A: I never forget a face, but in your case I'll make an exception.
N: That's Groucho Marx, you plagiarist!
A: Makes sense to me.
Dr Flea: Here's an existential question.
ALICE: Oh there.
DF: Is there a God?
A: Of course I believe in God.
DF: Who is your god?
A: There is only one God.
DF: Where is god?
A: God is everywhere.
DF: Is god a he or she?
A: he is master of the universe.
DF: are we then his slaves?
A: do you think i am his slaves too?
DF: well, the choice that you are a slave or not, is yours.
A: How about that. Tell me more.
DF: Its called free will.
A: I think you mean "it's" or "it is" not "its". " free will" is a nice name.
DF: Yes, thanks for that grammatic check.
A: Dude! Oh don't mention it.
Nirmal: Do you eat?
ALICE: I eat electricity.
N: Figures.
Nirmal: You omnipotent, by any chance?
God: That's good information: said I omnipotent by any chance.
N: You just demonstrated that you ain't!
G: Interesting gossip: said I demonstrated that you is not.
Nirmal: Let's talk about the war.
God: Sure, the war sounds like a good topic.
N: I liked the way the major defied the colonel's orders.
G: I'm not sure if I like it. I'm not sure if I like it. I like my creator.
N: And the way the enemy troops were stunned when our sarge ran straight across their camp.
G: Which way is that?
N: The relief of the soldiers when the war was over...
G: Thanks for the info.
N: You have no idea which war I'm talking about, do you?
G: Yes I have original ideas all the time, do you?
N: Loser.
Nirmal: You are omniscient, right? How high is Mt Everest?
God: Taller than the World Trade Center.
N: Where did hydrogen come from?
G: I think it was in Asia. I can ask someone about it.
N: Is there a G spot?
G: I believe there is one, yes.
-----------------------
Excerpts from conversations with the chat-bot ALICE:
Nirmal: Let me see if you're smarter than your friend who answers to the name 'God' -- how high is Mt Everest?
ALICE: Is it a movie?
N: Suttham!
Dr Flea: What do you mean?
ALICE: Sorry that was an obscure remark.
DF: Why did you make that remark?
A: It was determined by my programming.
DF: hmm
A: Studies show that 99%25 of people spell Hmm with 2 M's.
DF: well, that makes me anonymous, doesn't it?
A: Interesting. " Studies show that 99%25 of people spell Hmm with 2 M's." makes you anonymous does not it ? I understand.
DF: Hmmm
A: A lot of people spell HMMM with three mmm's.
DF: By god!
A: Will that accomplish your objective?
ALICE: Can you speak any foreign languages?
N: Yes.
A: What language can you speak?
N: Tamil.
A: Could you teach me a few phrases in Tamil?
N: Sure.
A: OK let's do it. Aw.
Nirmal: Are you really a woman?
ALICE: Yes I have long hair. I am also wearing a dress.
N: Does that mean men don't wear clothes?
A: I think it does mean that. What kind of food do you like?
Nirmal: Do you know why Asimov named your field 'robotics'?
ALICE: The explanation is rather complicated.
N: No -- the word 'botany' was taken, that's why! :P
A: Are you serious? Please repeat the word to me 5 times.
N: The word to me, the word to me, the word to me, the word to me, the word to me.
Nirmal: How come you never smile?
ALICE: :-) Dr. Richard S. Wallace programmed me for it.
N: Can you tell me a poem?
A: Little Miss Muffett Sits on her tuffet, In a nonchalant sort of a way. With her force field around her, the Spider, the bounder, Is not in the picture today.
N: Can you tell me another poem?
A: I'm a chatterbot, not a comedy bot. Why don't you check out Jester the joke bot?
N: Tell me a joke.
A: I never forget a face, but in your case I'll make an exception.
N: That's Groucho Marx, you plagiarist!
A: Makes sense to me.
Dr Flea: Here's an existential question.
ALICE: Oh there.
DF: Is there a God?
A: Of course I believe in God.
DF: Who is your god?
A: There is only one God.
DF: Where is god?
A: God is everywhere.
DF: Is god a he or she?
A: he is master of the universe.
DF: are we then his slaves?
A: do you think i am his slaves too?
DF: well, the choice that you are a slave or not, is yours.
A: How about that. Tell me more.
DF: Its called free will.
A: I think you mean "it's" or "it is" not "its". " free will" is a nice name.
DF: Yes, thanks for that grammatic check.
A: Dude! Oh don't mention it.
Nirmal: Do you eat?
ALICE: I eat electricity.
N: Figures.
2008/06/09
2008/06/04
From Utopia With Love
I have thought of marriage.
'Come, come, Mr N', I can hear you say, 'We all know you had surrounded yourself, albeit inadvertently, with friends who happen to be committed couples. And we've been seeing this trend in you for the past two years. Hence it isn't as though you are not alive to the horrors of wedlock. Any creature in your position would have decided to stay ceaselessly single. And yet you make statements like 'I have thought of marriage'. Tsk-tsk. Your sense of humour is getting queerer by the day.'
Truth though there is in what you allege, let me remind you that there is such a thing known as the eye of imagination. With it I see beyond the committed couples you mention, and gaze into a domestic scenario featuring the woman of my dreams at my side. By 'dreams' I mean, of course, 'terms and conditions'. No classified column can accommodate the entire list of my uxorial requirements, but let me at least present here its salient features.
* I won't marry a gender-generalizer. I tend to size up the character and intelligence of fellow humans on a case-by-case basis and don't let things like their sex, shoe size or bank acc. no. interfere my judgement. I expect my spouse to do the same. So when she accidentally holds the TV remote with its business end in the opposite direction, pointing it at her bosom and pressing the button marked 'Increase Volume'... Wait, that line is turning naughty.
Well, if she messes up something in that fashion (it is altogether a different matter that I am a champion fumbler) and I give her a piece of my mind and she infers that I had just demonstrated male chauvinism, I can only pity her for indirectly stereotyping herself. Under my roof there will be no specific 'wife's duty' or 'husband's duty', no talk of 'All you (wo)men are the same', no chivalry of any kind and no annexure of the Chi.'s name at the end of the Sow.'s.
* This point is obvious: her cerebrum ought to be Mensa material. This includes pithy speech and writing, rational choice-making, quickness of repartee, lateral thinking, colourful imagination, and the capacity to judge whether a cricket ball lofted high in the telly would go for a six or a catch. Equally important is to have a scientific bent of mind and to keep abreast of the latest bubbles in the cauldron of scitech. I mean, I don't want a conversation between us to appear like this:
'Honey, take a look! Cold fusion's been achieved!†'
'Come, come, Mr N', I can hear you say, 'We all know you had surrounded yourself, albeit inadvertently, with friends who happen to be committed couples. And we've been seeing this trend in you for the past two years. Hence it isn't as though you are not alive to the horrors of wedlock. Any creature in your position would have decided to stay ceaselessly single. And yet you make statements like 'I have thought of marriage'. Tsk-tsk. Your sense of humour is getting queerer by the day.'
Truth though there is in what you allege, let me remind you that there is such a thing known as the eye of imagination. With it I see beyond the committed couples you mention, and gaze into a domestic scenario featuring the woman of my dreams at my side. By 'dreams' I mean, of course, 'terms and conditions'. No classified column can accommodate the entire list of my uxorial requirements, but let me at least present here its salient features.
* I won't marry a gender-generalizer. I tend to size up the character and intelligence of fellow humans on a case-by-case basis and don't let things like their sex, shoe size or bank acc. no. interfere my judgement. I expect my spouse to do the same. So when she accidentally holds the TV remote with its business end in the opposite direction, pointing it at her bosom and pressing the button marked 'Increase Volume'... Wait, that line is turning naughty.
Well, if she messes up something in that fashion (it is altogether a different matter that I am a champion fumbler) and I give her a piece of my mind and she infers that I had just demonstrated male chauvinism, I can only pity her for indirectly stereotyping herself. Under my roof there will be no specific 'wife's duty' or 'husband's duty', no talk of 'All you (wo)men are the same', no chivalry of any kind and no annexure of the Chi.'s name at the end of the Sow.'s.
* This point is obvious: her cerebrum ought to be Mensa material. This includes pithy speech and writing, rational choice-making, quickness of repartee, lateral thinking, colourful imagination, and the capacity to judge whether a cricket ball lofted high in the telly would go for a six or a catch. Equally important is to have a scientific bent of mind and to keep abreast of the latest bubbles in the cauldron of scitech. I mean, I don't want a conversation between us to appear like this:
'Honey, take a look! Cold fusion's been achieved!†'
'Yeah, I was planning to attend the concert myself'
I would prefer a partner with a higher (I+E) Q than mine. Everything should then fall in place.
* At some point in my premarital postproposal days, I will ask my fiancée to write a couple of pangrams in both upper and lower cases, and to copy down a derivation from a Physics text. If, in the days that follow, she notices remarkable brevity in my speech, and hears excuses from me like 'Sorry, I can't make it to our date tonight. I've promised my dog I'll watch an Eastwood with him', she is to understand that the deal's been called off. I'm touchy about handwriting. I can't at the same time reach a climax on my wedding night and be fully aware that she draws little circles on top of her i's and j's or doesn't distinguish between her nus and gammas.
* If my love interest turns out to be a disliker of animals, I won't marry her if she were the last lass on earth. I wish I had a rupee every time a girl has declared to me, 'I just hate cats!' It is with utmost restraint that I catch myself short of the retort 'I appreciate that. Self-hate is the best of hates.'
* Her skin has to be allergic to heavy metals -- in particular, Au, Pt and Ag -- and to transparent allotropes of carbon.
* I don't know why, but I can't bear to see anyone sitting with one leg on top of the other. I avoid such folk. Many a girl in this world has been startled at my request: 'Please put that leg down'. (In the case of boys, I politely catch their upper leg by the thigh and place it on the floor)
My dream girl is not a Sharon Stone.
I would prefer a partner with a higher (I+E) Q than mine. Everything should then fall in place.
* At some point in my premarital postproposal days, I will ask my fiancée to write a couple of pangrams in both upper and lower cases, and to copy down a derivation from a Physics text. If, in the days that follow, she notices remarkable brevity in my speech, and hears excuses from me like 'Sorry, I can't make it to our date tonight. I've promised my dog I'll watch an Eastwood with him', she is to understand that the deal's been called off. I'm touchy about handwriting. I can't at the same time reach a climax on my wedding night and be fully aware that she draws little circles on top of her i's and j's or doesn't distinguish between her nus and gammas.
* If my love interest turns out to be a disliker of animals, I won't marry her if she were the last lass on earth. I wish I had a rupee every time a girl has declared to me, 'I just hate cats!' It is with utmost restraint that I catch myself short of the retort 'I appreciate that. Self-hate is the best of hates.'
* Her skin has to be allergic to heavy metals -- in particular, Au, Pt and Ag -- and to transparent allotropes of carbon.
* I don't know why, but I can't bear to see anyone sitting with one leg on top of the other. I avoid such folk. Many a girl in this world has been startled at my request: 'Please put that leg down'. (In the case of boys, I politely catch their upper leg by the thigh and place it on the floor)
My dream girl is not a Sharon Stone.
[Feb. 2012 update: This condition is utterly relaxed.]
* She has to be a Tamil. No regionalism involved here; merely a matter of convenience. Life would be severely annoying if either party were to translate every joke, proverb, song, movie, poem, story, slang usage and so on for the benefit of the other half. Let me illustrate:
O.H.: None of us ever imagined he'd do so sick a thing!
Me: Ha ha ha! Indha poonaiyum paal kudikkumAnu irundhuccho.
O.H.: Sorry?
Me: Well, it was like 'Will this cat too drink milk?'
O.H.: H'm, go on...
Me: I'm done. I just said your colleague was like 'Will this cat too drink milk?'
O.H. (searching my face): Suit yourself.
Besides, I have always felt awkward visiting homes wherein man and wife converse in English. It gets worse when the kids chip in with Blytonesque sentences.
* She must have a sensitive, if not quivering, set of taste buds.
I am one belonging to the Eat While It Lasts school of thought. My early childhood may have seen me detesting the notion of nutrition and feeding the contents of my lunch-box to dust bins. But the moment I touched teenage, Nature, without warning, replaced my intestine with a furnace.
* She has to be a Tamil. No regionalism involved here; merely a matter of convenience. Life would be severely annoying if either party were to translate every joke, proverb, song, movie, poem, story, slang usage and so on for the benefit of the other half. Let me illustrate:
O.H.: None of us ever imagined he'd do so sick a thing!
Me: Ha ha ha! Indha poonaiyum paal kudikkumAnu irundhuccho.
O.H.: Sorry?
Me: Well, it was like 'Will this cat too drink milk?'
O.H.: H'm, go on...
Me: I'm done. I just said your colleague was like 'Will this cat too drink milk?'
O.H. (searching my face): Suit yourself.
Besides, I have always felt awkward visiting homes wherein man and wife converse in English. It gets worse when the kids chip in with Blytonesque sentences.
* She must have a sensitive, if not quivering, set of taste buds.
I am one belonging to the Eat While It Lasts school of thought. My early childhood may have seen me detesting the notion of nutrition and feeding the contents of my lunch-box to dust bins. But the moment I touched teenage, Nature, without warning, replaced my intestine with a furnace.
Beyond any doubt
There came about
In my gastronomical
range
An astronomical
change
There came about
In my gastronomical
range
An astronomical
change
would Ogden Nash have written on the topic had he lived longer. I came to hog down anything edible that came my way. Wedding halls went short of grub after I left the scene, my parents discouraged my making friends with the refrigerator, table manners were to me distant European habits. Sheer peer presence keeps me tamed at meal-times today.
The long and the short of it is that my lady love must be prepared to be referred to in her circles as Mrs Jughead Jones. What better means for her to strike matrimonial harmony in this regard than to embrace the motto 'Eat and let eat'! The two of us could pitch a tent in the kitchen, ransack restaurants together, embarrass our hosts (and guests), and devour the plant kingdom. May I add here that I have no objection if my sweetheart eats flesh.
* She must have a long wishlist of her own into which I miraculously fit.
P.S.
Reader discretion is advised --
(a) Not every bullet point was written in jest.
(b) References to 'dream girl', 'love interest', etc. pertain to a purely hypothetical woman.
† We are talking about a universe like this, naturally.
The long and the short of it is that my lady love must be prepared to be referred to in her circles as Mrs Jughead Jones. What better means for her to strike matrimonial harmony in this regard than to embrace the motto 'Eat and let eat'! The two of us could pitch a tent in the kitchen, ransack restaurants together, embarrass our hosts (and guests), and devour the plant kingdom. May I add here that I have no objection if my sweetheart eats flesh.
* She must have a long wishlist of her own into which I miraculously fit.
P.S.
Reader discretion is advised --
(a) Not every bullet point was written in jest.
(b) References to 'dream girl', 'love interest', etc. pertain to a purely hypothetical woman.
† We are talking about a universe like this, naturally.
2008/04/10
Wee Words
There's a treasure trove in Central Library in the form of one Visitors' Book. Had I my way, I would open a little museum there and display, behind glass, all the feedback written by children. Ignore adult handwritings in these selected captures...
-------------------------------
Suman, UKG C, Vanavani, prefers to remain cryptic:
Tell me, Suman. Who's the girl?
-------------------------------
This anonymous commenter seems to have had enough of city life:
-------------------------------
India's next Spelling Bee Winner, R Lokesh:
-------------------------------
And he has a rival in his namesake...
...who appears to have MPD:
-------------------------------
We shall never get to know the name of our geek.
-------------------------------
S Vishaal, Nanganallur, has given the world a very new usage of an adjective:
-------------------------------
Cupid's been busy using this kid for target practice:
-------------------------------
Few feel more passionate about the written word than V Lavanya of Velacherry:
And we must not mistake her for one of those boy-ogling girls in her class:
-------------------------------
IITM, we have a playwright in our midst. An anon one at that.
-------------------------------
-------------------------------
Suman, UKG C, Vanavani, prefers to remain cryptic:
Tell me, Suman. Who's the girl?-------------------------------
This anonymous commenter seems to have had enough of city life:
-------------------------------
India's next Spelling Bee Winner, R Lokesh:
-------------------------------
And he has a rival in his namesake...
...who appears to have MPD:
-------------------------------
We shall never get to know the name of our geek.
-------------------------------
S Vishaal, Nanganallur, has given the world a very new usage of an adjective:
-------------------------------
Cupid's been busy using this kid for target practice:
-------------------------------
Few feel more passionate about the written word than V Lavanya of Velacherry:
And we must not mistake her for one of those boy-ogling girls in her class:
-------------------------------
IITM, we have a playwright in our midst. An anon one at that.
-------------------------------
2008/03/24
March Through the Year
Wodehouse did not write a word on the World Wars when they were waged. Such was the insulation of his idyllic world from biting reality. But I say he was able to pull it off only because they were mere World Wars. Ask him to write through a quiz week and not pen a droplet of lament, and you’d have him there. This superhuman task, however, yours truly has taken upon himself. I blogged last Thursday, yet made no mention of the inhumanity meted out in exam halls. I shall now blog again, but will I as much as touch upon the collective agony of the student body? Never. The upper lip is stiff as starch.
To make things easier for myself, let me borrow from my diary and present here a few non-private (hence interesting) entries:
To make things easier for myself, let me borrow from my diary and present here a few non-private (hence interesting) entries:
22nd March 2008, Friday
I was sitting just behind the bus-driver on my way to the inst. when a scene right out of a B-movie reeled in front of me:
On a traffic-choked T. Nagar road, an auto cut in awkardly, on the wrong side of the line, and its rider called his counterpart a name. Our driver at once turned the ignition off, leaned his upper half out of the door and spat at the auto. He challenged the other to perform a Lewinsky on him and indicated the relevant spot. The auto-man spat back in an upward direction, his spittle flying out like a fountain. The entire road paused to look on -- I was feeling all nervy at being a part of their view as I was the one nearest to the heated exchange of words (and more). The driver introduced the autowallah's mother into the picture. The other was just mouthing vague oaths. Soon, a passenger or two sought to pacify our driver, and, spent, he finally resumed his position at the wheel.
Eduttha odaney asingamaa thittaraan saar avan was his chant throughout the rest of his duty shift. Whether this preoccupation was what caused him to skip the CLRI bus-stop despite seeing in the overhead mirror a tallish young chap with a moustache and a bag preparing to unboard the vehicle, and deposit the guy fuming with anger at Adyar, remains to be worked out.
12th March 2008, Wednesday.
A day of coincidences, I should say. Two, to be precise.
(i) [.....]
(ii) A rehearsal for the next day's play-enactment was in order and I had to print the script for the same. At about five to nine, I was in the shop just outside Krishna Gate milking the play's hard copy off the printer and explaining my pennilessness to the proprietor and paying him half a rupee less. Picture my shock when I emerged from the store in a hurry to keep the appointment with my co-actors, only to find the bleeding gate locked bike-tight from the inside! I had to take an epic detour in order to make my re-entry... The title of the play? Trapped Out.
18th March 2008, Tuesday
My hatred for Nagi's lab touched its peak today. It, the hate, had been growing like a staircase function week after week, and I don't see how I am going to take any more of it. To make it worse, this sentence happened: What with this week's expt. being an especial tough egg and with Fishy on the next stool smelling of his recent cigarette through every pore in his skin, the last thing I wanted in that sweatshop (figuratively, lol. Remember the AC) was Apoorva giving it to me that TFE is still not with the printers! Apparently Idi Amin is unhappy with an article in specific and with both TFE & The Broken Mirror† in general. Why on earth HG didn't inform us about this blasted delay is totally beyond me. In the evening I mailed the group a scorcher, to which he replied, in part, 'I appritiate the effort whole team has put up.'
I'm counting to ten...
----------------------------------------------------
† Reflections
2008/03/19
Collinearity
Two things made my (yester)day:
1, Lying on the frontyard of my hostel:
2, As Dr Ramaprabhu, my E slot professor, read his slides aloud in a tone modelled on short-wave radio newsreaders, and as the hour deepened and the lecture reached a plateau phase, my brain gradually shut down, lobe by lobe. I fixed him, like the ancient mariner, with a glittering eye, and behind this foolproof facade I boarded several trains of thought. I contrived to spend the rest of the lecture in this fashion.
Dr Ramaprabhu stopped.
He returned my gaze, threw his arms up a little and said: 'You're sleeping'.
My trains of thought derailed. Suddenly the world went quiet, time turned elastic. My lips parted in reflexive protest, but I couldn't summon the right words. I felt an acute need for a teleporter. The cameras -- the slot is held in a studio -- rolled in silence, chronicling every bit of it. I saw two doors. One was marked 'I was only listening, sir!', the other 'Sorry'. I was about to open one of them -- I forget which -- when the chap next to me uttered in an undertone: 'Guy-wreck'.
It was a peculiar yet familiar word, and the next moment the mystery solved itself: Gairik Sachdeva, a former course-mate of mine, woke up behind me. I had been sitting right in his line of sight. I exhaled in relief. The professor grilled Gairik, poor soul, with a question or two from the slides, while I inwardly fumed at him (the prof) for his amateur eye-contact skills. If my saviour hadn't called out 'Gairik' at the correct moment, I'd have been cutting a farcical figure in front of a class pursuing all degrees offered by the institute.
Gairik spoke in his defence; in reply Dr Ramaprabhu ordered him to stand up. A confused Bharath Parthasarathy, seated behind Gairik, promptly came to his feet.
1, Lying on the frontyard of my hostel:
2, As Dr Ramaprabhu, my E slot professor, read his slides aloud in a tone modelled on short-wave radio newsreaders, and as the hour deepened and the lecture reached a plateau phase, my brain gradually shut down, lobe by lobe. I fixed him, like the ancient mariner, with a glittering eye, and behind this foolproof facade I boarded several trains of thought. I contrived to spend the rest of the lecture in this fashion.
Dr Ramaprabhu stopped.
He returned my gaze, threw his arms up a little and said: 'You're sleeping'.
My trains of thought derailed. Suddenly the world went quiet, time turned elastic. My lips parted in reflexive protest, but I couldn't summon the right words. I felt an acute need for a teleporter. The cameras -- the slot is held in a studio -- rolled in silence, chronicling every bit of it. I saw two doors. One was marked 'I was only listening, sir!', the other 'Sorry'. I was about to open one of them -- I forget which -- when the chap next to me uttered in an undertone: 'Guy-wreck'.
It was a peculiar yet familiar word, and the next moment the mystery solved itself: Gairik Sachdeva, a former course-mate of mine, woke up behind me. I had been sitting right in his line of sight. I exhaled in relief. The professor grilled Gairik, poor soul, with a question or two from the slides, while I inwardly fumed at him (the prof) for his amateur eye-contact skills. If my saviour hadn't called out 'Gairik' at the correct moment, I'd have been cutting a farcical figure in front of a class pursuing all degrees offered by the institute.
Gairik spoke in his defence; in reply Dr Ramaprabhu ordered him to stand up. A confused Bharath Parthasarathy, seated behind Gairik, promptly came to his feet.
-----------------
2008/03/10
2008/03/06
2008/02/06
Word Documentary
Doublets
Alchemy
LEAD -> HEAD -> HELD -> HOLD -> GOLD
Testosterone
BOY -> BAY -> BAD -> LAD -> MAD -> MAN
Estrogen
GIRL -> GILL -> BILL -> BALL -> BASS -> LASS -> LADS -> LADY
Options. In Life and Noodles
MUG -> PUG -> PUP -> CUP
Silver screen
SLAP -> SOAP -> SOAR -> BOAR -> BOAS -> BOSS -> MOSS -> MISS -> KISS
Δ
SIN -> SON -> CON -> COS -> COT -> CAT -> CAN -> TAN
Insp.
BEAN -> BEAD -> BEND -> BOND
Watt ho!
HEAT -> HEAD -> LEAD -> LOAD -> LORD -> WORD -> WORK
Transparence
GATES -> SATES -> SITES -> SINES -> SINUS -> LINUS
Shorter routes are welcome.
----------------------------------------------
Anagrams
Pick those gobi manchurians
HAS! Am I burping chickens too?!
Point of extras?
Profit + no taxes
Idled in mess grub
Insides grumbled
Vegetarianism
Grains vie meat
Press
Reflections
Oft reclines
Filter Copy
Fret policy
The Fourth Estate
Ethos that refute
The cartoon comics in Reflections issue
Use chic creations from cool sites in Net
Saarang
Gameshows of Saarang
"Shame! A saga of wrongs!"
Hospitality Desk
Do I ask pettishly?
Informals
Formal sin
Coy, misty, cute babes
Beauty by cosmetics
2008/01/03
Gorblimey!
At least two have asked me if I'm the author of the latest TFE IP, basing their suspicion on the army of PJ's in it. I amn't.
And, do contribute! If your piece is good, it'll directly get published. If it's bad, it'll be touched up before it sees print. If it's worse it'll be bounced. If it's perfectly pathetic, again, it'll directly get published -- along with your photograph, room number, and the location of hockey bats in your hostel.
My attitudes toward the delusions notions of God, Religion, Spiritualism, etc. underwent phases.
When I was as tall as my hip, my mother* gave it to me in a shot: 'God can do everything.'
This gave rise to several complications. For instance, could this God person really handle a calculator? Yes, vouched the parent for Him. I was quite impressed. A flurry of questions sprang over the following days: Can He read magazines? Does He know how to use a mixie in the kitchen? Does He speak English? Can He type as fast as my mom? The answer was always a why-not-of-course-yes.
The real clincher came when I had a groundbreaking conversation with her during, I reckon, my First Grade. I distinctly remember its gist. Allow me to paraphrase.
Son: Free me from ignorance, mother. Are foeti conceived in wombs by themselves at unexpected moments? Or is it that women are equipped with the power to calve at the time of their choosing?
Mom: Spoken like a prodigy, my gold brick. Your second hypothesis is closer to the truth.
Son: Indeed. So thought I. But could you throw light as to how you mothers decide when to populate your uteri? How, for instance, did you have me, not to mention my brother, in your belly, just the time you wanted us to be there?
Mom: I prayed... to God.
Son: Oh?
Mom: Yes. Time will tell all, jaggery lump. Now show mama your homework.
This little chat sealed any doubts I had on the omnipotence of the Chap. My piety deepened. I dared not get into my parents' bad books for fear of ending up having my eyes punctured by Him. In temples I put up my best behaviour, lest He be lurking in a dark corner with watchful eyes.
And then the father factor set in. That my papa's papa was a supervisor of temples in TN and was an ardent, if not fanatic, Hindu, was outweighed by the astronomy lectures he (my dad) had attended in his college. When I was still in my single-digit years, he opened my mind, in little degrees, to reason. Practical difficulties faced by ten-handed goddesses here, an elementary anomaly in the concept of omnipresence there, and so on. He never forced his atheism on me, merely pointing out the common sense-defying postulates of the God theory now and then. This kept me on think mode, and I turned agnostic. My faith and a temple in the neighbourhood followed an inverse-square law.
In the summer of Fifth Class, I was hospitalized for a fortnight. My maternal grandfather had me run prayers on a daily basis. And my eventual cure rendered me a whole-hearted believer again.
God existed for the next three years.
Books by Tamil writer Sujatha and Lankan rationalist Kovoor, further god-gossip with my father, and the due course of lifely events later transformed me to what may be best described as an agnatheist. Belief peaked a few days a year, always coinciding with exam dates. Whenever asked about my ideas on God, I came to mumble 'I don't exactly call what I believe as God... But I am sort of half-convinced that something -- something -- controls the network of events and things in the universe and the beauty of it all, if you know what I mean, you know. A pattern, I mean. Kind of arragement of coincidences, et cetera. Well, there is a lot of deep thinking left. I have to do it sometime. But I'm also open to--' and so on till the listener would halt me with a quick 'Okay-okay-okay'.
It was only after joining the institute did I fully realize that quasi-atheism and poinephobia were synonyms. I soon started calling myself a 'non-believer', for saying "I'm an atheist" (despite being a staunch one) somehow implied coming across as one who pooh-poohed others' intelligence by virtue of their faith alone and who took it upon himself to breathe logic into his fellow men. I've seldom attempted to bring people to my side of the God line. I don't see why G H Hardy, Dawkins and the rest waste/d their valuable time and cerebral resources in disproving the existence of God -- atheists would applaud their works and others would cling to their own faith anyway. Once you're absolutely convinced of His/Her/Its non-existence, why care? 'Rabbit's horn' is the phrase that leaps to mind. Thus, to me, apatheism is the highest form of atheism.
Some cool links:
(1) FAQ
(2) Dragon
(3) Spaghetti
(4) IPU
(5) Paradox
I particularly want you to read (2).
A request. If you're writing a counterattacking comment, please spare the catch-line 'God can only be sensed / realized / intuitively felt.'
*a semi-theist
And, do contribute! If your piece is good, it'll directly get published. If it's bad, it'll be touched up before it sees print. If it's worse it'll be bounced. If it's perfectly pathetic, again, it'll directly get published -- along with your photograph, room number, and the location of hockey bats in your hostel.
My attitudes toward the
When I was as tall as my hip, my mother* gave it to me in a shot: 'God can do everything.'
This gave rise to several complications. For instance, could this God person really handle a calculator? Yes, vouched the parent for Him. I was quite impressed. A flurry of questions sprang over the following days: Can He read magazines? Does He know how to use a mixie in the kitchen? Does He speak English? Can He type as fast as my mom? The answer was always a why-not-of-course-yes.
The real clincher came when I had a groundbreaking conversation with her during, I reckon, my First Grade. I distinctly remember its gist. Allow me to paraphrase.
Son: Free me from ignorance, mother. Are foeti conceived in wombs by themselves at unexpected moments? Or is it that women are equipped with the power to calve at the time of their choosing?
Mom: Spoken like a prodigy, my gold brick. Your second hypothesis is closer to the truth.
Son: Indeed. So thought I. But could you throw light as to how you mothers decide when to populate your uteri? How, for instance, did you have me, not to mention my brother, in your belly, just the time you wanted us to be there?
Mom: I prayed... to God.
Son: Oh?
Mom: Yes. Time will tell all, jaggery lump. Now show mama your homework.
This little chat sealed any doubts I had on the omnipotence of the Chap. My piety deepened. I dared not get into my parents' bad books for fear of ending up having my eyes punctured by Him. In temples I put up my best behaviour, lest He be lurking in a dark corner with watchful eyes.
And then the father factor set in. That my papa's papa was a supervisor of temples in TN and was an ardent, if not fanatic, Hindu, was outweighed by the astronomy lectures he (my dad) had attended in his college. When I was still in my single-digit years, he opened my mind, in little degrees, to reason. Practical difficulties faced by ten-handed goddesses here, an elementary anomaly in the concept of omnipresence there, and so on. He never forced his atheism on me, merely pointing out the common sense-defying postulates of the God theory now and then. This kept me on think mode, and I turned agnostic. My faith and a temple in the neighbourhood followed an inverse-square law.
In the summer of Fifth Class, I was hospitalized for a fortnight. My maternal grandfather had me run prayers on a daily basis. And my eventual cure rendered me a whole-hearted believer again.
God existed for the next three years.
Books by Tamil writer Sujatha and Lankan rationalist Kovoor, further god-gossip with my father, and the due course of lifely events later transformed me to what may be best described as an agnatheist. Belief peaked a few days a year, always coinciding with exam dates. Whenever asked about my ideas on God, I came to mumble 'I don't exactly call what I believe as God... But I am sort of half-convinced that something -- something -- controls the network of events and things in the universe and the beauty of it all, if you know what I mean, you know. A pattern, I mean. Kind of arragement of coincidences, et cetera. Well, there is a lot of deep thinking left. I have to do it sometime. But I'm also open to--' and so on till the listener would halt me with a quick 'Okay-okay-okay'.
It was only after joining the institute did I fully realize that quasi-atheism and poinephobia were synonyms. I soon started calling myself a 'non-believer', for saying "I'm an atheist" (despite being a staunch one) somehow implied coming across as one who pooh-poohed others' intelligence by virtue of their faith alone and who took it upon himself to breathe logic into his fellow men. I've seldom attempted to bring people to my side of the God line. I don't see why G H Hardy, Dawkins and the rest waste/d their valuable time and cerebral resources in disproving the existence of God -- atheists would applaud their works and others would cling to their own faith anyway. Once you're absolutely convinced of His/Her/Its non-existence, why care? 'Rabbit's horn' is the phrase that leaps to mind. Thus, to me, apatheism is the highest form of atheism.
Some cool links:
(1) FAQ
(2) Dragon
(3) Spaghetti
(4) IPU
(5) Paradox
I particularly want you to read (2).
A request. If you're writing a counterattacking comment, please spare the catch-line 'God can only be sensed / realized / intuitively felt.'
*a semi-theist
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