The Mercury Materialisation

The Fluid Mechanics lab is marked with its own inherent ironies. It is the only lab which has an automated "fire alarm" (inspite of the it being virtually abundant in water supply), which rather be in the Thermodynamics lab (That we are pretty sure in case of fire, the authorities wont be able to significantly influence, and would be efficient only to panic and just complicate things further). The yellow paint marking a pathway right up to the exit is kinda analogous to the ones that light up the path to the doors in aircrafts (Dramatically pontificated by the air hostesses).

The experiments here are just an amalgamation of abrupt procedures, incorrect readings, subtle manipulations, and a lot of splattering water, which is not at all as merry as words make it sound. The water is beyond any scope of purification to make it suitable even for touching it. It is contaminated by an obsessive recycling of the same volume, in egregious numbers...

Our lab teacher is an over enthusuastic academic, whose temper drops from jolly to jeopardizeda handful of incomplete lab manuals later.

We, i.e. Kronos, Shashank Sriram (A.K.A Machi), and Me, were to tackle the Venturi meter and then the hallowed Orifice meter for the day's work. The venturimeter, after a few minor glitches, notwithstanding was finished with. Then we were to switch the same apparatus to an Orifice meter configuration. And then in moments of Machi's callousness and Kronos's perspicacity, the apparatus "breathed" its last for the day. Literally. The mercury column got infiltrated by air, bubbling OUT the mercury into the pipes, leading to the collection tank. On the base of the tank, below its rising water level, shone the glistening drops of quicksilver which weren't meant to tread so nether regions as these.

Our inefficacy in carrying out the second experiment was a vulgar attention seeker and the lab assistant was at our side in a matter of moments. In a determination to prove his familiarity with the apparatuses and their errors, he made minor changes to the set up (Which reverted it to the same mercury spitting monster KronoS had earlier created), and asked us to start the motor. With looks of "been-there-done-that", I pressed the green button, which completely sucked out the mercury from the right column and into the connecting water pipes, to the shock and dismay of the self contained hero of the day.

That declared the apparatus dead, until further notice, and called for immediate repair.

Humbly, and with looks of fake innocence and oblivion towards the Orifice meter's demise, we proceeded with the ritualistic acceptance of the teacher's disappointment with our not having completed graphs and calculations, perpetually.

Next lab, we take down another set up.

And im not suggesting sabotage.

PS : The dimensions of the Venturi meter tank is 600X600X600 mm^3 and not light years ^3, Since the "Vitals" printed on the side of the tank did not have dimensions given, we resorted to making our "appropriate contribution".

Exit : KronoS, Machi, Reaper.

R.I.P : Orifice Meter

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The Parable of Profanity

Ever has it been, when presented with the audacity to claim what is not in his righteousness, has man claimed through the thick and thin of conscience, trespassing on the grey areas of morality, adorned by false interpretations of ideals, guarded by unrelated realms often of religion or patriotism. With borders separating the preys from predators, it is just a matter of perception which becomes a function of geography, which draws a mental line between the two. Retaliation in wake of having suffered wounds, physical or emotional, is a vile catalyst interchanging the roles of the hunter and the hunted.

Terrorism, a word oft spoken of, practiced as a religion by the monks of misanthropy, is an unpredictable, uncurable epidemic, claiming sporadic lives of those they consider atheists. Terror attacks have blemished the chronicles of our lives, in a red as crimson as the blood they set free, off the victims laying incapacitated, seeking a divine redressal, or ceasure of torment. With media selling grief, for nothing else facades its abundance, is a prophet of figures, numeralising the casualties, survivers, monetory loss, paving a path of numbers for an essentially emotional and corporal footpath strewn with eradicated dreams and severed limbs. The loss of a family member is inconsolable by any means, and any attempt to compensate for it, is an insult to the

souls lost in a profane battle of the unmatched. Tears dry falling prey to the whims of nature, wounds end up in scars, unhurting yet making the fabric of flesh and consciousness grotesque. The survivors' memories now house a trauma beyond the scope of recollection, their near death experience and the helplessness at being denied the confirmation of security, although their own motives are least offensive for others, is a matter of shame, and enforced subordination.

The bomb blast in the German Bakery, Pune, was a vulgar blasphemy in the name of humanity. So is every other similar incident. Having been to the place myself, I could relate to the green painted woodwork of the small shack like joint, now laying in smithereens. The shrapnel from the explosion did not pierce my body, but left unhealing gashes in my conscience. The stories of the victims who breathed their last betwixt the shambles of debris, memories, unfulfilled dreams, in the last moments of their lives fleeting past, touch our hearts when we read them, draw vows of sympathy, but change neither their calamity, nor ones that will follow. Having lost brothers and sisters in this morbid moment of triumph for those who perpetrated it, I stand helpless for the loss is beyond recovery, reproval or redressal. Wearing "black" to mourn those who could've "lighted" our future, considering the offices they held (or would have, inevitably), is an inappropriate condolence.

Those who survived the carnage, I respect them for their strength and stability of mind, when I myself am so effected at this large a distance, I can hardly imagine their mental condition.

I bow to those who had to leave us, when our world could've been much better a place with them, I pay my obeisance, with all due respect and humility.

God bless their souls.

In memory of

Ankik and Anindyee Dhar

P Sundari

Vinita Gadani

Shilpa Goenka

Shankar Pansare

Gokul Nepali

Saeed Abdul Ghani

Nadia Materinia

"Mortals by form, immortalised by faith."

Rest in Peace...

*Amen*

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The Newtonian Fraudulence

The following article was an entry in the creative writing competition of Riviera '10, that's our cultural festival. Feel free to comment....

When it comes to the art of fraudulent declarations, scams, gimmicks, bamboozles, cheap tricks and flim flams, none can dare accost the legacy of "Sir" Isaac Newton. Of his noteworthy contributions to humanity, the potence to profane knowledge and articulating scientific perversion stand tall among his diaphanous accolades.

The journey on the road less travelled by, for its being abundant in falsehoods began when Newton decided to pockmark scientific journals and manuscripts with his name in bold characters.

If memory serves legend has it that a humble apple named "Alice" deftly damaged the esoterics cranium, ever since he vowed to make it big in terms of science, mathematics, alchemy and every scope he could lay his fingers on. A career in treachery was inevitable, thereafter.

He started off with claims to having discovered "Gravity", a "mysterious" force that had initiated his "Apotheosis". And unlike the Copernican Heliocentric theory, this was as close to reality as he was to sanity. To for a terra firma for his otherwise groundless claims, he spent many days and nights worth of time, locked in his scientific asylum, coming up with the biggest mathematical fraud of all times.. He made this new science SO confusing, the firmest minds on the face of the planet could not grapple its nuances. His close associate, Leibnitz, with whom he staged a "dispute", "leaked" the first manuscripts of his art called "fluxions" by the name of "Calculus".

This was so well enacted a scheme, the Royal Society accepted the new "maths" which Newton published under the name "Philosophia Naturalis Principia Mathematica", in Latin, so a keen reader too would be inefficacious in discriminating fact from fiction.

The society for such mentally depraved individuals accepted the undisputed lampooner with arms wide open. And Calculus made him the most sought after man second to God himself. And within a few years, he complicated calculus beyond the point of no return, and now it stands as an object of fear and worship.

With fame and time in hand, he now spent his time in pursuing his alchemical aphorisms and this avocation turned to obsession in a matter of moments. Almost sure of turning wood into gold using a Gazelle's excretus, he was about to make a groundbaking discovery, yet again. But as is the law of fate, an esoteric is what esoteric does, his interests shifted their whims as oft as the winds change their direction. Playing around with anything scientific from lenses to levers, Newton spared none a moment of solitude and defying all logic, used them to even more whimsical ends.

Another obsessive compulsion he basked in was his desire to prove his complacency, and every theory he whipped up in extra perceptory testimonies, he named it after himself. He was a man whose egotism knew no bounds. Although antithetical to their raison detre, the "Royal Society" of mental marvels left no stones unturned to make sure their Idol's claims not go in vain.

Galloping towards blind idolatory by an insanity stricken populace, he soon earned the title of "Sir", having obtained knighthood. Memorials were built, statues erected, quotations carved and ideas propagated. The world witnessed a man in his primordial facade of brilliance. The words "Newton's Law" suffixed the greatest laws of thermodynamics, motion, optics, chemistry and mathematics. Although false, his claims had the potence to move the masses. What good is a lie that cannot be accepted?

The man of multifaceted interests, members of many hidden societies and leading the known ones, "Sir" Isaac Newton fulfilled his wish, and more. and standing in a rare Gladiatorial obstreperousness, he boldly spelt his conjectures and hypotheses for the world to follow blindly and pile encomiums on. We respect what we do not understand, and that itself made the people worship Newton and Newtonian principles.

His proclamation in a stubborn certitude of the falsehoods he concocted ensured an inherent acceptance of the illogical in part of his followers.

Attaining Godly stature, Newton still stands a manifest of magnificience, and holds the charter for the greatest succesful fraud of time immemorial. The new scientific age proclaims, "Your theory is crazy... But is it crazy enough?"

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PS: I apologise for all the blasphemous ad hominems these fictitious claims aim at Newton. At heart, I still worship the scientific genius of the man. And always will. "Heil Newton!">

La Connexion Française

Française Raj, is what we call our Probability and Statistics teacher. Why, we do so, is what this post is all about.

The E1 slot for mathematics, has been conveniently converted into a leisure hour where we pursue our interests ranging from completing "Knight tours" or "pending assignments", catching on "lost topics in other subjects" or "hours of sleep" in turn spent catching up with hostel life. So ironically, what are the odds of us battling the nuances of Probability and Stats? Negligible.

Coming to the name, Franci(a)s, as we like to call him is because he speaks like a Frenchman. Atleast, as far as the tempo is concerned. Bordering 25 syllables a second, followed by a second of welcome silence, and then repeating the same, in a cyclic redundance of 50 mins. The gentleman, true to his duty, starts the class without preamble, already uncapping the marker while he is only entering the class, and as soon as he reaches the dias, his motor nerves

launch a furious flurry of verbal and written melee attacks on the already academically sedated minds of the students, who look on with dazed expressions and suspended pens (not to mention senses) and try to keep up with him, flexing to its limit their neuro muscular co-odination.

KronoS and I, sitting at the second last bench (The safest location in the classroom, far enough from the teacher, but not so far as the "last" bench which is perpetually held responsible for any disruption of "order", although is just a prejudice...), cycle through activites like sketching, discussing world/ethereal issues, debating climatic change, coming up with theories, occasionally sleeping, plotting graphs of syllables V/s seconds for the professor or simply letting 50 mins pass to yore.

The times we tried to keep up with the Kalashnikov of syllables, we have, as a team, lost the handicapped battle. So we came up with ingenius ideas to make the class "spicy" (as KronoS likes to call it). We have tried writing with our left hand (didn't go too far, was fun although), mirror writing, random alphabet elimination, and are currently writing in landscape style in the long register, rather than the usual portrait layout. But these attempts fail owing to their inherent inefficacies. The search for the ultimate time consumer is still on.

Tomorrow I drown one moron for every syllable he utters. VIT has sufficient morons to last his 50 mins of furious wordplay. Maybe more.

Iswearifhespokeanyfasterhewouldbehumming.

Au revoir!

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The Tandoori Picturization

The mess is bad on Tuesdays, everyone knows that. Now that forces us simple and food loving people to eat outside. This Tuesday happened to be no different, but for the overlapping of the cultural fest of VIT, Riviera 2010. The fest in itself was awesome, a nice change over the dull and monotonous college life.
Coming back to the dinner, the location for dinner today was decided to be Dhaba Express, the order was standard. The usual. Tandoori with coke, with some side dish and naans thrown in. Which happened to be Rogan Josh today, due to some incident in the day which required a minor treat on Reaper's part. The incident in itself is will be kept under wraps here, as the reaper feels the leaking of the same will cause a lot of 'lucky @$$' comments being thrown over the net. The Dinner. Well, it was all usual, until something very unexpected occurred. When we had walked in, I had noticed a girl, XD, sitting amongst the diners, while we were eating, I noticed the same girl walking up to our table in a way so that it took the longest possible time to get here. Her expression was that of a teenager just being given a dare to 'peck' a guy from her class, needless to say, she was blushing. So, very cautiously, she walks up to our table and greets the Reaper with a heartfelt 'hello'. The rest of the conversation will be presented in an unabridged dialogue-format to allow you to be impervious to my comments that would have crept in if I had to write the same in a reportage format.

Lady in White Tee with Huge Red Lips printed on the front: Hello!

The Grin Reaper: Hi!

LIWTWHRLPOTF: I am sorry to disturb you, but a few days back I saw you perform in the .....

TGR: Acoustic Vibes!

LIWTWHRLPOTF: yeah! What was the name of your band again?

TGR: Afterdark..... * smiles *

LIWTWHRLPOTF: Yeah! I loved your performance . You guys were superb! If you dont mind, could I please have a picture with you?? [ Somebody (=me) hoots in the distance]

TGR: Yeah Sure.... But....Now?

LIWTWHRLPOTF: Of Course not...

TGR: Please wait for a min, I am almost done here. [ He was not, we had just started ]

LIWTWHRLPOTF: Thanks!!

And she left, what followed next was 5 mins of extreme suppression of imba laughter, Reaper was elated beyond words and the colour of his face was starting to reach alarmingly low wavelengths. She was his first fan, This was probably the happiest he had felt in months, who would not be?
Anyways, as soon as he was finished, the next problem showed up. How to attract the attention of the girl to the fact that he was ready without looking too 'pushy'? Well, he had no idea, I am not sure why. He kept giving her awkward slanted glances for 2 mins and then he finally realized, after I muttered instructions to him in between my rounds of silent laughter, that he had to look at her with his face and eyes pointing in the same direction. And needless to say, it worked. Mr. Reaper proceeded to her with dignity and joined her for a little chat on Riviera, Food and her college...

Nearly 10 mins later we were on our way back to the hostel and our newly found celebrity was beyond himself with elation. The lady, as it turns out was from another college and had come here for some events in Riviera, and as per the records, she was doing bio-tech from somewhere nearby. When I asked the reaper of her name, his hands suddenly reached for his head and he had a look on his face which is often seen after one realizes that the 10 mark question he skipped in the exam was as easy as a walk in the park.... After six long seconds, punctuated with hysterical laughter by yours truly, he finally remembered her name, although I am not too sure of it, but I took his word for it....

And That is how The Grin Reaper met his first ever fan.

Jftr, Thursday mess is bad too.

Ciao!>