Bored.

Cant really pass my time nowadays. Its difficult. Waking up late doesnt help. With no one around, its hard for my mind to stay at ease. I'm not even watching movies, which is what I should be doing. I cleaned my room. Now its looking a lot cleaner. The cobwebs are still up there though. Their time will come. Soon enough. But the cleaning thing kept me occupied for just an hour. And after that, I was back to living a purposeless life. Which is why I decided to start a new sitcom. So I started Frasier. But soon I realized that I only had the first five episodes of season one and the last three of season four. So long Frasier. Supernatural it was then.

Supernatural is about two brothers. Something kills their mom when they are very young. The dad swears vengeance and gives his sons combat training, teaches them how to melt silver and make bullets (vampires, get it?), so that the three of them can find the thing that killed the lady. And one day suddenly the dad goes missing. So the two brothers set out to find their dad, solving “ghost” mysteries on their way. But the best thing about the series is the elder brother Dean. Reasons:

1.He owns a muscle. A '67 Chevy Impala. The sight's a killer. Shiny black. And the thump-thump of the engine is no less charming and mesmerizing than Karen Carpenter of the Carpenters.

2.He likes metal. He has a cassette player in his car. And a big box of cassettes of artists like Black Sabbath, Metallica, Motorhead.

3.He likes girls. So he's definitely not gay. He ogles at chics, especially when they are hot.

4.He has used aliases like Dr. James Hettfield and John Bonham while interrogating people.

The need for a car/bike accentuated itself after this. And couple to that, a really long walk to the market and back to the hostel. I'm fed up of having to watch people buzz past me in shining black Avengers. Sometimes, if I'm unlucky, I get to see a Bullet too. I'm fed up of all the bargaining I've to do with the rickshaw walas. They tell me it'll cost me 40 bucks to get to the main market and I reply with an air of knowingness that I always pay 30 and that I know. With smugness written all over me, I climb into the rickshaw. Anyway, a bike's like a distant dream. I've left hopes. Cant even own 10 bhps and I keep reading magazines featuring bikes having 100. Bummer.

Did a fifth-time of The Matrix yesterday. Cannot get bored of it. Ever.

Its boring here. Wont ramble much. I'm not making sense. I wasnt even sure what I was writing on. I could have seen an episode in the time i spent writing this. Damn. Supernatural's calling me it seems. Gotta go.

Opeth.

Opeth's coming to India. Its a yay-thing. I check the net and I come to know of it on facebook. It seems that the IIT-M people somehow managed to convince them to step in India. Awesome. Kudos to all. I'm all happy-happy and jumping from one spot to another with joy. So I'm asked. And I explain. Its then that my joy bubble bursts. I'm told then that we'll be having our exams from the 27th, two days after the concert. Argh!

It happens everytime. We were studying for our exams when a million other people were headbanging to Mustaine's riffs. And so was the case when Iron Maiden had come here. Still. We can still think of a way but that would imply jeopardizing our internal marks. And we're a bunch who dont perform well even without any potential interruptions. So the thought of working hard in the few hours that we'll have after returning has improbable written all over it.

Murphy ruined my life.

It was a quote I read somewhere. It read :

“The greatest spiritual leader a nation ever saw was a music concert.”

So true. I've never been to a big concert before but have attended one or two small launchpad-type events. But what I've felt there is incomparable. Hundreds of like-minded people around. With half of them having a goatee and half of the other half being chics and the rest being idiots without a goatee and long hair. A few on stage. And almost all of the people below swaying in synchro or headbanging if the number being played is metal. With the exception of a few who dont get the whole point but still decide to bring their girlfriends to a rock concert and stand at the back, at the food stalls, happily gorging away on popcorn. The atmosphere is simply electric. And I can only imagine the kind of ambiance at a big concert.

But my life's a misery. Some concert comes my way and the exams suddenly turn possessive and they're all you-are-mine-and-no-one-else's. I've heard Maiden too is coming here sometime in mid-feb. But I have little hopes. There are chances Thorat (our acad-dean) might come to know about it and keep something as stupid as a pre-registration on the day of the concert. Murphy still haunts.

“If anything can go wrong, it will.”
-Murphy.

Rise and Fall of The Goatee.

Home’s always a place of horrible realizations and contradictions (of a huge order) with the place you usually hang out at or stay in. Not once have my adventures and experiments with hair (it aint as gross as it sounds) been looked at with anything more than a long glance full of disgust. At home, of course.

I’m here in my hostel. I’ve a long goatee and high hopes of growing it longer. Till a point when I have to get it braided. Noble intentions. I prefer not to comb my hair. That’s the way I like it. And no one tells me anything. I wake up in the morning, brush my teeth and rush off to the college without actually thinking how I look. Once in two or three weeks do I get to hear a small compliment about my goatee from the ilk of guys who don’t even don a goatee. But I know it looks good. And even if it doesn’t, I like it. It’s all about personal satisfaction I keep telling people. Being a metalhead, i feel like growing my hair long. Till-shoulders long. So I start growing my hair. I never comb. But then, I’ve never done so after my ninth grade. Its college, I tell myself.

But.

The day then arrives when I have to board the train which will transport me to Gujarat. It gradually builds up, the thought. Of having to hear all the chidings. But I keep my cool. The moment of my welcome is accompanied by exclamations of disgust. Getting to hear nothing but criticism every minute, my determination drops from a very high “I’m so gonna grow this” to a mere “should I cut it off?”. Even the mirrors seem to pass acrid remarks at my goatee. On the contrary, I hear praises from the mirrors in my hostel. Honest. But the mirrors at my place suck. Depressed by all the criticism, I succumb to the evil force. Like those stupid white robots that appear out of nowhere when Darth Vader summons them, the scissors and the razor appear out of nowhere and stare at me with an evil smile. Where’s the force that was supposed to be with me? Yoda doesn’t come to the rescue. Clack-clack, and bam! My goatee’s gone. Sob-sob follows. Now all of a sudden I realize I look stupid with long hair without a goatee on my face. And the barber shop suddenly looks visually appealing. Clack-clack and I’m close to looking like an army school drop-out.

That’s about it. After all the misadventures, when I return to the college, the hostel mirrors look at me in disgust because they are fond of goatees and I don’t have one anymore. They join the club which the mirrors at my home are members of too. Sad. This continues for a week or so till I get inspired to grow a goatee again and the cycle continues.

May the force be with me. From now on.