There should always be a closed-loop system. What I write is going to affect the kind of comments I get, which is in turn, going to affect what I write. It bodes well for future conversations.

So here’s to blogging, and to commenting.

Sincerely,
A crazy die-hard fan.

There are times you feel invincible. But do you remember how many times on the way to that state, you felt that the sky was crumbling down on you? Do you remember every step that (at the time) seemed like a mountain, or do you recall just being on top of the mountain? Now, do you look higher, do you look at the horizon, or do you start scaling the mountain all over again?

Do you let the ivy grow? Are you up for it all over again? Is there anything to prove anymore?

Wait, what happened to the paraphernalia that I started the post with? For starters, I think that’s the wrong word to use, and it’s the wrong way to categorize it.

About balance: For years, I’ve tried to maintain it. For once, I lost it. And not the way people usually do.

1. I don’t like drinking water like dogs. Water fountains: boo.

2. I suddenly like free food. “It’s the key to a successful grad school life.” (The second sentence is shamelessly stolen from a friend). Any week with < 3 free meals is a failure.

3. Pencil > pen. Thank you for finally letting me use a pencil for assignments :).

4. You guys are polite. Way too polite, yet you stop somewhere before the point of being plain old fake. It’s catchy.

5. Thank you random people for holding the door open for me. And you’re welcome for when I returned the favor. I don’t know you guys, but it’s really nice of you! Back home, we simply don’t care :D

6. It took me time to know whether I really belonged to this university. I’m still not sure, but I’m much closer to knowing than I was.

Well, anyway, first impressions of the new place. I’m staying in a dorm for a week till I find an apartment, and it’s not bad! I’ve never had to use a central common bathroom anywhere I’ve been, but it’s different, and it’s nice. It isn’t the most comfortable place I’ve lived in. Let’s face it, there are no pillows or blankets, and I have to make do with what I got for now. But it’s cool: in a different way : ).

I’ve been behaving like a complete tourist. I don’t know anyone in this city. And I had to be oversmart and arrive earlier than the rest of the guys joining the university. I’ve been walking around with multiple maps, peering around at restaurants, figuring out what is what, who serves what, what is good, and what I can afford! I think I walked about 15 miles this morning, walking straight into any apartment I saw was available, talking to realtors, and moving on. Yes, this is the adventure I always wanted, and I’m so thankful I didn’t book an apartment before I got here, cuz it’s oh-so-much easier to decide where you want to live by actually being in the place.

And the university campus? It is amazing! It’s not big. In fact, it’s not big at all. But it has such an amazing mix of old classic architecture of the University Center and Hamerschlag Hall combined with the ultra-modern design of the Gates and Hillman Centers that it feels like I’m finally at a university: a real university. Pittsburgh, you beauty. I’d love to call you home.

Moving on…

There’s this place I’ve always wanted to be at. It’s the place where most cool things happen. It’s the place where something impressive happens almost as if everyday. It’s a place where rebelliousness is not just encouraged, it’s demanded.

It’s awe-inspiring. I’ve had it on my mind for I can’t remember how long. I will continue to have it on my mind for I don’t know how long. Twice I wanted to go to that place, but they sent me the nicest go-to-hell responses I’ve ever gotten: “We’re unable to have you here because of the unusually high blah blah blah.”

The little child is me, and that toy (i.e. that place) is Stanford. Respect.

A couple of weeks ago I met with my admissions counsellor of sorts, and he told me mincing no words, “I’m extremely sad you didn’t get into Stanford.” I responded, “Yeah, but do you think their admissions committee gives a rat’s ass about me?” :D

If I ever apply to grad schools again, I already know the first name on that list.

(This is something I should’ve written about long time ago, but forgot. piscianemperor’s latest post reminded me to finally do it.)

Maybe the name Mumbai has grown on me, maybe talking about Sachin’s team has got me used to it, I’m not sure. There’s that spark in me when I go to Mumbai. I love the feeling the morning when I board the prestigious Deccan Queen. I love the feeling when I look across Marine Drive to the Mumbai skyline. I can just sit and watch. Something about the place is very, very special. People from all over the country simply make the chaos work. About 125 people packed in a local train carriage suited for 20 people squeeze together and make it work. You hop off a train at Churchgate station in the wee hours of the morning and you’re engulfed in a mass of people, not unlike the mass of rats in Ratatouille. When in other big cities you could end up feeling lost, there’s a sense in the mass that you’re not alone.

Make no mistake, I would never want to live in Mumbai. It’s too crowded, too big, and too corporate for my liking. But there’s something about the place that compels me to call it my own. It’s not home, but it sure feels like home : )

Who designs college classrooms? Desks, to be specific? Has anyone ever bothered to think of the heinous discomfort that tall people go through while sitting on one of those ingenious creations? One leg bent crooked one way, the other doing a somersault three feet away, giving the next person inadvertent kicks in the shin. Sometimes the next person gets scandalized, suspecting an apparent attempt at playing footsie. Of course, the simpler alternative is to mercilessly break the shelves under the desks. But breaking one a week is simply over-doing it a bit, no?

Is there a bigger thrill than whizzing by in the car in torrential rain at twilight, half-drenched and jaunty? I like NH 4, at least around the area when it winds through the greenish-yellow sun-bathed hillocks in the midst of the city. When you can see the entire city: young and old, skyscrapers (or our version of them) and the jhopadpattis, the GM showrooms and the Neerawallas, one contrast after another. Annoyed pedestrians who get sprayed from the brimming ‘streams’ on the roads. Nonchalant bikers who think they’re in a powerboat race. And then, just as fate would have it, ‘November Rain’ plays. Did I really just get out of an exam?

There is still nothing that beats the official onset of the monsoon. When it starts raining, look around. Five of every ten people you see are taking in the smell of the ‘oli maati’. Count. Build a probabilistic model if you like. Everyone just shuts up about their troubles, makes ‘gavati chaha’ and ‘bhaji’ and eats. I’m no psychic, but I swear I thought the monsoons would begin today. Of course, in hindsight, no one would believe me, and I’d have to rue the fact that I didn’t announce my premonition to anyone earlier.