Random Dreams

"Blah another stupid dream" I thought glumly, cutting through the stratosphere on a firebolt at five hundred miles an hour. The initial feeling of exhilaration had worn off. So had the sensation of tipping over sideways but then i had always suspected that my right buttock was heavier than my left. And to all those kids who wanna zoom across the country on a broomstick, i must tell you, it's mighty uncomfortable.
Anyway, there i was thousands of feet above the ground, when a tongue of flame almost burnt that said body-part. I looked back to see my mum breathing fire and hurtling after me with a glass of milk clamped in her dragon-claws. "Typical", I sighed and flew faster, when there was a flash of colours and suddenly i was suspended near the ceiling of what seemed like a classroom. And without a broomstick. Which goes to say that i fell through the air at alarming speed landing on one of the chairs, making the teacher nearly jump out of his skin. "Blast" muttered AVK nervously, looking at the chalky blot and resumed scrawling on the board one hundred times -'i will not forget to slap myself before i go to bed for being an insufferable git'.. whoosh-phewwwp-whop.. that whirl of colours again and i was back on the firebolt, well not exactly on it, cuz this time i was perched on a boy's shoulder ruffling my snow-white owl feathers and thinking grumpily "this is going too damn far. Now I've actually hurtled down a few species" when suddenly a goose flew past, presumably flying south for the winter. Another one, close behind, flew alarmingly close to me and whispered urgently in my ears(?) "Wake up you ass. That mug full of water's not gonna feel pretty" and i woke up with a jerk just in time to see my mother poised with a bottle, about to tip a few drops on to my face.
She looked fairly irritated and a tad relieved. I was dragging my feet to the washroom when she called out to me "Your father's taken the firebolt dear and do try to talk your sister out of humping the goat..we really need the milk". I whipped around. "Firebolt??!!"....pardon me i've always been a bit slow..."bleeurrghh..since when do i have a sister?????!!!!!!" - and was about to sink on to the floor in a dead faint when my pet phoenix flew to my shoulder and calmly said "Wake up you perfect ass. That mug full of water's not gonna feel pretty".....

aaarrrrghhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!

I sprung up letting out a terrified shriek, almost upsetting my mother who was about to empty half a bottle on my head in an effort to wake me up from a dead sleep. She was beside me in a second, alarmed and concerned, assuring me that it had all been a bad dream.

It took a while to calm me down. When i was suitably reassured my mum got up to get me a glass of milk. At the door I called out to her "Mum er..I don't er..have a sister right..?" She turned around and gave me a beatific smile...

Mostly Random

That day i googled the definition of a blog.

A blog (a contraction of the term web log) is a website, usually maintained by an individual, with regular entries of commentary, descriptions of events, or other material such as graphics or video. So says old wiki.

The word that struck me was 'maintained'. For God knows i cant 'maintain' anything (the word foremost in my mind was 'shit' but that would've been blasphemy).

My room for one. My dear corridoor, back in my dear hostel, at dear old BITS, reeks of smelly socks. Laughter would be inappropriate at this point. I'm possibly quoting my friends, who do not find the fact, that they have to rush to -and more often from- my room gasping for oxygen, even remotely funny.
I find this affronting. 'Gasping for oxygen'? So the oxygen within a few feet of my room smells of unwashed socks/dead rats/eggs gone bad. It's still oxygen. Need they be quite so unkind about it? Some people are allergic to washing. Angry-red-rash-allergic. Something they would do well to understand.

I do tend to go off the radar at times. Where was I? ah yes 'maintaining'. Once you enter my room, after you become immune to the smelly socks, you'll stop to admire my bed. Not that my bed is pretty. Just that it is incredibly neat compared to the rest of my room. My table practically lets out creaky protests every once in a while, on account of an incredible amount of things - from books, kettle(s) and table lamp(s) to month-old newspapers, fiction, paper bags with rotting contents, a couple'a spiders and a dying laptop - piled on it.
Then there's my chair that usually has last month's (and the month before that) laundry piled on its back. I usually have to sit on it to balance the said stuff.
And i'm not even getting started on my cupboard. The fact that a friend had to help me force the door shut, is hint enough.

Certain well-meaning people raised the question of hygiene. I had to google that too. *straight face*

RANDOM

Alarm clocks! What’s the point? No really. Cuz if there is one, a point that is, what’s the point of being able to switch it off anytime it gets too frikkin irritating. And then stupid people blame YOU for not being able to trip your way to class…which you try your best to do and suddenly CRAP! You’ve just been dreaming…

I need sleep. Seriously. It’s like the ONLY state where cgpa and stuff cease to matter. That DOESN’T happen. Ever. Here it’s like everything you do in one semester – laugh, crib, study, have fun, dance/ engage self in twiddling thumbs/ bitch about how you are simply talentless and blame it all on religion or politics... ; anyway all that’s penned down and ultimately succumb to stupid calculations on stupid computers (which is incidentally, a stupid machine which you can just shut down when you’re tired of it)… erm... I think I lost track … yeah so your life in one WHOLE semester, becomes a three-digit decimal. It’s so-o unfair.

What I did today? Oh nothing of much importance. Oh yeah I cribbed. Something about Cumulative Grade Point Average, all over a piece of paper, that people will probably be spitting chewing gum into in the near future. Poor, unsuspecting idiots.

You know what I really want to be? A dog. A BITSian dog (yes that’s a species). Just wag my stupid tail and people will feed crumbs off the table to the poor, dirty, dumb animal that hasn’t got a life. Dude! At least mine isn’t a three-digit decimal. And ‘dirty’ – I don’t take baths anyway.

And if life at Bits gets too boring, ooooh looky here, we have culturals!!! (yayyyy…NOT!). We have one for every occasion. Or no occasion.

Anyway it’s all just a battle between these nutty professors who try and teach us stuff (they don’t give a shit really) and us, these fearless souls who were oh-so-sinfully tricked into the engineering stream with false promises of minimal hard work. We refuse to be tamed though.
The hour long lectures (biology being a particular favourite) were spent in scribbling all over the last pages of my bio notebook, mostly about how the bio teacher in question was an evolutionary aberration (with little footnotes at the bottom and references to the bitsian evolutionary scale) or what would happen if all the hundred or so students in the lecture hall were to fart simultaneously. Etcetera.

There are students who actually listen though. Glasses in place, oil-slicked hair, they listen in rapt attention to that shitload of haloobashentonian (that's what it sounds like anyway) and take NOTES!! *expletive*

And so we lurched on. Without a purpose or meaning in life, when an angel from the heavens (sithlord this is you), put forth an idea that was going to change our lives. *pregnant pause*

The idea of putting up, that trash we had rambled all over the last pages of my bio notebook, on a blog.

However just then, we noticed a very interesting dog, spotted in all the right/wrong places and the idea that was going to change our lives vanished in a wisp of forgetfulness. Finite incantatem. The end.