Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Incepted
20 July 2010
01:13 am
The Attic
Nolan's Inception, has made two things clear to me. Number one, that your desires drive you to create your reality, a reality which may exist in your own rambling head. And when I find out what your desire is, I will help you create your reality. Because I want you to act a certain way. Because I want something from you. Because what I want from you will help ME create a reality I wanted for myself.
Number two - that you are, no matter how much you resist, driven and defined by your relationships. Saito is scared to die alone. Fischer craves for his father's approval. Mal wants to reconcile with her lover. Cobb wants to go home. Where is home? Home is where his kids are waiting for him.
A combination of these creates a seductively elusive tool of persuasion. If I create a reality of relationships for you, you will get me what I want. And guess what, I didn't do it. YOU did!
Inception. Directed by Christopher Nolan. Go watch. Especially if you're into people. Or dreams.
01:13 am
The Attic
Nolan's Inception, has made two things clear to me. Number one, that your desires drive you to create your reality, a reality which may exist in your own rambling head. And when I find out what your desire is, I will help you create your reality. Because I want you to act a certain way. Because I want something from you. Because what I want from you will help ME create a reality I wanted for myself.
Number two - that you are, no matter how much you resist, driven and defined by your relationships. Saito is scared to die alone. Fischer craves for his father's approval. Mal wants to reconcile with her lover. Cobb wants to go home. Where is home? Home is where his kids are waiting for him.
A combination of these creates a seductively elusive tool of persuasion. If I create a reality of relationships for you, you will get me what I want. And guess what, I didn't do it. YOU did!
Inception. Directed by Christopher Nolan. Go watch. Especially if you're into people. Or dreams.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Recording...recording...recording...dead
26 June 2010
4:13 pm
The Attic
When things have to go right, they go left.
When things have to go left, they stay to the left.
Anonymous
I conducted my first interview yesterday, from an expert who has a good chance of being heavily quoted in my dissertation. Before I launch into what happened at the interview, a small story behind the 'masterpiece of a thesis' will be helpful. After all, this dissertation determines my worth to obtain the Masters' degree at the end of the course. Which is what I came to Cardiff for, among other things.
Well, for my dissertation, I'm trying to explore (and sound fancy) the role of social networking sites (Facebook mainly, third largest country dude!) in promoting higher education institutes to overseas students. I chose this topic for several reasons. Firstly, it is about social media, THE media platform of the present and the near future. Having it as a part of my dissertation will help me understand the medium better. Secondly, and more importantly, it's personal. When I received an offer from Cardiff University, I was excited. And insanely curious. I was sure I was going to accept the offer, but I still needed to know a few things, that could give me further impetus to be part of the Welsh Dragon Land. I wanted to know my classmates. I wanted to know my seniors. I wanted to know what the residences were like. I wanted to know what Cardiff was like,a little bit about its culture, its people, its language. I wanted to know about the nearest grocery store, the coolest hangout zones, the cheapest cinemas, the restaurants, the closest getaways etc. Heck, I even wanted to know if the water was hard or soft! By virtue of the distance, coming to check the university before the date of joining was next to impossible. That's where Facebook played its charm. The university group for international students on Facebook almost made the uni one Big Friendly Giant. He was sweet, he was responsive, he offered information proactively, he was informal and he was friendly. And I thought, heck this is one hell of good PR!
Thus, here I am. Trying to understand how these friendly virtual spaces, much like the Garden of Eden, convince Adam to eat the Apple, in a positive way. And there I was, inside the administration office of my department, plugging in the telephone recording kit. I was to interview a high flying American lady, who has had over 30 years of experience in promoting American universities and education councils to a diverse audience, internal as well as overseas. It was my first interview, and I was, undoubtedly, slightly nervous. I called, the lady answered. A breathless, chirpy drawl said 'Hiii Suphreeyaa.' It was a smooth sail from there. She was chatty. She had just returned from a trip to India. She showed great passion for her work. She had a lot to talk about. We were talking (I was 'aahing' and she was using real words), and just when she was at the best bit of the interview, giving me quotes I could use verbatim, the great Fall happened. The Fantastic to the Fiasco. I realised my recorder had run out of battery. It stopped working. If looks could kill, the dead piece of metal would have been mashed into pieces. I had to ask her to stop, change the batteries, and repeat her statements. She was kind enough to repeat, and agreed to send her answer in email as well. But the moment was gone. She couldn't repeat the flow she had created before.
Nevertheless, it was a decently rickety start. Hopefully, things will stick to the right in future.
4:13 pm
The Attic
When things have to go right, they go left.
When things have to go left, they stay to the left.
Anonymous
I conducted my first interview yesterday, from an expert who has a good chance of being heavily quoted in my dissertation. Before I launch into what happened at the interview, a small story behind the 'masterpiece of a thesis' will be helpful. After all, this dissertation determines my worth to obtain the Masters' degree at the end of the course. Which is what I came to Cardiff for, among other things.
Well, for my dissertation, I'm trying to explore (and sound fancy) the role of social networking sites (Facebook mainly, third largest country dude!) in promoting higher education institutes to overseas students. I chose this topic for several reasons. Firstly, it is about social media, THE media platform of the present and the near future. Having it as a part of my dissertation will help me understand the medium better. Secondly, and more importantly, it's personal. When I received an offer from Cardiff University, I was excited. And insanely curious. I was sure I was going to accept the offer, but I still needed to know a few things, that could give me further impetus to be part of the Welsh Dragon Land. I wanted to know my classmates. I wanted to know my seniors. I wanted to know what the residences were like. I wanted to know what Cardiff was like,a little bit about its culture, its people, its language. I wanted to know about the nearest grocery store, the coolest hangout zones, the cheapest cinemas, the restaurants, the closest getaways etc. Heck, I even wanted to know if the water was hard or soft! By virtue of the distance, coming to check the university before the date of joining was next to impossible. That's where Facebook played its charm. The university group for international students on Facebook almost made the uni one Big Friendly Giant. He was sweet, he was responsive, he offered information proactively, he was informal and he was friendly. And I thought, heck this is one hell of good PR!
Thus, here I am. Trying to understand how these friendly virtual spaces, much like the Garden of Eden, convince Adam to eat the Apple, in a positive way. And there I was, inside the administration office of my department, plugging in the telephone recording kit. I was to interview a high flying American lady, who has had over 30 years of experience in promoting American universities and education councils to a diverse audience, internal as well as overseas. It was my first interview, and I was, undoubtedly, slightly nervous. I called, the lady answered. A breathless, chirpy drawl said 'Hiii Suphreeyaa.' It was a smooth sail from there. She was chatty. She had just returned from a trip to India. She showed great passion for her work. She had a lot to talk about. We were talking (I was 'aahing' and she was using real words), and just when she was at the best bit of the interview, giving me quotes I could use verbatim, the great Fall happened. The Fantastic to the Fiasco. I realised my recorder had run out of battery. It stopped working. If looks could kill, the dead piece of metal would have been mashed into pieces. I had to ask her to stop, change the batteries, and repeat her statements. She was kind enough to repeat, and agreed to send her answer in email as well. But the moment was gone. She couldn't repeat the flow she had created before.
Nevertheless, it was a decently rickety start. Hopefully, things will stick to the right in future.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Inspiration
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before
To mingle with the universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Lord Byron
(Childe Harold)
Noticed in Sean Penn's masterpiece, Into The Wild. Beautiful film.
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before
To mingle with the universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Lord Byron
(Childe Harold)
Noticed in Sean Penn's masterpiece, Into The Wild. Beautiful film.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Coffee Break
16 June 2010
8:46 pm
The attic
I couldn't resist. Life has been far too eventful to stop blogging.
First things first. I went for an exhibition today. Not surprisingly, it was on the ongoing FIFA mania. Surprisingly enough, it was a perspective on how South Africa's position as a World Cup host nation is having a feel-good impact on the rest of the continent. It was a photo-radio exhibition of sorts. A photo journalist had put up pictures of football fans wearing their favourite Premiership t-shirts. These fans were little and big boys and girls, walking about the streets, in their favourite footballer tees, kicking the ball, looking happy. The radio in a corner narrated a documentary, with interviews of the people, recording the general excitement amongst the crowd surrounding the WorldCup.
Steve the radio journalist and Glenn the photo journalist had traveled to over 20 countries in Africa to get their stories. And they discovered that the people constantly talked about how great the WorldCup was for AFRICA, the continent. Not a country in particular, but the whole unit of the land of many wild and beautiful things. I don't think we could ever see that happen for Europe, or Asia for that matter. Continent-pride overrules National pride in the Pridelands. Nice.
Changing the subject dramatically, I now have a brand new lair - The Attic. Well, its a room in a Student House on the top floor, but its massive compared to the matchbox I used to live in and the ceiling is graduated, quite like an attic. Hence the name, the Attic. The best bit about the room, I have ample floor space. I can lie down on the floor, relax watch films and work and write, still lying on the floor. Utter bliss:)
The worst bit, the kitchen is half the size of the matchbox I used to live in. But the housemate in the oppposite room is a sweet girl from Dehradun, the boarding-school capital of India. I like her already. Her niceness and the room's luxurious sense of space cancel out the tiny kitchen and the dingy bathroom.
Again, changing the subject, I received my first ever rejection call from one of the top PR firms in the world. I got shortlisted for the interview round, and could not clear the finish line there. Had I made it, I would have clinched a year-long internship program with a dream firm in a dream destination. Bang on in Central London, a majestic glass building, a massive floor all done up in black and white with spurts of colour jumping at you out of nowhere. The perfect balance of sophistication and funk saying : We are serious about our work, but work is fun, and we take fun very, very seriously:) But I remain upbeat. I will get there, some day, soon enough.
Till then, we keep at it.
Adios, for now.
Steve the radio journalist and Glenn the photo journalist had traveled to over 20 countries in Africa to get their stories. And they discovered that the people constantly talked about how great the WorldCup was for AFRICA, the continent. Not a country in particular, but the whole unit of the land of many wild and beautiful things. I don't think we could ever see that happen for Europe, or Asia for that matter. Continent-pride overrules National pride in the Pridelands. Nice.
Changing the subject dramatically, I now have a brand new lair - The Attic. Well, its a room in a Student House on the top floor, but its massive compared to the matchbox I used to live in and the ceiling is graduated, quite like an attic. Hence the name, the Attic. The best bit about the room, I have ample floor space. I can lie down on the floor, relax watch films and work and write, still lying on the floor. Utter bliss:)
The worst bit, the kitchen is half the size of the matchbox I used to live in. But the housemate in the oppposite room is a sweet girl from Dehradun, the boarding-school capital of India. I like her already. Her niceness and the room's luxurious sense of space cancel out the tiny kitchen and the dingy bathroom.
Again, changing the subject, I received my first ever rejection call from one of the top PR firms in the world. I got shortlisted for the interview round, and could not clear the finish line there. Had I made it, I would have clinched a year-long internship program with a dream firm in a dream destination. Bang on in Central London, a majestic glass building, a massive floor all done up in black and white with spurts of colour jumping at you out of nowhere. The perfect balance of sophistication and funk saying : We are serious about our work, but work is fun, and we take fun very, very seriously:) But I remain upbeat. I will get there, some day, soon enough.
Till then, we keep at it.
Adios, for now.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
BRB
It's dissertation time.
I have a lot of stories to tell. But it's dissertation time.
I will be back though, in due time.
Baiiieeee:)
I have a lot of stories to tell. But it's dissertation time.
I will be back though, in due time.
Baiiieeee:)
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Poetry on the Big Screen
Saw Kites, finally. The much-awaited, overtly hyped Hrithik-Mori Spanglishindi potboiler romance was hailed and trashed in equal measure by a variety of media all over the globe. The 'Western' sensibility gave it a thumbs-up and the 'Desi' sensibility, a thumbs-down.
There is nothing much to say in the story - poor boy-poor girl want to be rich, about to marry rich and scary goons of LA, fall in love with each other instead, elope, chase-action sequences, sacrifices, sad ending.
It is the execution of the film, in my opinion, that deserves accolades. Non-linear in style, its' story keeps moving back and forth. The colours used in the film are vividly descriptive of the mood of the sequence. Blood reds and squeamish greens and downright breathtaking sandy cliffs overlooking the brilliantly blue sea - its a visual delight. The background score. (minus the songs) has an operatic feel to it. The film is silent in many parts. The bad emoting is neatly covered with the emphatic music and cinematography.It moves in a slow motion, the film, and I felt I was watching poetry unfold.
The only other film, with this kind of a larger-than-life, aesthetic, poetic appeal that comes to mind is A Single Man by Tom Ford.
I watched this one all by myself. Maybe that's why I enjoyed it more. Had I gone with a group, I would have ended up making fun of the poor acting and dialogues. Sounds superficial, but that's what's watching a film in a theatre is all about-the experience. A good experience is a mix of the quality of the film and the company (or the lack of it) you go with.
The verdict? I'd suggest you to watch it, for the sheer beauty of all the things I mentioned above.
And yes, watch it if only, you are the patient kind. The film has to grow on you, slowly. Else, stick to LSD.
:)
There is nothing much to say in the story - poor boy-poor girl want to be rich, about to marry rich and scary goons of LA, fall in love with each other instead, elope, chase-action sequences, sacrifices, sad ending.
It is the execution of the film, in my opinion, that deserves accolades. Non-linear in style, its' story keeps moving back and forth. The colours used in the film are vividly descriptive of the mood of the sequence. Blood reds and squeamish greens and downright breathtaking sandy cliffs overlooking the brilliantly blue sea - its a visual delight. The background score. (minus the songs) has an operatic feel to it. The film is silent in many parts. The bad emoting is neatly covered with the emphatic music and cinematography.It moves in a slow motion, the film, and I felt I was watching poetry unfold.
The only other film, with this kind of a larger-than-life, aesthetic, poetic appeal that comes to mind is A Single Man by Tom Ford.
I watched this one all by myself. Maybe that's why I enjoyed it more. Had I gone with a group, I would have ended up making fun of the poor acting and dialogues. Sounds superficial, but that's what's watching a film in a theatre is all about-the experience. A good experience is a mix of the quality of the film and the company (or the lack of it) you go with.
The verdict? I'd suggest you to watch it, for the sheer beauty of all the things I mentioned above.
And yes, watch it if only, you are the patient kind. The film has to grow on you, slowly. Else, stick to LSD.
:)
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Routine
19 May 2010
2204 hours
The Matchbox
I am blogging. It is a vent for me. I need to give words to my thoughts. The thoughts that keep bubbling under, form hazy images, and fade away, at a speed that could give light a run for its money. Exaggeration at its best. Neverthless, point made.
Currently interning at a firm that handles events and PR of festivals, my routine keeps me busy, physically. Get up in the morning, snooze for half hour, get up for good for the day, look at self in the mirror, make a gazillion faces, get ready, make breakfast, pack lunch, eat breakfast, leave house, walk, catch the bus, sit in bus, get off the bus, walk, reach office before the boss, turn up the blinds, switch on work station, select music of the day, check emails, check news, facebook, twitter, scour LGBT Film Festivals around the world, meet the boss, meet the cute guy, attempt to make coffee/ tea for the boss, fail, learn from the boss, laugh, work, lunch, walk, work, coffee again, laugh, work, take leave, walk back home, meet people on the way, chat, laugh, make fun, reach home, make dinner, watch film, think of the cute guy, stare at screen, worry about dissertation, take bath, write diary, sleep.
Cool?
Not.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
The Snooze Syndrome
12 May 2010
7:20 am
The Matchbox
One of the easiest things in life, when you want to run away from your troubles, when you don’t know what to do, and are too lazy to think or act…. is sleeping. Not to mention, it is one of the most cowardly acts as well. I quite dislike it. And I have been indulging in it for a pretty long time now. Here, in Cardiff, with nobody to watch over me except the dreaded deadlines and commitments, I have had the opportunity to showcase my slug-like tendencies more than ever before.
A latest case would be yesterday, when I was on the VERGE of doing something productive, something that I haven’t done in AGES. I had begun writing an entry for a new blog I propose to start, something slightly more professional, in-line with my subject, opinionated and on Wordpress. I had decided to write about the 02 fiasco of yesterday. The mobile phone’s network had crashed in some parts of the UK. It remained non-functional for over four hours. Considering that 02 is one of the most widely used networks in the UK (there website states that 90% of the UK population use it, whatever), this was a huge deal. Twitter, more than Facebook, was flooded with complaints. They have a twitter account, and it took them SIX hours to come up with ONE response. This is BAD PR. The comments were downright funny, for the third-person-spectator - Me. Some people threatened to change their networks, some blamed the Tories for the problem!
A bit of trivia there, the Tories guy, David Cameron was declared the Prime Minister of the UK yesterday. The Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats have agreed ti form a coalition government. Only time will tell how stable that is, since both parties have differing ideologies.
Anyway, coming back to 02, they did not respond to any of the comments on Twitter, or Facebook. They did not have any reassuring statements on their website, or blog for over six hours that I was online. After that I slept. I am a slug, remember?
Coming back to me, yes, I know. This has to stop. The sleep-ridden hours have to be filled up with some respectable actions. Else the sluggishness, the laziness, the cowardice will continue forever. Take charge. Be the doer. Act.
Hmmm…interesting thought. I shall sleep over it. NOT
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The International Student and St. David
March 2, 2010
11:30pm
The Matchbox
"The Black Forest cake comes from a place called Black Forest in south-west Germany, and that's where half of my family is from!" That's Helen, from University of Newport. She teaches at a primary school, and studies Fashion Design, and she loves welsh cakes.
"My dad's Indian, mom's Portugese. I studied in Delhi till about grade 7, then moved to Canada. And I'm here in Wales as an exchange student now. So yeah, I'm from all over." That's Anika, from University of Newport, fond of salmon and photography.
"I used to dance with my brother in Tokyo. But I'm too short to be a professional performer. So I took up stage management. I know nothing about theatre, mind you. I just deal with people, lighting and sound." Akiko Suzuki, from Japan, full of spunk and humour.
"I went to Bath (in England) when I was fourteen, and on going back to Colorado, I decided to work hard on my grades to come back to the UK for college. I'm happy to be here, studying piano" That's Lauren Lewakowski, from USA at the Royal Welsh Academy of Music and Drama.
These aren't characters from a film (would make interesting ones though!). They are real people. I met them. And that's how I know about them.
It was St. Davids'Day Reception today. St. David was the patron saint of Wales, one of the most highly revered saints of his time. 1st March of every year is St. Davids' Day. Wales celebrates everything Welsh on this day. The bright sunshine and children scampering about, the red Welsh dragon costume parades, the delicious Welsh food festival - its all there, bright red dragons all over the city of Cardiff.
The Welsh Assembly decided to make this day even more memorable by inviting international students from all the universities of Wales for a reception at The Senedd (Welsh for the Welsh Assembly) by the eternally pretty Bay. The Senedd itself is a beautiful building like a Glass House and follows all the 'green' principles of construction.
At the beginning, I felt a little awkward. Going all alone for a party with a slight hope of finding familiar faces was not my ideal idea of fun. But then, I simply went. And boy, am I glad I did! And I learnt that chatting up to people isn't hard at all, as long as you strike up the right topic. It was fun. The people from the Welsh Assembly themsleves were present, and were a friendly lot, going up to students and talking to them. Carwyn Jones, First Minister of Wales, gave the opening speech, remarking that he hoped we had by now, the hard way, learnt that Wales was not a part of England. (That's the beauty of the Welsh lot. They are brilliant at self-deprecating humour. And they are ALWAYS happy.
The food was bland. Lamb cawl with laverbread, salmon and cream, welsh sausage and mash, wine, sparkling water and tons of welsh cake. I enjoyed the wine and cake, obviously.
I left by 8, as they were closing down the pretty glass building. I waited for my bus to take me home. None came. Apparently, there was a massive car accident close to the Bay itself resulting in the blocking of all roads. The girl waiting with me, Isabel from Poland suggested we walk up to a different bus stand. I walked. For some strange reason, we walked in the middle of the road, and the woman had the spunk to shout a request at a police car, seeking directions for the next bus stop. She's been in Cardiff for the last seven years with her boyfriend. In the bus, she talked about how fascinating she thought India was, how amazing she thought it was to have a meaning to every name("Isabel is meaningless. Its just a name!"), how she hates the weather at Cardiff, how she plans to travel to India. And towards the end, she told me, "Never ever, get comfortable with a job you don't really want to do. I started as a temp at an agency, and stayed there for four years. Not my idea of a great future." Mine neither.
The day was fantastic. Thank goodness I went! Now I know people who will keep me updated on all the musical concerts and theatre performances around town. And I know places around Wales I have to visit next.
I think I have finally gotten my life back.:)
11:30pm
The Matchbox
"The Black Forest cake comes from a place called Black Forest in south-west Germany, and that's where half of my family is from!" That's Helen, from University of Newport. She teaches at a primary school, and studies Fashion Design, and she loves welsh cakes.
"My dad's Indian, mom's Portugese. I studied in Delhi till about grade 7, then moved to Canada. And I'm here in Wales as an exchange student now. So yeah, I'm from all over." That's Anika, from University of Newport, fond of salmon and photography.
"I used to dance with my brother in Tokyo. But I'm too short to be a professional performer. So I took up stage management. I know nothing about theatre, mind you. I just deal with people, lighting and sound." Akiko Suzuki, from Japan, full of spunk and humour.
"I went to Bath (in England) when I was fourteen, and on going back to Colorado, I decided to work hard on my grades to come back to the UK for college. I'm happy to be here, studying piano" That's Lauren Lewakowski, from USA at the Royal Welsh Academy of Music and Drama.
These aren't characters from a film (would make interesting ones though!). They are real people. I met them. And that's how I know about them.
It was St. Davids'Day Reception today. St. David was the patron saint of Wales, one of the most highly revered saints of his time. 1st March of every year is St. Davids' Day. Wales celebrates everything Welsh on this day. The bright sunshine and children scampering about, the red Welsh dragon costume parades, the delicious Welsh food festival - its all there, bright red dragons all over the city of Cardiff.
The Welsh Assembly decided to make this day even more memorable by inviting international students from all the universities of Wales for a reception at The Senedd (Welsh for the Welsh Assembly) by the eternally pretty Bay. The Senedd itself is a beautiful building like a Glass House and follows all the 'green' principles of construction.
At the beginning, I felt a little awkward. Going all alone for a party with a slight hope of finding familiar faces was not my ideal idea of fun. But then, I simply went. And boy, am I glad I did! And I learnt that chatting up to people isn't hard at all, as long as you strike up the right topic. It was fun. The people from the Welsh Assembly themsleves were present, and were a friendly lot, going up to students and talking to them. Carwyn Jones, First Minister of Wales, gave the opening speech, remarking that he hoped we had by now, the hard way, learnt that Wales was not a part of England. (That's the beauty of the Welsh lot. They are brilliant at self-deprecating humour. And they are ALWAYS happy.
The food was bland. Lamb cawl with laverbread, salmon and cream, welsh sausage and mash, wine, sparkling water and tons of welsh cake. I enjoyed the wine and cake, obviously.
I left by 8, as they were closing down the pretty glass building. I waited for my bus to take me home. None came. Apparently, there was a massive car accident close to the Bay itself resulting in the blocking of all roads. The girl waiting with me, Isabel from Poland suggested we walk up to a different bus stand. I walked. For some strange reason, we walked in the middle of the road, and the woman had the spunk to shout a request at a police car, seeking directions for the next bus stop. She's been in Cardiff for the last seven years with her boyfriend. In the bus, she talked about how fascinating she thought India was, how amazing she thought it was to have a meaning to every name("Isabel is meaningless. Its just a name!"), how she hates the weather at Cardiff, how she plans to travel to India. And towards the end, she told me, "Never ever, get comfortable with a job you don't really want to do. I started as a temp at an agency, and stayed there for four years. Not my idea of a great future." Mine neither.
The day was fantastic. Thank goodness I went! Now I know people who will keep me updated on all the musical concerts and theatre performances around town. And I know places around Wales I have to visit next.
I think I have finally gotten my life back.:)
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Of Fallacies Logical
27th January, 2010
1845 hrs
The Matchbox
We learnt about logical fallacies today. Logic is a statement given based on a premise or an evidence. Fallacy is defined as a false notion. Something which is untrue and incorrect.
There are so many of them. It seems that every argument I have ever made or heard is based on a logical fallacy. Sigh.
I will list down the best ones and try animating them with examples.
Argumentum Ad Baculu (Appeal to force)
Not even a leaf can shudder without God’s assent. (duh)
Affirmation of the Consequent (A implies B, therefore B must be true).
Supriya likes Coke. Supriya is a girl. Therefore, all girls like Coke (There go half of Pepsi’s consumersJ)
Argumentum ad antiquatem (worthy on account of being old)
God has been around since Man became a wimp. That happened a long time ago. There MUST be something good in itJ
Cum hoc ergo propter hoc (with this, therefore because of this)
All boys suck, therefore, whoever sucks, must be a boy :p
Argumentum ad hominem (against the person or the circumstance, my personal favourite)
Anisha Ralhan lives in her head because she’s a wonky womanJ
Argumentum ad nauseam (Argument on a repeat mode)
I am mental because I am mental because I am mental.
Argumentum ad novitatem (Justification because it is new)
The Hong Kong chick dresses better than me because she wears new clothes EVERY DAY to class. The effort some people put. Sigh.
Argumentum ad numerum (Justification because of a lot of people)
Go vegetarian. Everybody’s doing it. It’s the in thing!
Argumentum ad vercundiam (Appeal to authority)
Do botox. Come on Shilpa Shetty does it!
Audiatur et altera pars (failing to state a premises) (I do this all the time)
I think we are all born to die.
Red herring (irrelevant information diverts from the main issue)
Global warming is a huge issue today. It actually snowed in Cardiff
There are many more. And they are all in Latin. Those who will bother memorizing them will surely spew them for an ‘intelligent’ retort. A fallacy in itself.
All for now.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Of the Original Dudes
18th January, 2010
3:24 am
The Matchbox
"Knowledge is knowing that tomato may be a fruit. Wisdom is knowing that it is not to be put in the fruit salad."
My second class at Introducing Philosophy started with this famous old quote by Anonymous. The class of the eclectic ten started with Mister Jovial Olive Ball rolling in sharp at 7. We were told a bit about the three Wise Men today. Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. It is said that the Western Civilization is based on the ideas put forth by these guys. Here's the rationale, as given by Theo (the Olive Ball). It makes sense too. Socrates taught Plato taught Aristotle taught Alexander the Great, who with the universal language of the time, Greek, the society binder of sorts, passed it onto the Romans, who, along with the concept of Christianity, laid down the founding principles of the Western Civilization. This means, that what we are today (the Western World, that is. The distinction is important because Eastern Philosophy had a different basis. They don't teach that here:)) is mostly the doing of the three blokes I mentioned above.
The first one is Socrates. He is supposed to be the wisest of all Greek philosophers known. And the strangest. For a start, he wasn't a pretty sight. Bulging eyes that darted sideways, flaring nostrils, huge lips, long hair, average height, and an unkempt unwashed attire. He walked about with a stick and an air that could give any Greek God a run for his money. He loved talking, would start discussing philosophy with just about anyone on the street. He asked the most fundamental questions. He brought about the concept of universal definitions. What is bravery, love, existence? His style of teaching was through questioning and bringing out answers from his students. He enjoyed confusing his audience. He liked to make them aware of their own ignorance, by constantly questioning their beliefs. They would end up losing track of their own selves. And then, if they were lucky, he would clarify things. He was adored and resented at the same time. The authority disliked his ways and feared that he was creating his own deities. He was sentenced to death, a sentence which he, at the ripe age of 70, merrily accepted. He was given the opportunity to escape, but he refused. he drank the hemlock and died a peaceful death, condemning the authority and its ways, but submitting to it towards the end, probably because he was bored of life. Cool dude. He had spunk. Spunky Socrates.
Plato, the next dude in line. Socrates' student, his follower, and his biggest critic. He is known to be one of the most dazzling writers of his time. I am still to read him. He raised some of the most profound questions in philosophy. He questioned on Reality, Knowledge, Identity, Ethics, Method, Beauty and Love. His questions were bang on. His answers, nearly. He gave two forms of Reality. One, the Phenomenal Reality. The reality which we live in. Our reality. Our world. Or the Material reality. That, for him, is easy to comprehend, because that, is what our senses perceive. The other reality, is the Real Reality. The Actual Reality. That reality sees no Change. That reality has no Time. It is the reality of Forms and Ideas. Those ideas are integral to the Phenomenal Reality we live in. They explore concepts of beauty, love, identity etc. Plato, for some reason, was obsessed with Beauty (he probably did not get enough of it, having spent half his life with the unique looker Socrates). Aesthetics was one subject he has discussed in great detail in one of the countless books he's written. And he hated the concept of Democracy.
Aristotle is the next in line. Don't know much about him yet.
This piece was merely a description of what the original thinkers were like. It is not meant to be taken as a reflective piece. Reflections will come when I'm a little wiser. And that could take a lifetime.:)
Till then, I continue my journey of "Knowing thyself"(Socrates).
3:24 am
The Matchbox
"Knowledge is knowing that tomato may be a fruit. Wisdom is knowing that it is not to be put in the fruit salad."
My second class at Introducing Philosophy started with this famous old quote by Anonymous. The class of the eclectic ten started with Mister Jovial Olive Ball rolling in sharp at 7. We were told a bit about the three Wise Men today. Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. It is said that the Western Civilization is based on the ideas put forth by these guys. Here's the rationale, as given by Theo (the Olive Ball). It makes sense too. Socrates taught Plato taught Aristotle taught Alexander the Great, who with the universal language of the time, Greek, the society binder of sorts, passed it onto the Romans, who, along with the concept of Christianity, laid down the founding principles of the Western Civilization. This means, that what we are today (the Western World, that is. The distinction is important because Eastern Philosophy had a different basis. They don't teach that here:)) is mostly the doing of the three blokes I mentioned above.
The first one is Socrates. He is supposed to be the wisest of all Greek philosophers known. And the strangest. For a start, he wasn't a pretty sight. Bulging eyes that darted sideways, flaring nostrils, huge lips, long hair, average height, and an unkempt unwashed attire. He walked about with a stick and an air that could give any Greek God a run for his money. He loved talking, would start discussing philosophy with just about anyone on the street. He asked the most fundamental questions. He brought about the concept of universal definitions. What is bravery, love, existence? His style of teaching was through questioning and bringing out answers from his students. He enjoyed confusing his audience. He liked to make them aware of their own ignorance, by constantly questioning their beliefs. They would end up losing track of their own selves. And then, if they were lucky, he would clarify things. He was adored and resented at the same time. The authority disliked his ways and feared that he was creating his own deities. He was sentenced to death, a sentence which he, at the ripe age of 70, merrily accepted. He was given the opportunity to escape, but he refused. he drank the hemlock and died a peaceful death, condemning the authority and its ways, but submitting to it towards the end, probably because he was bored of life. Cool dude. He had spunk. Spunky Socrates.
Plato, the next dude in line. Socrates' student, his follower, and his biggest critic. He is known to be one of the most dazzling writers of his time. I am still to read him. He raised some of the most profound questions in philosophy. He questioned on Reality, Knowledge, Identity, Ethics, Method, Beauty and Love. His questions were bang on. His answers, nearly. He gave two forms of Reality. One, the Phenomenal Reality. The reality which we live in. Our reality. Our world. Or the Material reality. That, for him, is easy to comprehend, because that, is what our senses perceive. The other reality, is the Real Reality. The Actual Reality. That reality sees no Change. That reality has no Time. It is the reality of Forms and Ideas. Those ideas are integral to the Phenomenal Reality we live in. They explore concepts of beauty, love, identity etc. Plato, for some reason, was obsessed with Beauty (he probably did not get enough of it, having spent half his life with the unique looker Socrates). Aesthetics was one subject he has discussed in great detail in one of the countless books he's written. And he hated the concept of Democracy.
Aristotle is the next in line. Don't know much about him yet.
This piece was merely a description of what the original thinkers were like. It is not meant to be taken as a reflective piece. Reflections will come when I'm a little wiser. And that could take a lifetime.:)
Till then, I continue my journey of "Knowing thyself"(Socrates).
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Nothing Fishy About Sushi!
16th January, 201011:44 pm
The Matchbox
Sweet and sticky
Raw and zippy
Pretty little rings of rice
Bits of victuals inside
Not mush
Very lush
The fuss is all about
Sush-i
Raw food can be good food.
The Matchbox
Sweet and sticky
Raw and zippy
Pretty little rings of rice
Bits of victuals inside
Not mush
Very lush
The fuss is all about
Sush-i
Raw food can be good food.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Sophistry Behind Philosophy
Monday, 11th January, 2010
10:30 pm
The Matchbox
...all I know, is that I know nothing.
- Socrates
That's what I learnt today. My first class at Introducing Philosphy, a 10 week course started by the Cardiff Centre of Lifelong Learning. And it was good to know I wasn't the only one who felt that way!
The Cardiff Centre of Lifelong Learning offers short-term courses open to anyone interested in the subjects offered on the course. They range from language, social sciences right down to business and computer sciences, the courses. And the best bit, the assignments are completely optional. You want to do them, do them and get the credits. You don't want to do them, just whistle your way through the classes.
Anyway, this year, they introduced a beginner's course in Philosophy. And I, eternally desperate to understand the overrated 'meaning of life', jumped and enrolled myself for it.
As I entered the lecture theatre in the Humanities Building at 7pm, for a second I thought this was going to be a 3:1 teacher:student deal. The three people sitting gaily on the desks were senior citizens. Quite literally! And then I was assured that they were 'students.' Having never sat for a class with a 60 year old classmate, I was slightly dazed.
We became a class of ten comprising of two 'real' students, four working professionals who had nothing better to do in the evenings other than watch TV, and six senior citizens. One of them, a retired lawyer with a Phd joined the course not knowing why he had joined it. The only connection he could think of was that his wife (now dead) had studied Philosophy in the university earlier. Romeo, the only other 'student' was from Cameroon, in Central West Africa. French was his third language and English his fourth. No clue about the first two. He joined the course because he thought this was a 'thoughtful' way of improving his English! Quite a varied mix. Our professor, a Greek olive-like ball with spectacles is a wannabe Socrates. Theodore Gammenos. Nice guy. Likes to wind us up, and gets confused himself in the process. Twas only the first class. Will give him time.
We spent the first hour trying to figure out the meaning of Philosophy. A lot of debate and discussion later, it was boiled down to a method or a way of thinking about things. It involves reasoning, trying to find the logic behind things by means of questioning and discussion. Just like religion, by most, is defined as a 'way of life,' Logic could be a 'way we think.' There is a problem, and there is a solution. The path we create between the problem and the solution, could be the Philosophy behind it. And I have a feeling, that like my major Public Relations, I will spend the next ten weeks trying to dissect the precise meaning of this elusive term. Why do they all start with 'P'? :|
The next hour went by in understanding how the concept of Western Philosophy began. (For some odd reason, theo's 'west' sounded a lot like 'worst' :)). That is, there was felt a conscious need to develop an organised thought process. A need to define things and develop and identity was felt. It began in 5th Century BC. Three boys, from the ancient land of Greece, came up with three different concepts almost at the same time. Clearly, they weren't the best of friends. (are they ever!?). Mister Parmenides, also known as the Father of Greek Philosophy, completely rejected the use of senses. According to him, our senses decieve us. We need to make use of logic to understand things. He said, 'it is.' Nothing ever changes. Everything is a constant. For him, the perception of change and movement was a deception, and that everything that is will always be, since it can all be spoken and thought of. Use logic to understand that . Nothing changes. It is. That's it.
Doesn't logic require evidence, empirical data, which can be 'perceived' on the basis of our sense of sight or touch or hearing?
Mister Heraclitus was the exact opposite. Also known as Obscure, for him, everything was in a flux. Nothing stays constant. Everything changes. He was the dude who claimed one can never step twice into the same river. (and what about kicking the bark of a tree twice? They change too?). Now if everything, was in a flux, all the time, there wouldn't be a thing called stability. If things kept changing all the time, there wouldn't be a thing called knowledge. Without knowledge, its ignorance. And that, is bliss, at times, certainly:)
The third bloke Mister Democritus, was literally a chemist of the 5th century. And he was the diplomat of the lot. For him there was 'change' and there was 'no change.' He believed that world was made up of Void, an incorporeal space, where Nothing exists (denouncing Parmindes). And also, he believed that the Void was taken up by small, indestructible beings called atoms (atoma : indivisible) that stayed unchanged (Denouncing Heraclitus). But the atoms have the ability to combine with one other to change the dimensions. Hence, change does occur. Change is real. The existence of atoms stays unchanged. But the dimensions of the atoms keep changing.
Thoroughly confused, (Thats the idea, I was told), I left the class with Romeo, my new French speaking African friend. The walk back home at 9 in the evening was like a slow metamorphism into an icicle. My ears were numb and my poor lil nose was jammed between the cutting, icy breeze and my face. Home came to me. Also came with it warm white milk and a steaming omlette. A regular night chat with the girlies and my day comes to a cosy end.
Oh, and if you have anything to add or retract from my 'philosophical understanding' of philosophy, comment away. Good, bad , ugly. I take it and I bow.
:)
10:30 pm
The Matchbox
...all I know, is that I know nothing.
- Socrates
That's what I learnt today. My first class at Introducing Philosphy, a 10 week course started by the Cardiff Centre of Lifelong Learning. And it was good to know I wasn't the only one who felt that way!
The Cardiff Centre of Lifelong Learning offers short-term courses open to anyone interested in the subjects offered on the course. They range from language, social sciences right down to business and computer sciences, the courses. And the best bit, the assignments are completely optional. You want to do them, do them and get the credits. You don't want to do them, just whistle your way through the classes.
Anyway, this year, they introduced a beginner's course in Philosophy. And I, eternally desperate to understand the overrated 'meaning of life', jumped and enrolled myself for it.
As I entered the lecture theatre in the Humanities Building at 7pm, for a second I thought this was going to be a 3:1 teacher:student deal. The three people sitting gaily on the desks were senior citizens. Quite literally! And then I was assured that they were 'students.' Having never sat for a class with a 60 year old classmate, I was slightly dazed.
We became a class of ten comprising of two 'real' students, four working professionals who had nothing better to do in the evenings other than watch TV, and six senior citizens. One of them, a retired lawyer with a Phd joined the course not knowing why he had joined it. The only connection he could think of was that his wife (now dead) had studied Philosophy in the university earlier. Romeo, the only other 'student' was from Cameroon, in Central West Africa. French was his third language and English his fourth. No clue about the first two. He joined the course because he thought this was a 'thoughtful' way of improving his English! Quite a varied mix. Our professor, a Greek olive-like ball with spectacles is a wannabe Socrates. Theodore Gammenos. Nice guy. Likes to wind us up, and gets confused himself in the process. Twas only the first class. Will give him time.
We spent the first hour trying to figure out the meaning of Philosophy. A lot of debate and discussion later, it was boiled down to a method or a way of thinking about things. It involves reasoning, trying to find the logic behind things by means of questioning and discussion. Just like religion, by most, is defined as a 'way of life,' Logic could be a 'way we think.' There is a problem, and there is a solution. The path we create between the problem and the solution, could be the Philosophy behind it. And I have a feeling, that like my major Public Relations, I will spend the next ten weeks trying to dissect the precise meaning of this elusive term. Why do they all start with 'P'? :|
The next hour went by in understanding how the concept of Western Philosophy began. (For some odd reason, theo's 'west' sounded a lot like 'worst' :)). That is, there was felt a conscious need to develop an organised thought process. A need to define things and develop and identity was felt. It began in 5th Century BC. Three boys, from the ancient land of Greece, came up with three different concepts almost at the same time. Clearly, they weren't the best of friends. (are they ever!?). Mister Parmenides, also known as the Father of Greek Philosophy, completely rejected the use of senses. According to him, our senses decieve us. We need to make use of logic to understand things. He said, 'it is.' Nothing ever changes. Everything is a constant. For him, the perception of change and movement was a deception, and that everything that is will always be, since it can all be spoken and thought of. Use logic to understand that . Nothing changes. It is. That's it.
Doesn't logic require evidence, empirical data, which can be 'perceived' on the basis of our sense of sight or touch or hearing?
Mister Heraclitus was the exact opposite. Also known as Obscure, for him, everything was in a flux. Nothing stays constant. Everything changes. He was the dude who claimed one can never step twice into the same river. (and what about kicking the bark of a tree twice? They change too?). Now if everything, was in a flux, all the time, there wouldn't be a thing called stability. If things kept changing all the time, there wouldn't be a thing called knowledge. Without knowledge, its ignorance. And that, is bliss, at times, certainly:)
The third bloke Mister Democritus, was literally a chemist of the 5th century. And he was the diplomat of the lot. For him there was 'change' and there was 'no change.' He believed that world was made up of Void, an incorporeal space, where Nothing exists (denouncing Parmindes). And also, he believed that the Void was taken up by small, indestructible beings called atoms (atoma : indivisible) that stayed unchanged (Denouncing Heraclitus). But the atoms have the ability to combine with one other to change the dimensions. Hence, change does occur. Change is real. The existence of atoms stays unchanged. But the dimensions of the atoms keep changing.
Thoroughly confused, (Thats the idea, I was told), I left the class with Romeo, my new French speaking African friend. The walk back home at 9 in the evening was like a slow metamorphism into an icicle. My ears were numb and my poor lil nose was jammed between the cutting, icy breeze and my face. Home came to me. Also came with it warm white milk and a steaming omlette. A regular night chat with the girlies and my day comes to a cosy end.
Oh, and if you have anything to add or retract from my 'philosophical understanding' of philosophy, comment away. Good, bad , ugly. I take it and I bow.
:)
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Of Snow And It's Quirks
January 6, 2010
10:51 am
The Matchbox
Ever since I came to Cardiff, I have been dying to see Snow. Hailing from a city like Delhi, where the average temperature never goes below 30-degrees Celsius for the better part of the year, I was confident that my eternal dream of seeing a soft white quilt spread across the courtyard outside my window one fine morning would finally come true here. After all, its the UK. The land of whimsical delights.
The dream was on the verge of getting trampled when the inhabitants here told me that it "rarely snows in Cardiff" and that its "mostly rain". Everytime somebody would say this winter is going to be 'warm and wet', my heart would plummet further. This year, it seemed, the weather was on a whimsical mode. One day would be bright and sunny. The next day, dark clouds and rain. This unpredictability is predictable here. However, the frequency of weather change became a matter of hours soon. As days went by, an hour in a day would be bright and chirpy. The next, the sky would be mourning.
Initially, this loftiness of the sky took some time getting used to. However, with time, we learn. Soon, this phenomena became beautiful. I began to appreciate the ever-changing colour of the sky: from a bright blue to a dark grey to a pale pink and an inky blue: all in the span of a day. I began to appreciate the icy cold wind that blasted (and still blasts) my face everytime I step out of the building. I began to appreciate the people around me, the locals, who have been enduring the rain and the sleet and the sludge for years on end, still walking to work every day. Humans adapt to nature. It is the way of life. And appreciating all that we see around us makes it a happy way of life.
Coming back to my trampled dream, it seemed the Sky-Lord heard my prayer too loud and clear. I saw snow. I felt snow. I walked in it. I trudged in it. I slipped on it. Heck, I even hitchiked in it! And I experienced all kinds of it.
It all started in Cwmbran, a so-called New town in South East Wales, two train stations away from Cardiff. It was established in 1949 (pretty recent). Cwmbran, in the Welsh language means 'a Valley of Crows.' Am clueless why its called that. The crows there are as abundant and annoying as they are everywhere else. The big, black scary beings.
One winter evening in December, while walking back from the massive shopping centre, small white flakes began to fall on me. I thought it was dandruff! And then I thought it was rice crispies. And then, my friend who had accompanied me, exclaimed "Its Snowing!" And my reaction was "THIS is SNOW!" I had a very different version of snow in my head. Anyway, I captured as much as I could. These microscopic little rice flakes.
That was my first. And then it never ended. The little rice flakes would fall in great numbers and form a blanket, which would soon turn hard ice, which would soon melt into sludge (thanks to the bright sun the next day!). I would trudge in the sludge every morning and skid my way about town throughout the day.
In Bristol, the snow is typically English. Settled and hard on the surface. Put your foot down in it, and it melts. Just like them:)
As December grew on, the weather became a yo-yo, quite literally. The mornings would see bright sunshine and a chilly breeze. The evenings would witness snowfall. At one point, in a span of an hour, I saw snowfall and the sun, each 'phenomenon' lasting for fifteen minutes alternately, at a stretch!
January 5, 2010 11pm was a momentous day and time for snow-seekers like me. It snowed. Big, fat flakes of snow. And when the snow fell down, it wasn't hard as ice. It was soft, flimsy like candyfloss. Everyone was out. Making snowmen, throwing snowballs. Two boys even tried sledging using a grill pan!
And the next morning, I saw it. My dream. A white blanket of soft snow right outside my window. Felt like the clouds had settled in themselves, sleeping cosily, ornamenting the trees (both the leafy and the twiggy ones) with their little tufts.
The Snow experience in Cardiff has been an immense delight for me so far. I hope the dream lasts all this month.
However, the yo-yo whims of the weather, though fun, are a bit of a worry. Almost as if nature is trying to tell us something. Its playing with us. And its trying to warn us. Global Warming, anyone?
And yes, a word from the "snow expert" : Falling Snow is way better than Fallen Snow:)
10:51 am
The Matchbox
Ever since I came to Cardiff, I have been dying to see Snow. Hailing from a city like Delhi, where the average temperature never goes below 30-degrees Celsius for the better part of the year, I was confident that my eternal dream of seeing a soft white quilt spread across the courtyard outside my window one fine morning would finally come true here. After all, its the UK. The land of whimsical delights.
The dream was on the verge of getting trampled when the inhabitants here told me that it "rarely snows in Cardiff" and that its "mostly rain". Everytime somebody would say this winter is going to be 'warm and wet', my heart would plummet further. This year, it seemed, the weather was on a whimsical mode. One day would be bright and sunny. The next day, dark clouds and rain. This unpredictability is predictable here. However, the frequency of weather change became a matter of hours soon. As days went by, an hour in a day would be bright and chirpy. The next, the sky would be mourning.
Initially, this loftiness of the sky took some time getting used to. However, with time, we learn. Soon, this phenomena became beautiful. I began to appreciate the ever-changing colour of the sky: from a bright blue to a dark grey to a pale pink and an inky blue: all in the span of a day. I began to appreciate the icy cold wind that blasted (and still blasts) my face everytime I step out of the building. I began to appreciate the people around me, the locals, who have been enduring the rain and the sleet and the sludge for years on end, still walking to work every day. Humans adapt to nature. It is the way of life. And appreciating all that we see around us makes it a happy way of life.
Coming back to my trampled dream, it seemed the Sky-Lord heard my prayer too loud and clear. I saw snow. I felt snow. I walked in it. I trudged in it. I slipped on it. Heck, I even hitchiked in it! And I experienced all kinds of it.
It all started in Cwmbran, a so-called New town in South East Wales, two train stations away from Cardiff. It was established in 1949 (pretty recent). Cwmbran, in the Welsh language means 'a Valley of Crows.' Am clueless why its called that. The crows there are as abundant and annoying as they are everywhere else. The big, black scary beings.
One winter evening in December, while walking back from the massive shopping centre, small white flakes began to fall on me. I thought it was dandruff! And then I thought it was rice crispies. And then, my friend who had accompanied me, exclaimed "Its Snowing!" And my reaction was "THIS is SNOW!" I had a very different version of snow in my head. Anyway, I captured as much as I could. These microscopic little rice flakes.
That was my first. And then it never ended. The little rice flakes would fall in great numbers and form a blanket, which would soon turn hard ice, which would soon melt into sludge (thanks to the bright sun the next day!). I would trudge in the sludge every morning and skid my way about town throughout the day.
In Bristol, the snow is typically English. Settled and hard on the surface. Put your foot down in it, and it melts. Just like them:)
As December grew on, the weather became a yo-yo, quite literally. The mornings would see bright sunshine and a chilly breeze. The evenings would witness snowfall. At one point, in a span of an hour, I saw snowfall and the sun, each 'phenomenon' lasting for fifteen minutes alternately, at a stretch!
January 5, 2010 11pm was a momentous day and time for snow-seekers like me. It snowed. Big, fat flakes of snow. And when the snow fell down, it wasn't hard as ice. It was soft, flimsy like candyfloss. Everyone was out. Making snowmen, throwing snowballs. Two boys even tried sledging using a grill pan!
And the next morning, I saw it. My dream. A white blanket of soft snow right outside my window. Felt like the clouds had settled in themselves, sleeping cosily, ornamenting the trees (both the leafy and the twiggy ones) with their little tufts.
The Snow experience in Cardiff has been an immense delight for me so far. I hope the dream lasts all this month.
However, the yo-yo whims of the weather, though fun, are a bit of a worry. Almost as if nature is trying to tell us something. Its playing with us. And its trying to warn us. Global Warming, anyone?
And yes, a word from the "snow expert" : Falling Snow is way better than Fallen Snow:)
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Of London Tubes and Bristol's Hues
Sunday, 29th November 2009
23:08 hours
The cold study room
Bristol
This is a tale of a weekend of sleeplessness, drunkeness, kiddy games, graffiti art, rainforest cafe, london tubes, bone-crushingly cold walks, and a bit of family fun. All packed in a two-day London Bristol trip :)
So what would you do, if you had a 7:45 am bus to catch, and you rise out of bed at 7:35 am? Take into account the fact that this is the National Express for Cardiff-Bristol, you are a first timer in inter-city travel, and the bus-stop is a ten minute walk from your place.
Well, I spent one minute staring at the clock, the next two in contemplating not going, the next four in throwing on clothes and packing up, and the remaining three in literally flying to the bus stop, only to find out that the bus was five minutes late. I felt an inexplicable sense of achievement immediately thereafter. I made it!
The bus journey from Cardiff to Bristol was a short, interrupted one. I had to change buses at Newport, a quaint little town close to Cardiff, though not as happening as Cardiff obviously.
The moment we crossed the bridge I knew I was in a different country. Cardiff is truly Wales, and Bristol is truly England. The way the light falls on the city can tell you that you are in a different country altogether. Along with it is the huge row of typical English houses, the red brick ones with sloping roofs and chimneys (was for some reason reminded of Oliver Twist with that image), the cobbled streets, and the stone cold breeze. I was chilled to the bone.
I was staying at my aunt's friend's place. Had never met them before and was bound to feel awkward. However, they were extremely warm people with two cute little kids. Kids cut the ice quicker than an any industrial knife. Pretty soon, I was running about the small corridoors of their house, playing with the little one.
Bristol is a beautiful piece of art, quite literally so. The whole city is dotted with colourful graffiti, not the tacky kind, but tastefully done art. The city is the birth town of Banksy, the guy who created the Graffiti as an art form. The city is thus known for its pop-art culture, and exhibitions like the Art Trail are quite popular here. An art trail is simply an exhibition by artists of their latest works. They set it up in their home studios and people follow a map, going to the artist's studios, checking out their stuff, talking to the artists themselves and buying the pieces etc.
From Bristol, we were to go to London, to another one of my aunt's friend's place, to celebrate her 40th birthday. A massive Indian family get-together, complete with Indian food, bollywood music, kids, and alcohol. I found a sassy girl my age and downed enough alcohol to give me a terrible hangover the next day.
But hangover or no hangover, I was in LONDON, and determined to travel a bit, even though I knew I had just about two hours. (Got up late and was to leave early. Story of my lif)
My and my sassy friend got on a random bus. It was not the best day for a walkabout in town. Cold, wet and grey. But then, that's the 'typical english weather'. Get used to it. The hangover was still lurking. But I was all wide-eyed as we passed the London Bridge, the London Eye and all the Big and Obvious things of London. We got off at Trafalgar Square. Had begun raining heavily. Ran inside the National Art Gallery Museum, made fun of all the paintings we came across and exited from the opposite end, to end up in a street named Orange Street. Was nothing orange about it.
We strolled about. I stared and strolled. London is Delhi sophisticate. Thronging with people, click-clackety heels and a general hurried buzz in the air. Snobbishly expensive cafes, biggest brands on the streets, huge screens with colours moving about, its just the place where Life is. We walked about at random, passing by the Ripley's Museum, the Odeon cinema, the Broadway etc. When hunger called over, we walked inside Rainforest Cafe, which exaclt like its name, is a rainforest from within. Apparently a huge brand in the USA, it has limited branches all over the world, and the only one in the UK in London on Picadilly Circus, where we were lucky enough to be. The cafe was green, with animals and waterfalls and waiters dressed as forest rangers all about. I had a martini (to get over the hangover dah) and my sassy friend, a vodka. After munching on some hummus and bread we realised we were getting late for home. Went out and decided to take the tube as it would be 'quicker'. BIG mistake.
London tubes are horrible! Dirty and overly crowded. Delhi Metro has the crowd, but its surprisingly cleaner. Was hardly any space for me to breathe in the tube. Reached Victoria Station, the Big Daddy station of London to board a train to Herne Hill, only to realise that the train service of that like was out of order. Weekend and trains in London don't go well together. Why did'nt anybody tell us that?
Boarded the replacement bus to take us to the Blackfriars, the station that would lead us to our destination eventually. I was literally nodding off. The big warm bus cuddled around me and we both slept, obviously missing our stop. Sigh. It never ends.
Walking in the rain is something I used to love back in Delhi. Because we rarely got to do it. And now, I dread it. We never like what we have, because it just isn't customized to how we imagine it to be!
Managed to reach the station, but obviously, could'nt find the platform. The elusive Platform 4 showed itself a minute before the train was to leave. We rushed in, and hoped we were on the right train. I just wanted to go home. Home. My sweet little 10x10 matchbox room in Cardiff.
Thankfully, it was a smooth ride from there. We reached the house in one piece, bid goodbye to the wonderful people we had met and made our way back to Bristol. The sassy friend headed back to the train she has now learnt to hate, to return to Derby, where she's from.
And now, Im here, at the comp, trying to write a coherent story. Forgive me for some missing links. They are not deliberate, I assure you.
Another incoherent story will be up soon:)
23:08 hours
The cold study room
Bristol
This is a tale of a weekend of sleeplessness, drunkeness, kiddy games, graffiti art, rainforest cafe, london tubes, bone-crushingly cold walks, and a bit of family fun. All packed in a two-day London Bristol trip :)
So what would you do, if you had a 7:45 am bus to catch, and you rise out of bed at 7:35 am? Take into account the fact that this is the National Express for Cardiff-Bristol, you are a first timer in inter-city travel, and the bus-stop is a ten minute walk from your place.
Well, I spent one minute staring at the clock, the next two in contemplating not going, the next four in throwing on clothes and packing up, and the remaining three in literally flying to the bus stop, only to find out that the bus was five minutes late. I felt an inexplicable sense of achievement immediately thereafter. I made it!
The bus journey from Cardiff to Bristol was a short, interrupted one. I had to change buses at Newport, a quaint little town close to Cardiff, though not as happening as Cardiff obviously.
The moment we crossed the bridge I knew I was in a different country. Cardiff is truly Wales, and Bristol is truly England. The way the light falls on the city can tell you that you are in a different country altogether. Along with it is the huge row of typical English houses, the red brick ones with sloping roofs and chimneys (was for some reason reminded of Oliver Twist with that image), the cobbled streets, and the stone cold breeze. I was chilled to the bone.
I was staying at my aunt's friend's place. Had never met them before and was bound to feel awkward. However, they were extremely warm people with two cute little kids. Kids cut the ice quicker than an any industrial knife. Pretty soon, I was running about the small corridoors of their house, playing with the little one.
Bristol is a beautiful piece of art, quite literally so. The whole city is dotted with colourful graffiti, not the tacky kind, but tastefully done art. The city is the birth town of Banksy, the guy who created the Graffiti as an art form. The city is thus known for its pop-art culture, and exhibitions like the Art Trail are quite popular here. An art trail is simply an exhibition by artists of their latest works. They set it up in their home studios and people follow a map, going to the artist's studios, checking out their stuff, talking to the artists themselves and buying the pieces etc.
From Bristol, we were to go to London, to another one of my aunt's friend's place, to celebrate her 40th birthday. A massive Indian family get-together, complete with Indian food, bollywood music, kids, and alcohol. I found a sassy girl my age and downed enough alcohol to give me a terrible hangover the next day.
But hangover or no hangover, I was in LONDON, and determined to travel a bit, even though I knew I had just about two hours. (Got up late and was to leave early. Story of my lif)
My and my sassy friend got on a random bus. It was not the best day for a walkabout in town. Cold, wet and grey. But then, that's the 'typical english weather'. Get used to it. The hangover was still lurking. But I was all wide-eyed as we passed the London Bridge, the London Eye and all the Big and Obvious things of London. We got off at Trafalgar Square. Had begun raining heavily. Ran inside the National Art Gallery Museum, made fun of all the paintings we came across and exited from the opposite end, to end up in a street named Orange Street. Was nothing orange about it.
We strolled about. I stared and strolled. London is Delhi sophisticate. Thronging with people, click-clackety heels and a general hurried buzz in the air. Snobbishly expensive cafes, biggest brands on the streets, huge screens with colours moving about, its just the place where Life is. We walked about at random, passing by the Ripley's Museum, the Odeon cinema, the Broadway etc. When hunger called over, we walked inside Rainforest Cafe, which exaclt like its name, is a rainforest from within. Apparently a huge brand in the USA, it has limited branches all over the world, and the only one in the UK in London on Picadilly Circus, where we were lucky enough to be. The cafe was green, with animals and waterfalls and waiters dressed as forest rangers all about. I had a martini (to get over the hangover dah) and my sassy friend, a vodka. After munching on some hummus and bread we realised we were getting late for home. Went out and decided to take the tube as it would be 'quicker'. BIG mistake.
London tubes are horrible! Dirty and overly crowded. Delhi Metro has the crowd, but its surprisingly cleaner. Was hardly any space for me to breathe in the tube. Reached Victoria Station, the Big Daddy station of London to board a train to Herne Hill, only to realise that the train service of that like was out of order. Weekend and trains in London don't go well together. Why did'nt anybody tell us that?
Boarded the replacement bus to take us to the Blackfriars, the station that would lead us to our destination eventually. I was literally nodding off. The big warm bus cuddled around me and we both slept, obviously missing our stop. Sigh. It never ends.
Walking in the rain is something I used to love back in Delhi. Because we rarely got to do it. And now, I dread it. We never like what we have, because it just isn't customized to how we imagine it to be!
Managed to reach the station, but obviously, could'nt find the platform. The elusive Platform 4 showed itself a minute before the train was to leave. We rushed in, and hoped we were on the right train. I just wanted to go home. Home. My sweet little 10x10 matchbox room in Cardiff.
Thankfully, it was a smooth ride from there. We reached the house in one piece, bid goodbye to the wonderful people we had met and made our way back to Bristol. The sassy friend headed back to the train she has now learnt to hate, to return to Derby, where she's from.
And now, Im here, at the comp, trying to write a coherent story. Forgive me for some missing links. They are not deliberate, I assure you.
Another incoherent story will be up soon:)
Friday, November 20, 2009
A Randomly Delightful Day:)
20th November 2009
11:40 pm
The Matchbox
If only moments be captured in words, how complete my life would be. Sigh!
Had the most spontaneously brilliant day today. Started off on a hurriedly lazy note. By that I mean I got up at 9:30, knowing fully well I had a class at 10, and stayed in bed deliberatley for another ten minutes, simply because I was lazy, then got up in a dash and dressed and ran to class. Hence, hurried laziness.
The class itself was pretty interesting, for a change. Our International Marketing professor not only made sense, but also managed to get us all hooked to the subject. He talked about the role of culture in business. He talked about various goof-ups campaigns make when they try to venture into new territory. A superbly funny example: In English, 'latte' is a coffee drink. In German, 'latte' means an erection. When the Americans beamed shows like Morning Latte in Germany, the results were, needless to say, highly amusing.
Post class I went to the city-centre and came across the quaintest little cafe in Castle Arcade on Castle Street. Cafe Minuet. A small Italian joint with a faintly red and cream decor, pictures of famous Opera singers framed delicately on the walls. A BFG (Big Friendly Giant) old man and probably his wife (who looked like an opera singer herself) ran the cafe. I had the most deliciously made minestrone soup with garlic bread. Nothing like hot, steaming food in the cold, windy breeze. And its a rarity in the UK! When I couldn't finish it all (thanks to the extra-large UK helpings), the kind BFG packed it up for me to take home for dinner. It will be my morning breakfast now.
Lunch over, I roamed about the city, taking in the pretty colours. If there is anything that never ceases to amaze me about Cardiff, it is the way all the colours sit so perfectly in place. The sillouhette of the tree against the pale blue sky, the purple tinge on City Hall's architecture, the pretty christmas lights dancing
above the people: it looks so perfect! And then the live music on the street, with the freeezing wind whistling in my ears, and tight groups of people walking past me creates the perfect ambience that makes me fall in love with the city all over again.
There was an Anne Frank exhibition today at the Old Library. Organised by the National Anne Frank Trust in Holland, it was a masterpiece. For those fond of History, it was an a living trip down memory lane. For those not aware of it, it was a moving eye-opener. The entire exhibition had two parts to it. One part, talked about the History. It explained what happened during the Holocaust, complete with a film on it and an audio with Anne's voice reading out bits from her Diary. It had a life-size room where Anne went into hiding with her family. Hidden in a corner, was also her diary, with a few pages open, all things written in German. The best bit, a brilliant PR and database creation tactic. There was a board stating the question, ' What would you pack in a small suitcase if you had to leave your home forever?" And small postcards were provided where people were to write what they felt was most important to them and leave their contact details as well (postcard duh). Just reading some of them brought tears to my eyes. 'Memories, crayons, photos, pen, diary, favourite book of stories, doll' were some of the things mentioned. I loved the way it talked to me.
The other section was the Contemporary section. Connecting the past to the present. Showing how the horrors of the past are still continuing today. And the youngster's take on it. There were old volunteers all around, helpful and kind, approaching visitors themselves. I loved the initiative they took. I loved the exhibit. It was a random, spontaneous act. Something I have been missing out on, thanks to my desperate need to bring order into life. Order is created out of disorder. Planning comes out of spontaneity. I keep forgetting that.
I'm not a dimwit for nothing:)
11:40 pm
The Matchbox
If only moments be captured in words, how complete my life would be. Sigh!
Had the most spontaneously brilliant day today. Started off on a hurriedly lazy note. By that I mean I got up at 9:30, knowing fully well I had a class at 10, and stayed in bed deliberatley for another ten minutes, simply because I was lazy, then got up in a dash and dressed and ran to class. Hence, hurried laziness.
The class itself was pretty interesting, for a change. Our International Marketing professor not only made sense, but also managed to get us all hooked to the subject. He talked about the role of culture in business. He talked about various goof-ups campaigns make when they try to venture into new territory. A superbly funny example: In English, 'latte' is a coffee drink. In German, 'latte' means an erection. When the Americans beamed shows like Morning Latte in Germany, the results were, needless to say, highly amusing.
Post class I went to the city-centre and came across the quaintest little cafe in Castle Arcade on Castle Street. Cafe Minuet. A small Italian joint with a faintly red and cream decor, pictures of famous Opera singers framed delicately on the walls. A BFG (Big Friendly Giant) old man and probably his wife (who looked like an opera singer herself) ran the cafe. I had the most deliciously made minestrone soup with garlic bread. Nothing like hot, steaming food in the cold, windy breeze. And its a rarity in the UK! When I couldn't finish it all (thanks to the extra-large UK helpings), the kind BFG packed it up for me to take home for dinner. It will be my morning breakfast now.
Lunch over, I roamed about the city, taking in the pretty colours. If there is anything that never ceases to amaze me about Cardiff, it is the way all the colours sit so perfectly in place. The sillouhette of the tree against the pale blue sky, the purple tinge on City Hall's architecture, the pretty christmas lights dancing
above the people: it looks so perfect! And then the live music on the street, with the freeezing wind whistling in my ears, and tight groups of people walking past me creates the perfect ambience that makes me fall in love with the city all over again.
There was an Anne Frank exhibition today at the Old Library. Organised by the National Anne Frank Trust in Holland, it was a masterpiece. For those fond of History, it was an a living trip down memory lane. For those not aware of it, it was a moving eye-opener. The entire exhibition had two parts to it. One part, talked about the History. It explained what happened during the Holocaust, complete with a film on it and an audio with Anne's voice reading out bits from her Diary. It had a life-size room where Anne went into hiding with her family. Hidden in a corner, was also her diary, with a few pages open, all things written in German. The best bit, a brilliant PR and database creation tactic. There was a board stating the question, ' What would you pack in a small suitcase if you had to leave your home forever?" And small postcards were provided where people were to write what they felt was most important to them and leave their contact details as well (postcard duh). Just reading some of them brought tears to my eyes. 'Memories, crayons, photos, pen, diary, favourite book of stories, doll' were some of the things mentioned. I loved the way it talked to me.
The other section was the Contemporary section. Connecting the past to the present. Showing how the horrors of the past are still continuing today. And the youngster's take on it. There were old volunteers all around, helpful and kind, approaching visitors themselves. I loved the initiative they took. I loved the exhibit. It was a random, spontaneous act. Something I have been missing out on, thanks to my desperate need to bring order into life. Order is created out of disorder. Planning comes out of spontaneity. I keep forgetting that.
I'm not a dimwit for nothing:)
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Dumbness That Makes Me
11th November, 2009
4:45 pm
The matchbox
If there is stupidity on Earth, it is here, it is here, it is here. Not the best rehash of a famous quote made by Jahangir, the Mughal Ruler of India. On seeing the beauty of Kashmir, a pretty war-stricken state in North India, he said "If there is paradise on Earth, it is here, it is here, it is here."
Oh well.
I am a nincompoop. Living alone justifies that. I will now proceed to explain my woeful dumbness. Read and learn something from it.
We had a Professional Writing class today. Opinion Writing was the lecture of the day. At the end of it, we were asked to write an opinion article on the Lisbon Treaty, representing one of the newspapers in the UK. Now, dumb as I am, I have no idea what the Lisbon Treaty is all about. So I wikipediad it, found information on it. But certainly not enough information to form an opinion about! At the end of the hour, I told my professor I knew nothing. He looked down at me, made a face and said, "keep working at it then"
Well, I walked back home. Had a nice little plan in my head. Sleep for a bit, then sit and STUDY for REAL. While sleeping, I realised I had left my pen-drive, my precious little life saving pen-drive in the PC in class. Sleep flew out the window. Grabbed my coat, was intelligent enough to grab my keys and sped out. Luckily, it was still stuck at the PC I was working at previously.
Came home and berated my self for a bit. Oh it doesn't end. As I entered my room, I saw a note that said a parcel was awaiting me at the reception. Came down at the reception only to realise I hadn't gotten my Residence Card! You need to show it to get your parcel. I was wondering if the Gods above were deliberatley trying to waste my time. Feeling dumb, I went back up the three long flight of stairs, and came down, this time round, remembering to take my laundry as well. The number of things a child has to take care of !!!
I am dumb and I am careless and I am a screw-up at time-management. I am, at the moment not very fond of myself. I hope I learn as time passes by.
The day hasn't ended yet. I am still capable of making ten thousand "duh" moments alive.
4:45 pm
The matchbox
If there is stupidity on Earth, it is here, it is here, it is here. Not the best rehash of a famous quote made by Jahangir, the Mughal Ruler of India. On seeing the beauty of Kashmir, a pretty war-stricken state in North India, he said "If there is paradise on Earth, it is here, it is here, it is here."
Oh well.
I am a nincompoop. Living alone justifies that. I will now proceed to explain my woeful dumbness. Read and learn something from it.
We had a Professional Writing class today. Opinion Writing was the lecture of the day. At the end of it, we were asked to write an opinion article on the Lisbon Treaty, representing one of the newspapers in the UK. Now, dumb as I am, I have no idea what the Lisbon Treaty is all about. So I wikipediad it, found information on it. But certainly not enough information to form an opinion about! At the end of the hour, I told my professor I knew nothing. He looked down at me, made a face and said, "keep working at it then"
Well, I walked back home. Had a nice little plan in my head. Sleep for a bit, then sit and STUDY for REAL. While sleeping, I realised I had left my pen-drive, my precious little life saving pen-drive in the PC in class. Sleep flew out the window. Grabbed my coat, was intelligent enough to grab my keys and sped out. Luckily, it was still stuck at the PC I was working at previously.
Came home and berated my self for a bit. Oh it doesn't end. As I entered my room, I saw a note that said a parcel was awaiting me at the reception. Came down at the reception only to realise I hadn't gotten my Residence Card! You need to show it to get your parcel. I was wondering if the Gods above were deliberatley trying to waste my time. Feeling dumb, I went back up the three long flight of stairs, and came down, this time round, remembering to take my laundry as well. The number of things a child has to take care of !!!
I am dumb and I am careless and I am a screw-up at time-management. I am, at the moment not very fond of myself. I hope I learn as time passes by.
The day hasn't ended yet. I am still capable of making ten thousand "duh" moments alive.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
My First Cardiff Film!
2nd November 2009
10:57 pm
The matchbox
I saw my first film in Cardiff today!! Its been exactly a month and a half and it went by without me giving a single film a second glance! Of all the idiots in the world. Anyway, I saw Le fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain today, a french film by Jean-Pierre Jeunet. At the Graduate Centre. And I loved it.
Happy film about a girl (Audrey Tautou) who'd determined to make life happy for others. She makes miracles happen, by just living for others. It made me so warm and nice inside. Feel like a happiness machine. I consume films. I should watch them more often.
Irregularity being the order of the day, I am going off to sleep.
10:57 pm
The matchbox
I saw my first film in Cardiff today!! Its been exactly a month and a half and it went by without me giving a single film a second glance! Of all the idiots in the world. Anyway, I saw Le fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain today, a french film by Jean-Pierre Jeunet. At the Graduate Centre. And I loved it.
Happy film about a girl (Audrey Tautou) who'd determined to make life happy for others. She makes miracles happen, by just living for others. It made me so warm and nice inside. Feel like a happiness machine. I consume films. I should watch them more often.
Irregularity being the order of the day, I am going off to sleep.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Fire Alarms Are NOT Funny
19th October, 2009
7:11 am
The matchbox
The fire-alarm went off about half an hour back. Twas a drill. 6:45 am, when the bright sun hasn’t even hinted coming out of its cloudy hallows, this country rings off the fire alarm in EVERY building of the area, for a drill!
I had my personal alarm set for 6:45 myself (for unfathomable reasons) and refused to get up in the first minute the BIG one went off, because obviously, in my deep slumber I thought it was MY alarm. As usual I thought I tried putting it on snooze, in my sleep. But then, it wouldn’t turn off! And it went on and on in that gratingly annoying pitch that sounds like a hundred thousand cats meowing and drawing their claws on metal together.
By the time I got up fully, I realized it was the fire alarm. Instead of panicking, I just went “not again!” and took another two minutes to wear my hoodie (couldn’t find it and stoutly refused to get down without it). When I came out of my room, my wonderful Chinese flatmate saw my hoody and went back in to get hers. So much for a fire alarm.
These alarms have become so common in our area that nobody takes them too seriously anymore. There hasn’t been a single case of fire so far. Its mostly either a drill, or somebody having an ultra-hot shower, or burning toast! Such incidents remind of the old-school story of the boy and the wolf. The boy gives a false alarm to the villagers about a wolf attacking the sheep three times. When it actually happens, they think he’s bluffing again. The consequence of such a case is rather obvious.
These drill are supposed to be serious affairs, and having a fire alarm go off is far from a joke. But then, an overdose of fake-alarms kill the purpose of a real one. We were all out in the cold today and the fireman apologized for being late, he was to arrive at 5! Haha
I wonder what would happen if it ever happens for real. I hope it never does, of course. Just wondering…
7:11 am
The matchbox
The fire-alarm went off about half an hour back. Twas a drill. 6:45 am, when the bright sun hasn’t even hinted coming out of its cloudy hallows, this country rings off the fire alarm in EVERY building of the area, for a drill!
I had my personal alarm set for 6:45 myself (for unfathomable reasons) and refused to get up in the first minute the BIG one went off, because obviously, in my deep slumber I thought it was MY alarm. As usual I thought I tried putting it on snooze, in my sleep. But then, it wouldn’t turn off! And it went on and on in that gratingly annoying pitch that sounds like a hundred thousand cats meowing and drawing their claws on metal together.
By the time I got up fully, I realized it was the fire alarm. Instead of panicking, I just went “not again!” and took another two minutes to wear my hoodie (couldn’t find it and stoutly refused to get down without it). When I came out of my room, my wonderful Chinese flatmate saw my hoody and went back in to get hers. So much for a fire alarm.
These alarms have become so common in our area that nobody takes them too seriously anymore. There hasn’t been a single case of fire so far. Its mostly either a drill, or somebody having an ultra-hot shower, or burning toast! Such incidents remind of the old-school story of the boy and the wolf. The boy gives a false alarm to the villagers about a wolf attacking the sheep three times. When it actually happens, they think he’s bluffing again. The consequence of such a case is rather obvious.
These drill are supposed to be serious affairs, and having a fire alarm go off is far from a joke. But then, an overdose of fake-alarms kill the purpose of a real one. We were all out in the cold today and the fireman apologized for being late, he was to arrive at 5! Haha
I wonder what would happen if it ever happens for real. I hope it never does, of course. Just wondering…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)