Random Graduate Student thoughts on Love And Everything

A harmless question, that one must ask himself everytime he gets fired or fried. When other people ask me "Whats up?" or "Whats happening", my reflex answer is "Nothing much". The answer does not seem to go down all to well with my boss as well as my parents. Like everyone else in the universe, they want me to graduate, get a life, a wife and fat salary. I am not sure how much a wife helps, for I have seen friends with pangs of guilt while doing their usual procastinations, and the burden of "Whats going on" usually grows in a way that they need to graduate at the end of a nine month term. Of course, everyone except the graduate student is unhappy with the way it ends, because it is only after writing the epic thesis, that he understands who and what the story was all about. What you relish as an afterthought is sometimes a smile on your lip, but mostly it is a lump in your throat. A lump in the throat: Shaadi ka ladoo (the Candy of Marriage); a lump in the throat: Haphazardly finished thesis.

It is NOT the Tale of Two Lumps (and I am no Dickens either). We have a continuum of lumps, where graduate students do a Brownian motion, hopping from one lump to another. I am developing a good understanding of dynamics in complex fluids by looking at how my fellow students and I behave. Invariably, someone somewhere waits for you (to trap you, but of course, you can't tell the millions who believe there is someone somewhere that all this is a marketing gimmick, what will all these Valentine Day salesman and shoppers do if only they knew!)

Lets assume that everyone knew that someone somewhere is a marketing gimmick. Will this make the world a better place? According to the widely known (well EVEN you know them now) and unpublished thoughts of Vivek Sharma, "The human society without the attraction of someone somewhere would be like universe without gravity. The attraction keeps us together, but the presence of lumps, bumps, thumps, centrifugal force created when love turns you into a satellite about the planet of your interest, hypocrisy, regional and religious EXCUSES, the linearity of time that makes all wonderful options too old or too young for us, BOREDOM, geometrical differences and even digestive troubles, the presence of aforementioned things and a few more that my collegues will come up with to show they can also think and talk in lumpy language, all these things ensure world goes on."

Digestive troubles implies all the conversations that cannot be swallowed or digested easily. The paramount abundance of gossip is like the prevelance of junk food and spam mail, these three form the trinity of elements that are driving the modern society forward. Forward to NUThood. The Queen of United Kingdom of Sensationalia offered me NUThood once, and I could have accepted it but I couldn't beause of the geopolitical reasons. Geo as I cannot just drive into Sensationalia (using that car, of course not), Political as I believe in this age of DEMONcracy, the idea of having Queens and NUThood is as poignant as having Shakespeare on earth again, asked to create rewrite everything in Modern English (sans thou, sans thee, sans speaketh).

A ROLLING STONE gathers no moss. But A ROLLING STONE gathers money. I am going to rewrite idioms, for they are outdated. It is better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved is a gimmick of some loser which seems to be overused in our society. (Some people substitute loved by fucked and grin from ear to ear, but I tell them their thinking is equally fucked up). Ah! The banality of it all: the pink flush on the cheek, the shy, stolen slances, the holding of those incredibly beautiful hands and then (read really fast and loud what follows) the first fiesty kiss that was to be implanted on hand or forehead or cheek but somehow missed these tragets and landed up like an alien spaceship on the glorious terrain of endless ecstasy and then withdrawal where the heart is in a burning flame that can be quenched only by another explosion where two bodies entwined each other by mathematically intractible topologies ruin each other. Atomic fusion has already been mastered by the genetic programming of our hungry, craving cells, and they asked me why I am being so MUSHY and why my words are now like whsipers which hope to fall on an ear or two or it does not even matter how many, for they come and go like seasons and when they are there the spring is there too, and they leave like fall with my yellow hopes dancing to the autumn wind till it is all covered by the shroud of snow, and this is the melting snow that you see, I am ready for the spring again, and of course, I will tell you what made me mushy, its the melting snow. Oh! The banality of it all. Damn! I miss it now.

I was ruined that day my dear, when you filled me with so much passion that all I could utter, sounded like croaks, there were lumps inside bigger than those toads and I turned into a Prince with your kiss and embrace and the neighbouring dog barked his heart out for somehow magically, like in Bollywood movies, an orchestra played Take my Breath away out of the tune and it turned out that it was my apartment-mates who had taken out their rusted hands to JAZZ up the environment with tunes that were in sync with the visionary effect of VODKA, they sang with more relish and harmony out of tune than they ever did while they sang Happy Birthday tunes to wish their lost hopes who placed cakes bought by one of these in the mouths of the opportunist alternative who stepped closer at the right moment and to make it most beautisul asked my apartmentmate in question to click a KODAK MOMENT for later lamentations. You filled me with so much passion that thinking of it now throws me into a world of Rushdie and Marquez, and my thoughts appear in my heart like the poems of Neruda singling you out for my precious dedication (and you here refers to any YOU, who SPRINGS me out of the mush of this molten snow, for tears that I shed for a one you this winter have frozen with the coldness of that heart).

Ah! Of course, all this is manifestation of my stealing the time away from the purpose of my life, which is not just procreation by the way, but a two hundred page document for the moment (besides 400 page novel and 100 poems I will finish while thinking about 200 page THESIS), the document I must conjure to GET out of here. My friends have often told me that I have no difficulty in doing so, for they truly trust in my talent for making a molehill in the moutain of possibilities. I suspect I will get a lot of fanmail for glamorizing Graduate Students by writing this piece, but well, trust me these are my own personal, though random, thoughts, and my research has revealed that the features displayed by the experimental data documented here, have some universal features, and my work presented here will lay the foundation for hitherto poorly understood working of the graduatestudentmind. We touched upon the questions of Love and Everthing as well, but it is crystal clear now that the presence of randomness and uncertainity (their product is PLanck's constant raised to power Planck's constant), the presence of these two in minds of women, and the Aaf Bau Principle that prevents having more than two in one story, will always lead to lumpy graduate students, who will finish writing their THESIS, after they finish their blogs and most probably after this season of MUSH.


by Vivek Sharma
Flaunting, without accepting , NUThood of UK of Sensationalia
Random Spokesperson for LUMPY Graduate Students
DEMONcrat Street, Land of MUSH
Procastinating 24 7 365