Exams: What Price Revival?

Dystopian hysteria masks, surrounds and ultimately engulfs the sickeningly mortal soul of an engineering student in the midst of any big, week-long exam schedule. Positivity is a virtue in waters as swampy as those; perhaps waiting for the weekend in jest and earnest is the only way forward.

Looking back at the bigger picture makes us all think in lines of what-could-have-beens. As someone rightly said, "time and tide waits for none"; perhaps mugging up those then-silly proverbs that actually added literature to life's commonest things was my, and many others', bigger mistakes in life.

At a time when alcohol becomes your number one friend which aids and abets to the fullest in the quest to run away from those humongous syllabi, when time ticks by faster than ever before, when all bad things converge into one giant fireball and closes in with the bullish intensity of a Mjölnir and the breakneck speed of a Batmobile, the solace and solutions that remain are the alternatives.

We were sent to do a job, with blessings left, right and center. But like everything else in this big, boring planet, we screwed up. There's always a second chance or at least a last-chance-saloon. Never given up hope, perhaps hope has given up on us. What you do is what you enjoy; but I never enjoyed what I was tasked with to do. 

Hell's dark dungeons on the horizon a few miles away; should I run into it or away from it? Running away would make me deviate from self, while running into it surely spells a long road on the rocks and gravels. Torn to pieces this small soul, but I would never know which road to travel.

I am no wizard, neither am I an Elf. I dream big, like they humans do best. Or perhaps I should stop sleeping; at least there would be lesser dreams to worry about. Whatever the price of the revival, I'll always come up short. Come the fated-Friday, the animal in me would wake up. Again, from the morose moonlight through the sultry sunlight until the dust settles, I will be myself again. Only thing that stands in between is the small matter of the exams. 

Oh heck! It's dawn, and I haven't slept yet.

INFOGRAPHIC: January Transfer Window

An overview of the January transfer window. Pretty ordinary stuff this year, were all the demands and necessities met?

Juan Mata infographic

Hard day's work, but will it be worth the risk?
A different view of the Mata transfer, with tactics and tit-bits.

The elegant internet and the face of Facebook

"Just move to the internet, its great here. We get to live inside where the weather is always awesome."-John Green.

Internet, that little big thing out there virtually on its own. No frills, good enough thrills, bit of the bizarre, wholly functional, a treasure trove of the useful as well as the trivial. The elegant world wide web opened its arms for this retarded soul not too far back; and I haven't let my grip slip one tiny bit since. Elegant doesn't perfectly define the beauty of the web; I had to use the word as small tributes to the people who are part of the big cake, people who made this world a possibility.

Technologically laid-back are most of the guys from my part of the land; at least I don't want to go generic but then that's what I am and what people around me are. Never a quick learner, fiddling is a specialty; and then when you have so big a fish to fiddle, you never get done with it.

And being no fundamental geek of the intricate stuff, I now get onto explaining what I look for in a website. A bit laughable, but simply it is me who opines here. And the very first thing I look for is 'looks'. Content can be a literary gem or a big scandalous bust, but the first things that your eyes see aren't the words of a content, but rather the way they are presented to the first timer.

Tad like a girl with chic fashion taste, or a car with glitzy exteriors. A posh, suave website means that you're surfing on waters where you've been taken good care of. Half the battle is won the moment we enter a site; after all someone rightly said, "First impressions are key, if you give me a bad first impression I probably will have that idea of you forever honestly."

Stand out in millions out there? If the concerned bit is about the internet, then I'm pretty sure that there aren't any millions out there but the one and only internet. And if it concerns a particular website in an ocean that is the internet, my vote goes to the popular, a-bit-too-mainstream Facebook.com.

Facebook.com might be the best social platform there has ever been on the web; but there ends the platitudes. I totally, absolutely love the website for many reasons; perhaps the odd one is it being one of the fastest websites to load its homepage however weak or ill-responsive the connectivity is. Comfortable would be understating; I never felt a tiny hiccup when rolling through news-feeds or sharing links and even pinging mates. 

A particularly good thing about Facebook.com is its ocean of content, wrapped beautifully in a brilliantine cotton wool. Utility might be one downside; you normally don't do useful things over there. But then, its looks, simplicity, ease of access and high functionality and content overflow picks up the grades. And when you have friends along with you there, things always get fun.

                                    --------------------------------------------------

Nostalgia

Life is cruel, life is sweet. It’s all about perspectives of perceptions; remember the glass half empty, glass half full cliché? Every scenario, every moment, and to be pointier every coin has two sides, and none better than the other. This is the hardest part to swallow, and the easiest too. The other day I was watching all sorts of classic football matches, compilations, footages, reading quotes thanks to the high fidelity internet connection in my college, and some sort of stark realization dawned upon me. What if I never grew old and remained forever gummed in the old and almost-forgotten period of the 2000s. I would happily travel back in time to relive those classy and classic moments that shaped and marked the days when I was a small kid entering into his teens. Memories remain, and that’s the best and worst part of ‘memories’, either you be happy recalling the past, or sulk on the time that flew away and promised never to come back. Football has evolved, so have I, but the very essence and fundamentals of the game still remain same. Matches are still won by goals scored, pitches are still green and grassy, fans still flock stadiums. To be honest and holistic, football has remained same, but only for those who care lesser about the game than what I do. Delve into the intricacies, and you’ll find how the beautiful game has gone through a myriad of changes. Change is one thing in life that even the extra-terrestrial cannot avoid, but like many others of my generation, football has not been the same, and never will be.

Gone are the days when Kaka was dominating Italy with AC Milan, his goals being the toast of the world. Gone are the days when Henrik Larsson took the Celtic bravehearts to the brink of European glory. Gone are the days when Liverpool came back from the dead to win another European Cup. Gone are the days when David Beckham skied that penalty against Portugal. Gone are the days when Brazilian Ronaldo sported that triangle haircut. For those who think that I didn’t witness the greatest of greats in the likes of Pele, Maradona, Best, Beckenbauer, Cruyff et al please keep away, because this was my time, the time when the simple but overly complex game of football gave me so much joy. Nothing compares with this; everything had a charm that made me come back time and time again. Age and responsibilities make people understand better, and I am a victim of it, I decided to go deeper and deeper into the caverns and suddenly after all these years I look lost. I so yearn to go back, to be that little innocent kid again, dancing to Ricky Martin’s ‘Ale ale Ale Cup of Life’ song. But life is cruel.

Being nostalgic is another thing. What I am going through is anybody’s guess, a deep feeling of disappointment that overhauls any other achievement, bereavement, a moment of stinging self-realization. Sadly, wistfulness is futile and doesn’t do justice to the people who are around me, who have been around me since the beginning of time. Studying tactics and gameplan doesn’t even compare, although I now can claim to be a fairly good reader of the game, but once you play those sepia-tinted videos and footages of old, nerves jangle and tears wriggle.

Sigh!

Those days
The good old days
Never to return
Forever away
Leaving only flashes
The good old days.

Being negative was never my intention, but this piece echoes the feelings that flood my clogged mind in the midst of stress and fever. A write-up enough to suggest many things, but you’ll never know.

“You’ll never walk alone”.

Reverting to type!!

A week in hostel is worth two at home, these priceless hostel days are starting to get numbered for me, with only two years left(hopefully) until I step out of my 'hallowed' college. There is a sense of freedom here, a sort of serenity amid all the noises and hoopla, and I guess hostels are the only place where you find such juxtapositions. The sickening vacations couldn’t end soon enough, as I felt frustrated by my inactivity at home, crave for returning back to my hostel soon became an obsession. Ecstasy, so aptly is my hostel named that I have never felt more ecstatic at any other place than this. It is the epitome of semi-luxurious entertainment and fun, a place where it’s only you and your friends alone, drenched and sunk in all sorts of alcoholic, non-alcoholic beverages; a place where one never sees the sun rising, a place where we all become doctors of some kind who knows all about lungs and livers, a place where cigarette smoke is the staple food, a place where feasts always start with a sniff of the ‘holy’ weed. A nightmare of a place for the good guys, but life in hostel is an experience to savor, you can never have that in any other place in the world; in simple words it is an enlightening experience.

Not every hostel in this big world is the same, and I won’t suggest using my description as a stereotype for hostel life, and it is at your own peril if you choose to do so. The first few days after vacations are the real deal, it’s the time when you try to get used to the pace, try to understand and study your surroundings all over again. New semester meant that I would be shifting from my earlier room and by the grace of the Almighty, I landed in a place which I so badly wanted, a single-seater room. After two long, tedious years of toiling with roommates, I now find myself in new territory, and what better place than a room of my own, however small it may be. And thus starts another phase of my sojourn in Silchar, and this time I hope to have something better to show at the end. Working hard is the keyword here, and we all know very well how antonymous the word is with an engineering student. But still, it’s a new beginning, the time for renewed hope and expectation and hopefully not another false dawn.

Blogger has provided me an awesome platform to pen down my views on subjects and topics I like, it has been a great journey till now, and I just can't get enough of it. As I have been offered the job of EPL blogger at sportzwiki.com, my posts here will be sporadic from now onward. I wish the earth took more time to rotate, because for me now, time is the most important commodity.

Wimbledon, through my amateur eyes !

A final post before I leave my sweet home and embark on a half-day journey to one of the remotest places in the world, a place where people appear flummoxed about their nationality, to continue pursuing my proverbial 'aim in life' in more than tedious conditions and circumstances. I would request all who will read further to bless me. Thank you, may God bless you.

As the green grass near the baseline dwindles, it means we are a week into the oldest tennis tournament in the world. The Wimbledon Championships, as it is named, is so littered with tradition that I can't help but feel myself being in a time of the erstwhile kings and monarchs of the 17th and 18th centuries. Starting with the most obvious white-only dress code, to the immaculately dressed officials and the uniformed ball boys and girls, to name a few, Wimbledon surely looks the part when it comes to Grand Slams.

And the 2013 edition will not be the most memorable Wimbledon, for me at least. French Open winner Nadal crashed out in the very first round, first time that Rafa's been out of the tree for the second round in a Grand Slam. It was somewhat sad for me, having grown up idolizing Nadal, it's such a shame to see him in such dire straits. If my opinion were considered, I wouldn't have advised him to play while carrying an injury. And the following days produced further shocks, sweetest of all being the ouster of Roger Federer in the second round. Aggrieved by the losses of my favorite ladies in Sharapova, Azarenka, Ivanovic and Wozniacki, I now owe Mr. Sergiy Stakhovsky a big thanks for that giant-killing of Federer. Federer is such a great professional, but I have my reasons to hate him, about which I will talk a bit later.

So, it's become pretty straightforward now for the top seeded Djokovic and Williams, although I anticipate Andy Murray and Agnieszka Radwanska to go the distance. Speaking of Murray, the Scot who missed the French Open and still managed to hold on to his World No 2 while Nadal won in France yet slipped to fifth, a pang of pity arises in me for him. Not-so-broad shoulders, and the burden of high expectations. His every winner is cheered across the Blighty and every unforced error followed by a wave of tension. The famous 'Henman Hill' gets renamed 'Murray Mound' every time Murray steps onto those hallowed grass courts. Britain's really crazy and with no fear of Federer this time around, Murray must get his act together and deliver the nation its ultimate prize.

Henman Hill

Speaking of national pride, another player making waves is Britain's Laura Robson. The new kid, just 19-years old, made her way into the round of 16. And yet again, crazy Brits found a way to rename 'Henman Hill', this time with 'Robson Ridge'. Why don't they call it "British Bump" and stop the drama once and for all?

Roger Federer, it's hard to find an athlete like him in generations. He is such a great personality, a giant of his era and the epitome of success. And my compliments end there. At the time when I seriously started following tennis, Roger Federer was the man dominating world tennis, collecting trophies at will and leaving opponents biting the dust. And you can forgive/condemn me for having a special liking for underdogs, I wanted somebody to rise up to his virtually unconquerable challenge. Enter Rafael Nadal, the peculiar Spaniard donning sleeveless tops and 'pirata' shorts. Over the coming years, Nadal appeared to be the best bet to overhaul Federer and bring a halt to his monopoly, and so he did. Nadal became nemesis no1 for Federer and the Swiss never remained the same again.

The Championships has still got a week more to run, and although the frequency of matches is going to lower, the intensity will still be the same. Big games will be the order of the day as the tournament reaches its climax. I, for one, would like Andy Murray to win but I can't really see anyone other than the 'Djoker' lifting the trophy. The same goes for Serena Williams in the ladies' section, although I would love some fresh face like Aga Radwanska to win it. Fingers crossed nonetheless, but Wimbledon 2013 has been an event to forget for me.

P.S. Federer fans please take no offense, the opinions above are limited to me and me only, and I am fully entitled to my opinion.