Stranger things have happened...

People never cease to amuse me.
Humans are the most wondersome and mind-bloggling creatures there ever were. How is it that one will easily believe someone who says that there are more there a billion stars in the sky, and yet question one when they tell them that the paint on a park-bench is wet?
Human nature is odd to the Zenith.
People see no harm in someone with an exorbitant libido, but if a person has a dimished one, conflicts and allegations are thrown around at the asexuality of the esteemed. A Belgian Priest such as Georges Lemaître saying that the Big Bang exists isn't good enough for us. But Newton, Einstein, Hawking, and Friedman saying it made all the difference to the world.
So what is it that makes people choose such odd decisions? Does a mere degree signify that everything a person states is politically or diametrically correct? Or is it power? Or a homogenous mix of both?
Well, i'm not too sure of that, myself.
Taking an example into account, I'd once walked into Dr. Irani's clinic on a wintry morning with a copy of "The Economic Times" under my arm. I was in a Mickey Mouse jersey and blue faded jeans, coughing and wheezing like a dying chimpanzee. Then, i took the paper and started to read, occasionally telling the woman next to me about price hikes and an overall sensex review. Do you know what i learnt?
The Economic Times is quite the accessory for anyone who wants to be taken seriously. You'd bitch and gossip about the receptionist, complain about the coffee, even crack lame jokes about sex, and people would see you as an intellectual "with broader interests".
What? It's the Economic times, for chrissake! You need to be a "learned intellectual" to read AND understand those.
Sames for anything Franz Kafka wrote. This was the conversation between me and a cute guy in the BEST today:

"Um..." he squints at the book in my hand. "Is that a book by --"
"--Franz Kafka? Of course, yes! It's a compilation, actually. The individual novels are rather pricey..." I trail off, and then smile brilliantly.
"Oh!" Cute-Guy smiles. "So, you read the stuff he writes?"

Nope.

"Why, yes! In my opinion," I clear my throat. "The Metamorphosis was a splendid novella... It's such a shame to see people being so critical about it. I think it was immensely entertaining in a rather wise way."
"Wow, you have some enticing views." the smile on his face widens.

I've never read "The Metamorphosis". I don't even know what the fuck it's all about. And i'm pretty sure is a novelette, and not a novella.

"...So, do you find him good enough to read?" He asks, turning his entire body toward me.

Please, I'd rather watch "Glen or Glenda" instead of read the crap he writes...
But, since you're cute, I'm not going to tell you the truth.
I'm going to lie!

"Absolutely!" I widen my eyes at him. "His books are extremely high-IQ, like, so it can stump the layman. But these," I point at my green 'Compilations of the Great Works of Franz Kafka'. "Are mere translations, you know..."

I sure hoped he did, cuz i had no idea what i was getting myself into.

"Oh yeah?" He cocks an eyebrow at me in curiosity. "From what language?"

Fuck.
What language...?!
Ok. Ok. He's from Hungary, so....

"GERMAN! G-German. He's Hungarian. He was born in Prague, which was earlier a part of Austria. But, now, Prague is in Czech Republic." I nod my head intelligently at him, watching him stare in amused ineterest. Suddenly, i find myself cringing at my semi-british accent.
"Whoa! How do you know all of this?" he asks, a reporter in the charming disguise of the Cutest guy to ever sit next to me on a crowded bus.

From skimming the back of the book when you weren't looking?

"Oh, hes a reknown writer. Who wouldn't know?" I cock my head to the right.
"Right. Say, what are you reading right now?"

Fashion catalogues in Cosmo?

"The Novella 'America'."
"Oh?" He asks me to continue, and bends slightly toward me. And now, he's so close, i can practically smell his aftershave.

That's a really nice smell...

"Yes, its first chapter is 'The Stoker'. It was his greatest piece work even before being included in 'America'."
"Say, what's it all about?"

...Uh?

"The story begins as a sixteen-year-old boy named Karl Rossmann arrives at the New York harbor on a slow-moving ship. We are told that Karl has been sent to America "because a servant girl had seduced him and got herself with child by him." As he's about to come ashore, he remembers that he has left his umbrella. He asks a young man with whom he had been briefly acquainted during his voyage to watch over his trunk as he runs to get his umbrella, and the boy---"
"---Is the Stoker?"

No.

"Yes." I nod.
"Wow," He says. "You've read alot."

What?! Dooood, that's, like, only the first two pages of the entire deep-shit novel! For all your cuteness, not so much with the listening.

"Yes, it's quite long. And stretched."
"Like a rubberband?" He grins, and i burst into peals of laughter.

Your sense of humor sucks. It's a good thing you're cute.

"Like a rubberband." I stare up at him, and he moves closer.
"Well," his voice grows throaty. "What else has he written? Something," He curls a lock of my hair. "Interesting?"

Yeah. His will.

I shift away, nervously. "Th-the Castle?"

Wh-which is b-b-boring!!

"Mmmm..." he stops twirling my hair, but shifts in closer again.

Please don't ask me what it's about. Please, don't. Please don't. Please, Please, Please----

"---What's it all about?"

Fuck.

"Politics..." ....I hope?
"Sorry, my Stop's here. G'bye!" he smiles at me as he gets up to leave.
"Bye!" Phew!

So, after all this adult brainstorming session, too, i do not know how and why people decide that one persons opinion is more superior to the other. People believe all that they are told, but they question the most obvious of facts.
Why that's the case, i'll never know. Because this world is a haven of mad people. After all, stranger things have happened...

The Farewell- A Contorted mix of Energy and Lesbianism OR The Littlest Things Matter the Most

Click click click click.

I brush past an array of students buzzing outside the school hall, waiting to enter the start of our first -and, possibly, last -ever farewell. My six-inch heels click weirdly against the gravel and i crunch past senior boys who seemed to have an affininty of incessantly staring at my butt for no reason. But, i didn't care, then. All i cared about was----

"----I'M HAVIN' A FAREWELL! I'M HAVIN' A FAREWELL!!"

I click away toward the Gemini's* house. She'd called me earlier, telling me to come home. She, apparently, wanted to show me the varied dresses that were worn by her, Sugu-Pugu* and Ice-Kitten*. With the last whiff of nervous energy that my body had attained -fearing that i would be the only one is corporate wear -i heave myself toward the door. I had the perfect outfit out for this, too. My corporate satin shirt with lace trimmings from Westside, jeans from BHS [what's strange to note about them is that though they really ARE from BHS, they have the word "Sexy" written on their back-pocket. Well, that sure explains the weird staring...] and my bag from the Camel market [Camel market stuff is actually GOOD stuff. They're all at half off. Isn't that good?], and the most amazing heels from Catwalk that i only bought 'cuz of my shoe-fetish.
Oh, yeah! Did i mention that i have shoe-fetish?
No? No?!
Well, i have shoe-fetish.
I ring the door-bell.

"Hi! ~~I look HIDEOUS!" Gemini says as she opens the door.
"~~this school has taught us..." Sugu-Pugu trails off behind her.
"Do i look like i'mma girl going to a strip-club?!" Ice-kitten whines.

And the world spins on its axis~~~~
WAIT A MINUTE!

"Strip-club?!" I scream.
"Yeah, look at me!" she whines.

That's the most special thing about Ice-kitten*; no matter how much she whines and nags, she always manages to look cute. Just like a real kitten. I stare at her, from head to torso. Because, for some reason, i cannot look beyond her chest-region.
Oh, no no. The Lesbianism doesn't come in here.

"That necklace is so PRETTY!!" i scream.
"Lemme see what you're wearing!" The girls say in unison.
"Oh, I..." I put my leg up in the air, bent at the knee. "... am in love with THESE." I point at the six-inch torture adorning my feet.

Almost instantly does the room get filled with a hoard of shieking, maniacal female laughter that sounds close to the frantic squawking that i had to hear on the 14th of this month[as you may recall].
I still have the nightmares...

"So, whats this," I say, "About you looking like you are going to a strip-club?" I look at her again. She seems to look normal. She has a nice black top with white sequins on it, and a black skirt to go with. And....
"...Are those..." I look down. "Ankle-length boots?"
"Yeah, nice, huh?"
"Nice? I think i'm in love...." I look up at her.
"....right." She turns around and walks toward sugu-pugu.
"Do i look ok?" she asks. "Is the skirt too short?"
"What, are you kidding me?!" I say. "Zenith's* skirt is way~~~~y shorter! It's like, even if she DIDN'T wear a skirt, it wouldn't make much of a difference!"
"Are you sure?"
"Uh-huh... Say..." I begin. "Can i see those?" I point at her feet.
"Sure! Go ahead!"

At this precise minute, she turns around and bends forward. Suddenly, from being face-to-face we're... butt-to-face... I stare at her behind. That's a nice behind. Not too plump like most indian girls, and not flat. Could give even MY butt a run for my money... Not bad at ALL... reminds me of that song from Sir Mix-A-Lot. Yeah, sure, it's extremely racist; but we hate whites, too! How did it go, again?
Oh, yeah!

"I like big butts and i cannot lie.
You 'otha' 'brothas' can't deny,
when a girl comes in wi' an itty-bitty waist an'
a round 'thang' in yo' face, ya get sprung!
Wanna pull out on yo'r tough,
'cuz ya noticed that the butt was stuffed...."

Ice-kitten turns around and looks at me.

"What?" she asks. I stare up at her, my head still cocked to the right, the mouth slightly open.
"...Yeah..." I look at her, turn around, and walk away.

Today, I like big butts. Tomorrow, I'm getting married.
What has this world come to?!
~:~

"We will light the lamp of Knowledge, and everyone will be give a candle of knowledge. The first will be lit by our very own Principal." one of the teachers says into the microphone.
"Kiss-up!" I say, only to hear a murmur of giggles erupt behind me.

The teachers huddle up in groups and walk toward the students with lit candles. The unlit ones are handed to us.
"Here," my class teacher hands a candle to me. I stare at it. This is the candle of knowledge...? This golden, swirly, waxy thing with what looks like bird-poop on it is the candle of knowledge?!

"If thats the case, then knowledge is everywhere!!" I wail.
"You're right!" My teacher says. "All of us have knowledge. We must only share it with others. Thats what counts."

Knowledge is actually a bird-poop covered candle. No wonder school stinks!
My class teacher bends toward me, trying to light up my candle for me. it doesn't light up. She tries once more. No show.
And once more.
And again.
And again. But the candle doesn't light up.
I move my candle toward that of my friend in front of me.
"Figures..."


"...and now you may all blow out your candles." the principal says. I blow mine, and so does the entire hall. Now, the hall is filled with double its volume of smoke. People all around me are coughing, and blowing at their candles in vain. Some are sneezing, and some others have covered their mouths with their respective hands. I shuffle around to see whats up with the others. Suddenly, i spot XKDC* laughing with Chilly Flakes* in a far corner.
Invariably, my jaw tightens and my grip around the candle strengthens.

"...Sangeeta?" Someone says.
"What?!" i snap at them. she beckons me to look down.

Oh, my God.

"I broke it."

Thats right. I broke the candle of Knowledge. I broke the fucking candle. Since everyone's staring, this must be bad. I turn to sugu-pugu and show it to her. She giggles.
Sangeeta broke the candle of knowledge. Why does this not surprize her? Then, i think of something else.
This was a very symbolic event. My hearts envy led to the tightening of my grip on the candle, sic it broke. It is said that when there is anger and hatred on the mind, the power to think logically diminishes. This was just what happened -i was so angry that i didn't realize the breaking of the candle in my hand. This was like Gods own sign.
It's always the littlest of things that matter the most...
~:~

"Where do we get the energy to do things from?" Sugu-pugu asks, twirling the hem of her dupatta in her hands.
"Well, I get the energy to message from my mum, who pays for my phone-bills." i say.
"No, no. Where do you get the energy to do work?" she says, a little irritably.
"Food?"
"From food, we trace it to crops, which are green..." Gemini says
"And so- " Sugu-pugu begins
"-we get the energy from the sun." Gemini completes the sentence.
"Exactly. Now, where does the sun get energy from?"
"Heat." Gemini says.
"How is heat formed?"
"By the presence of Helium on the surface of the sun?" I say.
"It's hydrogen, actually..." Gemini trails off.
"Yeah. the reaction between Deuterium and Tritium(Hydrogen Isotopes). In ordinary cricumstances, the radioactive tritium actually decays into helium-3. But, on the sun, they bombard into each other and form helium-4, the cause of heat on the surface of the sun. In the reaction, a nucleus (mostly of the Triton) is discarded and 17.6 MeV(mega electron volts) of energy is released as an appropriate amount of mass converting to the kinetic energy of the products, in agreement with E = Δmc2."

Of course, this cannot be proven true in many other cases, such as that of anti-matter (specially anti-protons/anti-hydrogen).
And, of course, that isn't what i said. I said

"The reaction between two protons, or, two hydrogen ions, creates a vast amount of energy from mass. This energy is from the fusion reaction used to make helium on the surface. Hence, the heat."

What? These are teenaged girls! The last thing they wanna do is listen to an entire chapter out of The Physics of Inertial Fusion" from the mouth of a girl who sounds like a drunken boar falling into a pit full of shit!"

"In other words, we get energy from protons -" Sugu-Pugu begins.
"-which are everywhere. Exactly." Gemini chimes in.
"It's like with carbon," I say. "Our body is composed of carbon in varied different forms, and, yet, if we try to eat burn toast -carbon in its purest form -we fall ill."

"So, our entire existence relies on protons. Just radioactive matter! The littlest thing in the entire universe... and it matters the most!"

To think that such an award-winning ass was formed the courtesy of decaying radioactive matter.
That is so pathetic!


And so am i.
Excuse me while i crawl into a hole and die.


*Names changed. Duh...