Alone now.

The demon walks free. The backdrop of choking, toxic furnace seems apt somehow- perfect to help mould the monster into a creature even more cruel and apathetic.
To be honest-
Shelter, complacency, bliss are what have come closest to killing this creature. All pain and rage is merely staple food. It devours them readily, stopping only when its stomach has begun to overflow.
Living only on instinct now... I will let nothing in my way.

Blank

They say,
'You don't know best.'
'What you think isn't the only way to think.'
'You aren't the only one.'
'You're wrong.'
'Stop thinking that you're the only one who understands anything.'
'Shut up.'
'What do you think you are?'

When I state my opinion, why do they act like I'm choking them with my bare hands?

Opinions are derived from facts, if you knew what I do- you might agree with me.

When I tell someone that they are wrong, I state the reason clearly, concisely, and hopefully without undue emotion.

Then they tell me that I am wrong.

Why? I ask.

"Because you can't be right. You can't be right every time."

...I know I can't, but that is not a valid reason...

"I am what I am. You have no right to change me!"

You won't even allow me to contest a half-baked thought without considering it an attack on your very being?! Don't argue if your chosen currency is pride, not reason!

I refuse to believe that man is incapable of gaining a deeper understanding of the world than what comes naturally. I refuse to believe that you can't change, within the boundaries of what defines you as a person.

So when you say-
"You're wrong.
You don't know everything.
You don't know anything."

I say-

"Prove it."

-

One glance. And one more.

She walked in, as I was about to leave. Medium height, a little small maybe. I didn't know her. She caught my attention. I'll probably never see her again.

I stood in line to collect a form for admission to a hostel. She was a little distance away. I found her... incredibly attractive.

If someone else asked me to explain it, I could not, in terms of words. It will be natural for them to think that I saw some fairy-tale princess or super model or a half/full caucasian (with me having some kind of white-skin-philia begin with-).

What was so special about her face? Nothing I guess.
Nothing? So just what else could you have seen?
Er.

Its not about appearance, I think. It's about the impression you make.

From the expression on her face, I know that she isn't 'nice'... that 'nice' that I find pathetic. Its hard for someone to be nice (the real one) by default, to people you barely know. A cold shell is easier to believe... less likely to be fake.

There was another girl in the crowd, from my coaching class, who had been 'nice' to everyone from the start, flocked to the most successful, then left them for greener pastures when they seemed to fall. She was one of the higher scorers of the class.
I saw her in the line behind me- she had been observing me, utterly conscious of my presence. I would have smiled at her just to be polite, but the wave of hatred that blasted into me from her expression left me blank, bemused (btw- bemused means confused, not amused, strange eh?)

I didn't really understand the hate from her... it wasn't contempt, were it- she would have ignored me. It was almost like jealousy, which I didn't understand- I was only a few ranks ahead as far as she knew, and even if she had heard my name announced earlier, it wasn't enough to warrant hatred- right?

What she hated... was me, I think. Its only my instinct speaking here- she knew how I was, quiet, lazy yet supremely confident in my own abilities- I listened to my teachers when I saw it fit, ignored them when I thought they were spewing shit. I tried to score but never used it as a barometer to measure worth. I stopped believing in coaching after my IITJEE ended up being rather ordinary. She had, along with her friends, attended coaching for the other exams as well- including the one that landed her here, at the Delhi College of Engineering, while I had decided that the only way I'd amount to anything was to take my future into my own hands.

That is why she resented me, I realize now, not only because I was more successful, but because the kind of person I was- because my silent confidence was something she used to hold a deep contempt for, but that contempt was turned on its head when my way of functioning was vindicated.

Haha, thank the night and my meandering, time-wasting style of writing. But for them I might have never understood this, and allowed it to puzzle me for a long time hence.

I was writing of another girl, after all, haha. The one I don't know.

Her back was straight, her poise impeccable, completely unlike the seething hunch-back trying to contort itself into a respectable shape as it noticed my eyes come across it. She handled herself with perfect grace, exuding confidence.

Her body was not unhealthily thin, but healthy without a single extra pound of fat. This, along with her posture, gave an impression of athleticism, of a person who maintained herself well.

The clothes she wore told me that she did not seek cheap attention, either that or she simply thought she didn't need help from clothes. They were simple, effective, form fitting, but giving away nothing to lecherous eyes.

The mere fact that she was here meant that she was intelligent. Sure it was an exam that I didn't exactly take seriously, but only because I had tortured myself for several days before it to be in a position to take part.

I know she wasn't shy, by the way she observed me from the corner of her eye and weighed me, without even turning her head, (Its at times like these that I feel... very... inferior, I guess.) perhaps she understood that she had my attention- or perhaps she didn't realize that I would notice hers.

The line I was in moved forward, and I moved along with it. Because we had both seen each other, neither could care to spare another glance, because that would give too much away.

She was nowhere to be seen by the time I finished with my work.

As I left, I had a desire to return. It was irrational, because even if I did, I would probably never see her again. Even if fate helped out a little, we'd probably never speak, probably have nothing in common if we did speak, and she probably wouldn't give a damn if we had anything in common.

Even so, I was intrigued.

I'm an objectivist, aren't I?

I bought a pair of sunglasses. They seemed cool. I need them for the desert life, I think.

I came home. My sister, always ready to meddle in the petty and the mundane, went through the shopping bags and found the sunglasses.

"I knew you'd buy this pair of sunglasses!" She exclaimed.

The glasses were light, narrow without excessive material, and mostly black... it had taken me an hour to pick out a pair that I liked... I refused to buy anything I felt compromised on the design on account of price, or priced unfairly. It was pretty damn painful.

"How did you know?" I asked, my brain numbed.

"You like these kinds of sunglasses." Well Duh.

"These are SO out of fashion these days. Hahahahaha. I can't even START to tell you how out of fashion they are!"

"Who cares?"
And then-
"What is fashion, anyway?"

Fashion is people who don't know any better than you telling you what to wear for practically no reason whatsoever. In order to fuel sales, the world has formed a strange cycle between the old and the new- with people continuously moving between donning the bohemian and the futuristic. People are led to believe that they need to buy what is 'in', sales never cease, people are never allowed to be satisfied, not for a moment. They follow the words of the deceivers like mindless sheep. I can understand if a few just wanted to wait for social sanction, before trying to wear something they always wanted to, but to think that they are superior to another because they follow the commands the corporations feed them, hah. I could laugh if it wasn't so depressing.

That is how I defined fashion.

"What is fashion?" I asked her.
"I don't know." Said my sister. She wants to enter the fashion industry.

I'm an objectivist aren't I?

*SUBJECT CHANGE*
Damn you Ayn Rand. You have a rape-fetish, you bitch, stop trying to justify it by incorporating it into philosophy.

To Rolf, The Fool

You must think I get irrationally angry at times. And I do. But you're never going to figure out why I hate you, you blind fool.

You are always... so prepared to let pride come in the way of conscience. To let your stupid arguments take their toll on you. Just rushing headfirst into destruction, ignoring all warnings, and then passing on the blame so you don't have to face up to it.

Call me a sadist, I don't care, I'm a masochist already. Blame me. But I'll be gone soon enough, and I'm never letting myself come between you and the hole you have dug for yourself. I don't care if I get hurt, but I hate watching you destroy yourself, because there's nothing I can do to stop you- I don't get to decide what kind of person you are, and it enrages me.

It's sick actually. A punch in gut wouldn't make a difference, but watching you go hungry hurts. And you know it, thats why you do it.

And what do you do? You decide that I want you to be unhappy, for whatever reason that appeals to your twisted skull.
Over-reacting? Who do I think I am?
To be honest, it's a bad sign if you can't put life in perspective anyway. If you want proof, Rolf, all you have to do is wait. But I won't be around to say 'I told you so'.
Make your decisions now. I've tried and failed for too long. You never listen to what I say, you are incapable, it seems, of understanding the people closest to you.

So understand me clearly now. I will not clean your mess or cover for you. The choices before you are simple. You can understand the nature of three human beings you should have learnt of a long time ago, or you can keep living in the same kind of paranoia and become an ignorant victim of your own foolish pride before long. Why can't you be logical? Just- fucking understand when people tell you the truth to your face.

Soon enough, you won't have me to blame. Who are you going to point the finger at then?

Of course, you'll think that I'm lying. Because you are a fool, and for no other reason. What can I do about that? Nothing. It's unfair to expect you to grow a pair of eyes, isn't it?

It's a cruel joke that plays out.

Do I have to explain that as well? Probably, since you would choose not to figure it out if given half the chance.
You live in fear of deceivers and enemies, and monsters and ghosts, but the thing that will come closest to destroying you is the monster of your own making.

I'm not your worst enemy, I'm a distant second. The first is inside you. If you have decided to become that blind, self-serving creature, then I shall simply leave. But the day I stop fighting what I consider the worst in you will be the day I stop caring about you as a person, don't be too eager to rush to that conclusion.

WTF

1, 2, 3, 4... 5... 6... 7... 8?!

What the hell has happened to me?

Mocked by the Mockingbird: A Fight Over Ice-Water

This story takes place about a year and a half ago.
I was in the eleventh grade.
It was November, I believe.I had been selected after a written exam to qualify for the second round of the prestigious Kishore Vaigyanik Protsahan Yojana- the KVPY Scholarship exam.
The scholarship was worth several times amount I was getting from my old scholarship - the NTSE, and being the pragmatic sort of person I am- I was raring to have a go at this.

I think about 300-600 students from all over the country were called for an interview. I didn't know how many would be selected.The same week our school was taking part in an essay writing competition. A review of To Kill a Mockingbird. The first prize was two thousand pounds or ten thousand rupees or something. Once again, being the money-minded person I am- and also because I hadn't written anything decent for 8 months, I wanted to enter.

So I borrowed the 'classic' and read it. The thing that annoyed me about the book was the mockingbird on the cover, the absence of it in the story.
Killing a mockingbird is supposed to have meaning- what's the point if the story is NOTHING ABOUT IT.
Might as well have gone with "Justice Denied: The Atticus Finch Story"- it's more catchy.So anyway... I had been worrying about the day with the essay, I have fairly high expectations of myself.

One thing I DON'T like to do is fill up the pages with garbage.

(Teachers seem to like my garbage though- they'd smile and nod wisely when they come across what I consider the Dung of literature, then scoff somewhat at the knives and forks and engines of my writing.)
And as with every other time my passion is stirred, fate dropped in to deliver, yes, you know what I'm talking about.The day of the Essay Writing managed to conveniently coincide with the day of the scholarship interview.

It was a little painful, but I controlled my emotions. Yes, I was going to miss a writing competition with a ten thousand rupee monetary prize. I love writing, competition, and I'd really love ten thousand rupees. But my education is more important. If I got the scholarship, it would amount to much more than ten thousand bucks.

This decision was also tempered by a rather simple fact.

All real writers get their message across in their work. They don't need morons like us trying to devalue their work by using it as basis to impress our egoes onto some judges.

How would you explain the story beyond what is obvious? You will either use flamboyant, obtuse and eclectic language, not say what can be said in simple words, or derive so much from the story by reading between the lines that you forget the content of the words themselves, be so obsessed with forging a new perspective that you forget what is obvious, or, like I may have, simply stated that which needed no real explanation and render my own self completely obsolete, unoriginal.

And so instead of writing something redundant.

I went to buy clothes for the interview.A Brown pant. Shoes. Cream Shirt. Lessons from my dad on how to handle interviews. An idiotic tweed coat. What?

A little tense but more or less calm. I went to sleep early the day before the interview.I woke up early the next morning. At 4 AM, burning up and with a massive headache. Howling, then moaning I got to my feet.

Managed to get a thermometer in my mouth, and waited. Looks like Fate wasn't done with me yet.103 degrees farenheit.

All of the confidence I'd built up over the last few days went to hell.I felt like crying, really. But I didn't. It was a one off incident. It happens to everyone.It was illogical to think that it would ever happen to me again. (Until it did, right before IITJEE 2009, yay. Fuck YOU, Fate.)

There was still some hope. Just enough time before the interview for antipyretics to take effect. And so I took a few pills with a glass of water and tried to rest. I had to try. A few hours passed, the fever subsided but left me drained and lethargic. Even so, I had to focus. Just focus.
The interview was at JNU's science department. At some specified time we arrived at registered. I remember feeling like a damn fool in the tweed coat. Why the hell do I take his advice at all? One of my school-mates was at the registration. Akshat Agarwal (sp?). He was carrying around a massive copy of Resnick/Haliday back when I didn't know what it was, and reading about Semiconductors when I had been struggling with mechanics.

Sure R/H isn't a big deal, but back then, it sure as hell was intimidating to see the guy revising next year's syllabus right before the interview when I could barely think.
My dad talked with the authorities to tell them about my condition and tried to make them get me in to get interviewed first. I wanted to wait damnit, hoping that my head cleared up. But I let him do as he wished. They moved me up the line, heh.

All the interviewers would now know that I was ill. Fucking fantastic. The retard who moved himself up the line for his own convenience.I hate it when my father tries to make things easy for me, when he tries to ensure that I'm treated differently. It undervalues my effort, my preparation- my willpower. I hate it, and even then, its not a good enough reason to fight over.

Finally time for my Out Of Turn. I entered the interview room. There was a woman, an asshole (you can tell from the face), a guy who was never going to say anything throughout the interview, and a man I'd seen earlier, a smartly dressed oldish guy wearing sunglasses and with a shock of silver hair (Later I was told that he was someone important, like a Dean or something).
The interview began.

Except, of course, it was not an interview, more like a timed quiz.
First question, how do you tell apart stars and planets from the moon. I suggested spectroscopy. They wanted to know how ancient humans would have done it. Annoying. I asked what human-kind knew in the ancient time I was working in-> Did they know about the planet's rotation? Or not?

I tried to come up with some logic about how planets and stars followed different trajectories in the night sky along with the refraction 'twinkling' effect being a method of comparing distance. "The stars could be turning on and off." said Asshole. "If we don't know about fucking refraction, you just how much do you expect us to know about space?" I wanted to say.
The questions came thick and fast. Mostly from Asshole. I was asked a new question before the gears of my rusty brain had finished processing the last. Mathematics on how to calculate the moon's size, derive other facts from it- How can you prove that the moon is closer to the earth than the stars? I said something related to my trajectory .

The Deanguy laughed heartily, "Have you even seen a star pass in front of the Moon?"

Asshole laughed too, only derisively.I clenched my fist. Heart and head pounding in front of the black-board on which I'd been writing my equations. Fuck it. They were tricking me.

Any other day... any other day I'd have been able to see through that trick. But today... today, when it took all I had to make my brain accelerate along a straight line, it was a dirty trick.
A stuttering tired fool with a red face. Screwed up the easiest part of the first composite question. What a great first impression.

I won't get another question wrong.

Asshole continued. First some opening line about oceans and the ecosystem.

Then asked-"What is better for sustaining life? Seawater or Freshwater?"I knew this."Freshwater."

Maybe I should have thought a little. "Why?" He asked.

I don't know, I just knew that seawater was a much harsher environment.I started with sunlight and plankton and how less depth led to milder conditions. They didn't seem to buy it. Then about how there was less oxygen in seawater. "Why?" again.

Damnit, what was the point of getting a question right anyway? Something more about the ratio of the surface area to depth and how after a certain distance light did not penetrate into the ocean. Plankton concentration would reduce, and so, oxygen. They didn't buy it.What else? Rivers churn more, the kinetic energy of the churning allows oxygen to dissolve in them? I know now that surface area has little to do with dissolved gas, in theory. The key is 'IN THEORY', I will bet you that if you take oxygen readings near the surface of the ocean and a mile beneath it- the concentrations will be visibly different.Then about how Seawater was a more saturated solution, about how the salinity made survival harder.

I was pretty desperate. The concentration of salts should not affect the concentration of oxygen dissolved. (*cough* IN THEORY) In the end, they stopped this line of questioning. They didn't tell me the answer. Damn well couldn't. I mean I'd said so much, there was nothing left.After a few more questions. A simple one. "What is the temperature of the human body?" asked Asshole."37 degrees centigrade" Almost incredulously, had they thrown me this as a bone?

Asshole laughed. I cringed, what the hell?

"You're way off, It's 32." said Asshole.

"It's 37."

"32" Said Asshole again. He knew as well as everyone else in the room that the answer is thirty seven, but he was going to keep playing this stupid fucking game.

It was at this moment, that I decided that I hated this guy. (Although I didn't mind the others, they didn't go out of their way to piss me off like this dickhead.)

It's 37 you retard. The average temperature of the human body is thirty seven degrees celsius, ninety eight point six degrees fahrenheit. Thirty two degrees celsius is common to extremely large mammals, elephants, hippopotamii and rhinoceroses (sp?), my temperature this morning was forty degrees celsius, which is about normal for owls and rabbits, you fucking retard, and thats where you got this question from. The fact that you choose to mock me by telling me that I am five degrees cooler than I am, and that you insult my intelligence at the same time by doing so, is something I don't appreciate.

What I said was "Sir. I've been reading this my entire life, seen it on thermometers and read it in scientific journals. Not all parts have the same temperature, but the average temperature of the human body is thirty seven degrees celsius."I commended myself for managing to say it with so much respect."You're way off. It's thirty two degrees. I don't know what bullshit you've been reading."

Something small snapped. Like a switch at the back of my head.I smiled. What is this joke? Do you expect me to beg you to accept something that every child knows. Leaning back into the chair, I sighed, a release that could have been mistaken for one due to the strain and post-fever, but probably wasn't.

"Of course sir. You must know better than I. You are a professor in a college. I'm just an eleventh grader. I must be wrong, you must be right. Could you please tell me how and when this new figure was reached?"

This time, I didn't bother to cleanse my voice of the soft mocking tone it carried. It was either this or yelling into his face that he was a moron.

Asshole, A little irritated-"It isn't my job to help you, find out on your own."
Of course, no such research existed. Because he was full of shit.
Next question.
“What is the average pH of the human body?”
What?
“What part of the human body? Blood is slightly alkaline, stomach acid is acidic… between the 4 and 5 range. They probably balance out.”

Asshole snorted. “I want the average.”

Without an answer, I racked my brain. “I think… a 7.4”
Asshole laughed. “That’s way off!”
Again. (He was right though, it’s a 7.2)
Next question.
Deanguy said a bit about how he did exercise to lose wait, then a friend of his stopped him and told him that instead of doing exercise, he should drink cold water instead.

Why?

I buzzed a little. An interdisciplinary question. Finally, all those years of the Discovery channel talking about metabolisms would work.

Of course, he was asking a guy with a fever to defend drinking icewater.
But whatever.
I had a different take on the matter.

“Drinking ice-water cannot be a viable method to lose weight.”

“Why?”

“Sir, any energy required in absorbing the water into the system of the human body will be offset by the possible impact to one’s health.”

“How so?”

“First of all sir, water is zero calorie food, but it will use up some amount of energy when you drink it. However, this energy will be negligible. If you drink a glass of icy water you’ll first gain 250 grams!”

“Ah, but that is merely a temporary increase and will be compensated for.”

“But sir, you are considering a quarter kilogram negligible- while the amount of energy lost is negligible even compared to that.”

“Think, how can drinking ice water make you lose weight.”

“I can’t sir. There’s no way this could work without serious health issues.” It’s common sense.
“In low quantities, the water would have a negligible effect, to show an appreciable effect, the ice water must be consumed in extremely large quantities. If that is the case…
Ice water might actually slow down the metabolism- reduce body temperature, and if that happens, it would actually cause the reverse effect… human beings can die if their core temperature drops by two degrees, which would be more than possible if someone tried this method. It’s dangerous. There are much more effective ways of losing weight, this can’t hold a candle to running and swimming.”

The water will be absorbed almost instantaneously through the walls of the stomach and added to the blood. At 0 degrees! Any more than a few glasses in a row and your body will start giving way- it won’t be able to heat the water as quickly as it is absorbed. Doing that to your body to burn a few extra calories- it’s madness!

Asshole was cracking up.

The woman spoke now. “You aren’t a doctor though, son, you are a scientist. You should think in those terms. Is your body an adiabatic system or an isothermal one? Open or closed.”

“Isothermal and open. But the exchange isn’t ‘free’ it’s not a perfect-”

“There is free exchange or air and water. The body is an isothermal system with the temperature maintained at 37 degrees. Water is added at 0 degrees. What is work-?”

“Thirty two degrees.”

“Huh?”

“He just said that the temperature of the body was thirty two degrees.”

Everyone seemed a little confused. Fuck that Asshole.

“‘M.C.ΔT’”

I don’t remember if it was me who said it, or one of the professors.

A simple equation. I don’t know how, but I knew the interview was over now. I stood up and thanked them.

DeanGuy threw another question my way as I made my way out- “What would you do to reduce the temperature of your body?”
Another question from my illness?

“I’d use an icepack.”

I laughed. I was tired, a little angry, mostly relieved that I wouldn't have to get any more questions wrong, and if there was a better answer than that out there- I didn’t give a shit. I tried to sound not-bitter, maybe it worked.

Certain that I was safely out of consideration for the scholarship, I made my way out. The interview had been a bit tougher than I’d thought.

In the car I recounted a few bits of the tale to my father. “Didn’t you know that ice-water helped lose weight? It’s in all the diet magazines.” He said.

Gah.

Still a little pissed off that I couldn't come up with a simple answer like that... I was unwilling to accept that the best argument that even my handicapped brain could produce, was completely and utterly wrong. I had arrived at it using logic, yes, one that had more to do with biology than chemistry, but still logic.

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

Later I logged onto the net to find the truth.
http://www.chow.com/stories/10877

^That is about the gist of the scientific/health aspect that I could find, everything else was pro-ana websites and retarded teeny-boppers giving advice on yahoo! answers.

The math is simple.
The best method to lose weight is at a rate of 1 or 2 pounds (half or one kilogram respectively) a week. Any slower and it won’t last, and faster and it’s bad for your health.

To lose that amount, you need a calorie deficit of 3500 calories in a week.

Using the M.C.dT formula, one glass of chilled water will burn about 7 or 8 calories over a period of an hour (according to research, drinking a glass of cold water activates your body to use 3% more energy for an hour). That’s 500 glasses a week. 70 glasses of water a day where eight is the prescribed norm (seventy is bound to be unhealthy- no?)/
That’s 17.5 KILOGRAMS of icy water per day over a week, to lose less than 1 kilo at the end of week.

Has anyone heard of water poisoning? Electrolyte balance disruption? Screw it all- do I even need a doctor to tell you this?

The body is an isothermal system, however- it is not perfect. Perfect isotherms are systems in which changes occur at infinitesimally slow rates. Whenever a quick reaction occurs, it has an adiabatic character.

For the layman’s terms- if you drink water at 0 degrees, your body won’t magically make it 37. It’ll take a while to release that energy. You can’t drink more and more and expect the body to function as a perfect isotherm, especially since the physical absorption of water is fairly fast (and everything fast behaves adiabatic)

So what if drinking cold water burns 7-8 calories. So does being alive. 1600/24 = 66, make it 80 while awake, 40 while asleep- You burn those calories doing NOTHING. I might as well recommend you go out in the nude in winter or bathe twice a day as a means of weight loss- they’ll have greater effect. Or maybe… light exercise for a maybe… a minute? In the entire day? A centimetre off the top of the milk you had in the morning would suffice.

Man… Maybe it’s time to make my blog public now.

Another Dream of Dying

Drive back fear and revulsion. I won’t live and let you fall. A weak hand closes around hers as we go over edge. With strength that I never had in my life, I heave, to push her back to safety.
Who is she? I don’t know. Faceless. A plot-device.

Newton’s third pushes me into the air.

The edge rises up behind me and disappears swiftly into the distance. I am weightless. Unburdened... what an incredible fear.

There is no time for me to savour my victory; it has only ensured that I will be alone for this. The ground approaches, a blur that fills the world. I have no hope of survival. And within the hysterical, insane fear-

Should I turn and try to land on my feet to give myself a few extra moments? or go headfirst and make it almost instantaneous?

I sincerely hope this is a dream.