Reflections of a restless eccentric

I had this idea a couple of days back, as I came to my room. I wondered how many more times I'd visit; and the number seemed too less, far under a dozen, possibly even under half a dozen. I was filled with sadness at the prospect of having to move out, and have a stranger live in what had come to mean so much to me. So I decided to write this, although I admit it's extremely cliched and not exactly my style. But what's life without the whimsical? Here goes. A letter to the future occupant of my room I don't know who you are. I possibly never will. But we have one thing in common. This room that I spent two years in. The place I was more than happy to call home. The place that was so very sacred to me. I write this, more for my own closure than anything, knowing you'll probably never read this. But like I said, in some weird way, I feel connected to you. So let me give you the history. A couple of years back, on a rainy day in July, I was handed a key to a roo

The 'terribly tiny tales' version of this(that I just picked up from my Whatsapp status:P) :  I see "A Descent into the Maelström" flash past my eyes. She laughingly says 'let's talk in English'. Between my dread and her calm, we survived a furore of foam,spray and hilarity. Left to go right and right to go left , he told us. The words were lost on us as we were trying to skittishly clamber into the shaky boat which kept titling this way and that. We finally managed to get in without ending up in the water.It's a small lake and we take a look around as we pedal at a normal pace. This is a walk in the park. Wonder why I was so scared , I think. Our friends are in boats nearby. Let's take a selfie , they yell. My friend reaches into her pocket for her phone and then takes a picture. This whole thing would have taken about half a minute at the most. The next instant, I look around, and the fountain at the center of the pond is dangerously close

Somewhere during my Masters, my friend and I were working on something. We had an identical environment setup on both our machines, and yet, our results were nowhere similar let alone identical. What was worse was that we couldn't even replicate our own results when we took another trial. Every trial yielded different values. We had two choices: tweak the data and report the results as they were supposed to be, or try and find an explanation that enveloped the variance in results. As much as we did try for the latter, it just didn't happen. We were working with an ambitious professor who was breathing down our neck to send in our work to a conference/journal. How do we publish when we don't even get reliable results?  we asked of him in desperation. He laughingly said, If that's the case, we can always send it to the 'Journal of irreproducible results'. Although we eventually figured it out,his words remain in my head till date. I was reminded of this

We all have a mental picture of who we are, don't we? And in that mirage of an image, we see many qualities of ourselves. Some of which are true. Some of which are anything but. Here's the thing though: have you ever questioned those beliefs? Have you ever really observed yourself as you would any third person and figured out if you really were all those adjectives you use to describe yourself?   Since I'm narrating, I'll also volunteer for the role of guinea pig. Amidst the many things I imagine I am, the word "liberal" finds its place somewhere at the top of the list. I've always held on to the doctrine that I wouldn't judge other people, simply because I hadn't walked in their shoes. I would choose to follow a certain path and then do so; believing in my decision with all my conviction and yet without sneering at someone else just because they chose differently. I wanted to be broad-minded--I wanted to be able to listen to ten different id

There, do you see that? The one that resembles a quadrilateral with a belt of three bright stars inside it. That's Orion. Can you see it? He points it out to me. I crane my neck in the direction that he's pointing, and sure enough, even my owlishly weak eyes can spot this particular bunch of stars. Yes,I see it. It's named after the famous hunter from Greek mythology.  Yes, you've told me before. I remember.  My constellation according to Indian astrology. Hey, I always thought you were the hunter's dog. Sirius, isn't it? I'm sure you're the dog and not the hunter. :D I also know that that he's Orion and not Sirius, but this is a familiar set of lines for us. I say it more out of habit than anything else. The leg-pulling was one of the most favorite parts of my childhood. No, I'm not. I'm Orion. Sirius is the dog. It follows the hunter around. Look, there it is. He faithfully sticks to his lines. Even his voice carries t