Blog for a Thought

Our minds are crazy. There’s so many fleeting thoughts everyday, every hour. Some we hold on to, some drive us nuts, some simply pass us by. Some days it feels like a miracle that we’re able to function at all, but I guess evolution took care of it. Of course it remains that some of us still have more problematic brains than others, but we do our best.

Today I was thinking about how little I’ve shared of my life in the past 6 months on social media. And how drafts have piled up in this website and have stayed in that folder. Somehow, I feel so much more comfortable sharing my sad thoughts here than happy ones.

I have full page drafts on how ecstatic I have been these past months (although I sprained my ankle 8 weeks ago and only started walking on two feet 2 weeks ago). But the only things I’ve shared on my Instagram page are pictures of me on crutches and my Ibuprofen (RIP, stomach). Nothing of my first time out in 6 weeks – the first thing I did was get in line at a Wendy’s drive-through where I’ve been a regular. Somehow I’ve become so conscious of folks judging my stuff, but specifically of them judging my happiness.

So here we are. A new blog for a new day. I’ll be posting stuff at https://athoughtadaydotcom.wordpress.com/ for a while now, mostly cos I don’t want to add journalesque posts on this website such that it gets cluttered in here.

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Talking about the Blog!

I met Rohit in my CS 7643 Deep Learning class at Georgia Tech. We share a whole bunch of common interests, I’m sort of a private person but I had to jump on it when he asked me to be a part of his new conversation-series Talking to the Moon, to discuss my blog.
He is a great host and does a ton of research for each of his guests (in my case he painfully muscled through an excruciating list of blogposts, I’m sure you as a reader would empathize). We chat through a gamut of topics – from writing to LadyBird to the internet.

The full video is still a cropped one (the original was over an hour long), it was so much fun recording and I hope you guys enjoy this! Below is the trailer, watch the full video here.

Watch the full video here

#4 Postcard – Convent schools, boarding life

There’s a Catholic school a 5-minute walk away from where I live. They have an adjacent church with a cross atop a spire that’s visible from my window, and church bells ring now and again during the day.

There’s a Catholic school a 5-minute walk away from where I live. They have an adjacent church with a cross atop a spire that’s visible from my window, and church bells ring now and again during the day. When the bells ring, I wonder what the kids in the school are up to – Is it time for a prayer? Are they assembling in a special room for lunch?

Of course these questions pop up because of the many rituals we had in school. We had a Mary behind a glass wall at the entrance landing that kids jostled to touch for morning blessing, and a chapel with clean floor tiles that was always deserted. When Principals changed, we wondered if the new Sister would be stricter or distribute nicer gifts on Children’s day. There were speaker announcements to gather somewhere class-wise to deliver yet another announcement, and a bunch of similar school things.
What I was most curious about, however, was the school’s boarding facility.

From what we’d heard, life there was unappealing – you had to pray at least twice a day, wash your own clothes, go to bed early, other general dull stuff. However, to me, the plus that paled all cons was that you could walk the empty grounds in the evening when nobody was around, the red earth glowing in the brilliant evening sun.

That was a sight you only saw if you happened to be at school for summer classes, or in the evenings after board exams while walking to the main gate entrance. Or if you had to arrive in the early hours for a class trip or an ISC meet – in which case you’d likely be running around to locate a student or to grab hold of your event’s teacher-in-charge. And you would steal glances from afar of the ground stretched out in the twilight, like stealing precious memories. 🙂

In tenth during Youth Festival week , a junior in our dance team was staying at the boarding cos her family was not in town. She was a window into the intriguing world with her tidbits : they had to wake up early in the morning, sit at a common table for meals, show up on time for prayer at the sparkling-clean chapel. One evening before practice, she went to her room to leave her bags and brought back with her the evening snack – it was pudina chutney sandwich, humble, believable. But of course, I thought, you could stroll around the ground any time you want to, alone or with a friend, in non-uniform clothes (slightly crinkled, because you washed them yourself), soaking in the peace.

After our last board exam in twelfth, we were slowly walking from New hall to the front gate. It was our last day in school, in uniform. We were exhausted and hadn’t planned anything special, no clicking pictures either. I think Divya said that out loud, the rest of us nodded and hmmed. As we passed by I realized I never got to stay at the boarding, never got the golden grounds to myself after all.

End of Writing Workshop

Today was the fourth and final session of Art of Clear Writing workshop.

Today was the fourth and final session of Art of Clear Writing workshop. I missed last Saturday’s class because I was suffering chills and fatigue from my second Covid-19 vaccine shot (Pfizer). So I lay on my bed after logging into the Zoom session, Amit Varma moved forward with the workshop as I drifted into exhausted sleep. By the time I woke up, Zoom had logged me out.

We had a bunch of writing exercises over the past couple of weeks, I will publish some of my workshop pieces in the coming days. But the key takeaway from the workshop was that you figure out a writing process that works for you, and most importantly to keep writing.

Building a tribe/community was another one – to discover other writers who are in the same stage of our own writing journey. I realized I have WordPress and I hope it’s going to be an easier task here.

PS – I counted the adverbs I used in this post and it’s only one out of 148 words. Nothing impressive, but to be mindful is the first step!

The Art of Clear Writing – Of dance and writing

I signed up for The Art of Clear Writing workshop by Amit Varma, and the first session was today at 10 PM IST.

(Listen on Spotify)

I signed up for The Art of Clear Writing workshop by Amit Varma, and the first session was today at 10 PM IST. Like so many other things in my life, my brother had recommended it to me a few weeks ago (well, more like he asked me to do it :D), and my first thought went – High time I attended one of these.

I have never stuck to a deadline with my writing because deadlines to me have been a part of the routine side of life. The day regime where you go to work or sign into your laptop at 8. Attend standup calls, plan sprint schedules and keep track of your projects on JIRA boards and OneNote notebooks.

The rest of my life is disorganized – writing and dancing occupy huge shares in it, and I indulge in them whenever I feel like it. To me, that’s also what was fun about it and I staunchly believed that adding timetables and discipline to it would take the fun away.

Yet I have to acknowledge the best part about the times that I do stick to learning a dance choreography lies in the impressive (and much-lacking) discipline it brings to my life. I work out regularly in the two to four weeks that it takes to finishing a piece. I fall asleep by midnight as I’m exhausted by the physical activity, so I end up getting a full 8 hours sleep. I take multiple showers and eat really well because I build a normal-to-huge appetite. I drink tons of water.

Which is why I initially decided that I’d see about the writing workshop later, and that I’d join Bharatanatyam classes first (I have wanted to attend them for years, but it’s a lukewarm urge 55% of the time).

Last week though, I got thinking about my writing. Like I mentioned, I am not one to push content or impose deadlines with this blog. This space in fact has always been less of a blog and more of a dwelling for my thoughts. Yet once I started reading more again in the last month, I have wanted to write more, and to take it up seriously.

This is a stepping stone.

PS : Too little about writing in this first post on the topic; the upcoming ones will be more on writing and less about everything else 🙂

‘The most personal is the most creative’

I didn’t realize until my birthday two weeks ago, when a friend pointed it out, that I haven’t published much lately. brent talking was posted on March 31 and there has been exactly one blogpost since.

Time has flied and I haven’t noticed. But also, drafts have been piling up since the last week of April. I just never get to publishing anything.

I have a favorite author whose blogs I love. She interweaves personal anecdotes into her own original stories (or at least used to), brought to life by her wonderful way with words. Crisp sarees and perfect toast, she says.

There is a certain sense of belonging that emanates from reading somebody’s work over extended periods of time. That in some way, you know bits of their life and thereby, bits of them. So when my favorite writer doesn’t update her site for a while, I feel wronged – that I’ve unfairly lost access. Yet when her writing seems botched up, I feel wronged again, like with her  latest articles (which is why I’m not linking her here). That the creator I formerly loved has stopped writing the stories I looked forward to, or that she one day decided to change her genre from creative writing to personal essays that in my opinion she isn’t as good at.

It’s probably none of my business, but it is what it is, and as a reader I’m allowed to have my opinions however brutal they maybe.


Once upon a time, I believed that my dance was more personal than my published writing. Because with blogging you first make a draft. Then you edit, publish. You can be as careful or as careless as you wish. And when you expose your articles, you’re less vulnerable than when you let them see you dance.

I was so very wrong.

Because I always danced for myself and none of it was ever privy to a public eye. It has always been impulsive, I’ve never finished or considered finishing pieces because I am happy with what is.

But like someone said, any thing you create is a piece of you that’s out there. Others may gaze at it, run their fingers through it, pass judgment, but it’s a piece of you that you decided to let out into the world and nothing can take that away.
You choose what you let the world see, the world chooses what it wants to see. And this is something I’m grappling with at the moment.

I guess there comes a point when your unfiltered thoughts as always seep into your writing, and trying to hack at them, to censor them, to make them appear palatable takes away from your work all that gave it meaning, all that you considered the life in it. The result is I have drafts that are replete with emotion and personal thoughts that have never seen the light of day and probably never will. Yet that is a lesser crime than sharing something stripped of any genuineness.

Of course this wariness stems from the knowledge (or presumption) that I have an audience – people who know me, that may know some things about me, to whom I could be handing over pieces to form a full picture, and that is something I can no longer stand.

What I mean by that, I guess, is privacy. I’ve always been a rather private person, like most people I know. But more importantly, the thoughts that make way into my writing are of an increasingly personal nature, perhaps the kind you do not want to see up in your personal blog even. George tells me it’s probably a phase. That’s an input you can give anyone before even listening to their problem. It’s versatile, it won’t do, it doesn’t help.

But I do understand I’m in a phase where looking back at things while writing, the epiphanies and thoughts that ensue are always out-of-bounds stuff. Like when I wrote about a Modern Love episode and ended up talking about the evolution of daddy issues in my life and realized I wasn’t ready to publish that. I do not know if or what people gain from my blog, most of it is useless if you do not know me in person, but I find it further impressive when it succeeds to be useless even otherwise – writing about nothing is a gift.

Somehow my ability to write about nothing has waned, I do not find it indulging anymore.

Yet so has the ability to lay bare bits from my life, and inhibitions that I never thought I’d deal with have crept in. I guess erratic publishing might be here to stay. What I do know is I hate middle grounds based on compromise, it’ll be one or the other.

Blog Update #1 – Sunshine Blogger Award

Miss Shodha had nominated me for the Sunshine Blogger Award back in February 2017. Actually it is Shwetha, spelt Shweta but isn’t Shodha so much better? (I’ve called her that since school).
She writes tiny tales, poetry, and literally ‘anything under the sun that has caught her attention’. This might be a good time to mention that I almost immediately get to know when she has read a post of mine, because my phone hangs up from the deluge of notifications. It’s time to return the favor 😛 – check out her blog My Random Ramblings. 😀

Anyway, if any of my readers (especially non-blogger friends) find the idea of virtual awards in the blogosphere ridiculous, it almost is. (An award would be nothing but a picture you would have to copypaste from your friend’s Award Post onto your own Acknowledgement post. Like so : sunshine-award1.jpg

Thankyou Shodha for this picture (yet another attempt at murdering my phone), and for neglecting my neglect and nominating me for a second Award. I loved answering your questions 😀

But then the idea is networking and references (linking back) and the like, you get the point, so it falls short at almost.

The Rules.

  • Thank the person(s) who nominated you in a blog post and link back to their blog
  • Answer the 11 questions sent by the person who nominated you
  • Nominate 11 new blogs to receive the award and write them 11 new questions
  • List the rules and display the Sunshine Blogger Award logo on your post and/or on your blog

Shodha’s Questions :

1. Do you remember why and when you decided to be a blogger?

Of course I remember. I also wrote a post about it just in case the blog ruined my life and I couldn’t recollect whose fault it was.

2. If it were so that you can listen to just one song on repeat for the rest of your life, which song would you choose?

Velikku Veluppan Kaalam or Neeraduvan.

3. Which Hogwarts house do you think you would be sorted out into? (Sorry if you aren’t a Harry Potter fan! 😛 I had to pay homage to my favourite book series! :D)

Ravenclaw 😀

4. Who is your favourite author?

Confession : After Paulo Coelho back in 8th, I haven’t followed any author/series religiously. But Khaled Hosseini can make anyone cry, so.

5. Which famous person do you wish you could be neighbours with?

Sherlock Holmes.

6. If you could bring a fictional character to life, who would it be? (Also, please do explain the reason why you chose them!)

Sherlock Holmes. Then be neighbors with him. Then ask Professor Watson if I can work with him on his blog.
I (too) hate myself for saying that, let’s not sabotage the plot.

7. If your blog had a playlist, what songs would be included?

Despacito, Iris, The Middle, Hawa Hawai, An Irish Party in Middle Class, Pinneyum Pinneyum, Love you Zindagi, Tonight I know, Up & Up, Hymn for the Weekend, Chinna Chinna Asai, Budapest, Hey Soul Sister, Did I Take this Question too Seriously?

8. Do you have a favourite book-to-film adaptation? If so, which one?

Any adaptation that I liked was only because I read the book after watching the movie, or because I never read the book I think. I can watch Chamber of Secrets over and over cos of the former.

9. If the world were to end tomorrow, what would you do today?

1.Have a panic attack
2.Remember everyone’s dying so it’s alright
3.Gather my family, which might take a while since it’s a big one now
4.Ring up friends one by one to tell them I was off Whatsapp during the last couple of months, sorry for no messages, I love you.
OH that was a good one, Shodha.

10. Name your favourite TV show and at least two reasons as to why you think it’s awesome.

I hardly watch any these days, so favorite YouTuber? Ryan Higa. Original content. Doesn’t post bullshit even if that means losing out on views(=ads=revenue).

11. What’s your greatest fear?

You know the incidents you feel guilty about thinking they were your fault? And you have nightmares about them? Just me? Okay. Greatest fear is coming to know they’re true.

nominate :

Nipun – Road to Roadblock

Anu

Frank Prem

Laya – My Black Rusted Harp

Owning a dog with anxiety

Niall O’ Donnell

Sunith – Perceptions

InspiresN

My Questions:

1. Is there a country you have always wanted to visit, and if so, where?

2. What do you do on a rainy day?

3. What is your favorite book, or if you prefer, your favorite author?

4. What four people would you invite to a dinner party (contemporary, historical, or fictional)?

5. If you could live in a book/tv show/movie, which one would you pick and why?

6. How did you start blogging?

7. What’s the story behind your blog name?

8. If you could talk to your younger self, what would you say?

9. Is there anything you would change/delete from your past?

10. Do you play an instrument?

11. If the world were to end tomorrow, what would you do today?

Back when we were kids

Before college and high school, before crushes and heartbreaks, before Science got split into three different subjects and Social Studies into two, even before we were taught integers and fractions.  Back when we wanted to grow up. Back when we were kids.

If you ever followed the road opposite to the Ganapathi temple in Medical College back then, you’d reach the Medical College quarters. It’s where more than half my childhood lies, it’s also where I decided I didn’t want to marry Kunjacko Boban after all.

I was the annoying little sister who cried on cue and made sure my elder brothers were scolded and punished by my parents for mischief that I’d worked up – that’s what my brothers would tell you anyway. Served them right too, they called me fat all the time. But either way I was still the little sister, with a tiny potbelly I’ll admit, and could always be seen seated on Achu Annans shoulders or carried by Kannenan on his back 😀

Biju chetan and Aju chetan were the neighbours Kannan and I spent most of our time with. (yes they’re brothers). We were undeclared best buddies, with a share of harmless details of our exploits to be kept secret from both our parents. We were always present at each other’s birthdays. In those days it meant Birthday cake with icing from Jayaram bakery, the quintessential puffs and cutlets and samosas, homemade chicken curry/parotta, juice and icecream etc.

We usually waited for our parents to leave before kicking off with cricket in their compound. We bowled with the 8rs pink/white rubber balls or the more expensive optic yellow tennis ball for 30 rupees that was handled with more care. I was always the underdog, Kannan never took me on his team. Achu annan occasionally joined us, he was nicer and always picked me. I’m sure the rejection scarred me for life. Though it made more sense when we played football, cos I always ran away with the ball, err, in my hands, that is. Football was too boring for me anyway.

I owned like one doll or two whose faces I had disfigured in an attempt to beautify, you don’t sit inside playing with those when everyone else is outdoors. At times when I got bored I’d sell fish on the back steps of our house. Different shaped and sized leaves painstakingly stacked and arranged neatly, I’d diligently make sure no flies sat on them and that my customers got the best and the freshest picks. No none of the boys ever visited, even my parents never visited though I always invited them very nicely. I don’t think they were all that impressed.

When corporation people unloaded sand in front of Biju chetan’s garage, the others would jump from the low sunshade onto it while I would nonchalantly prepare mudcakes using cherattas (coconut shells) and coax anybody who’d care to taste them. Yeah nobody ever did.

When it got too hot to play outside, we played Video games (cartridges and joysticks, people?) at their place. The four of us would huddle in front of the tv. Countless runs of Mario and duck hunt and I don’t even remember the names of the rest of the games we played. Afternoons meant more cricket/video games followed by cycling/badminton at our place in the evening. We usually went back home only for lunch and in the evening when it got too dark and the games were over. Sometimes we’d fall asleep on their beds, nobody was ever home in the day, even otherwise it was okay I think. Anita aunty was always so sweet (still is), she gave us the best birthday gifts and even had me cutting her son’s birthday cake once.

During vacations when everyone else left for holidays, we’d be in empty quarters abandoned by their residents, plundering the guava and mango trees there, checking intermittently and listening intently for any sign of intruders, other than us, of course. At times we’d bring back home the fruits of our labour the parents never noticed. We made tons of envelopes using newspapers and cooked rice –it was our mini project-, wondered what to do with it and eventually sold it to the lady fishmonger who routinely visited our homes (she gave us 2rupee coins each)  😀 Any spare change we ever got was spent in buying and stocking pink rubber balls, once we started playing they got lost so often, and eating the round pedas at the Milma shop in the main road.

When we weren’t playing or searching for the umpteen lost cricket balls on the other side of the road, Kannan and I were busy fighting, physical mental material psychological every kind of possible damage included. Following which I obligingly cried to let my parents know. They knew, I think.

All our plots had mango trees and during summer seasons we’d eat fat and ripe orange and yellow mangoes raw and pulpy in the morning, noon, evening and at night.

We were forever sweaty and covered in dirt, always running around and shouting to each other loudly, sometimes across goalposts (always a distinguishable rock), or from opposite sides of the wicket (3 aluminium rods each) or the court net (that we had a proper one though), or even across compounds. We always got home after dusk, exhausted and happy. We’d shower, eat, watch Doordarshan and fall asleep somewhere in between. Unless we decided to fight, which was twice a day, followed by my drama.

Those were the days when happiness meant wearing your favorite dress on your birthday, and the prettiest and nicest strangers were the ones that smiled at you. When soiling your clothes was the way to be and nobody minded except the elders. When summer didn’t mean heat as much as it meant cricket and cousins and mangoes. And spending all the time under the sun were 4 (and at times 5) tiny people forever playing and fighting and laughing.

And I’m mighty glad we were loud enough for a lifetime 🙂

Convocation and other things

Late post. Wrote this on convocation day of batch of 2015.

Convocations are fun. Not only cos there are hats and cloaks (and of course graduation) involved. They bring back seniors you’ve waited months to see again, they probably bring together classmates who passed out, planned a reunion whose date was extended over and over again until finally they just settled to meet for their convocation. (I can imagine that happening with our batch once we pass out of college). They might even be when some dearest couples meet after okwhoamitojudge. I’m sure convocations have other functional facets too, more on that coming up next year cos next in line is yours truly.

Convocation at CET last year was not a very emotional affair for me, save for meeting a handful of passouts. Back then, we were still third years (read: careless juniors), following the paths of seniors (I’m not even going to elaborate on that, and no I’m not winking), we were yet to be acquainted with project work and hectic final year schedules (no mini project for civil, baby). Life was good.

You had to rush to civil canteen at 4 if you wanted to sit by its verandah cos usually seniors would already have seated themselves there. Most evenings there’d be student groups comprising all batches in the civil grounds discussing some intra-department event or program. And in my class, everyone was either co-ordinating something or partaking in some other thing or they were swamped with other stuff to be doing any of those things. CEA and ICI would juggle with dates and time slots to make sure their activities didn’t clash, and even so there would still be overlaps, cos there was always so much going on, big or small, whether it be Hanging Gardens, or some techie engagements.

Then we got to S7, and before the place had livened up, rather fateful things happened. In stead of the tons of heads that filled college front after 4 and the after-college hours punctuated by crowds and buzz at chechi kadas, sanika, core’s front, bus stops and pretty much everywhere, there permeated empty and quiet. All through S7 we waited for things to go back to normal and for college to go back to what it used to be.

It never did.

Today, convocation happened. And frankly, today’s the first day of this year that college felt like CET again. People were shouting and laughing and their uproars rang noisily in the classrooms and the corridors and all around the place. College hasn’t been this loud since last year. So many familiar faces, there were seniors whose names I didn’t know and still don’t, but the mere freshness of familiarity brought happiness. Even that scary chechi who always glares at you, or that creepy chetan who makes awkward eye contact.

The favorite seniors were hugged and kissed, the not-so-favorite ones smiled as if in solemn awareness. In the beginning of final year, it was as though we’d get used to the numbness felt around college but today we realized we really need a batch of loving doting annoying infuriating seniors to make it the CET we knew. They were back and I guess that’s when we realized we’d actually missed these people. Sure, some in particular, but generally just all of them being present here. Probably because they were a part of the carefree years when college was (relatively) lively. When we didn’t have career discussions looming over our heads 24×7, because that wasn’t our burden to bear :P. Because basically they were in charge, and they were everywhere.

Today was like a day from ‘those days’. So when you hear that the dragonfly you once had a crush on has flown back, it thrills for a while, then dies out. When you exchange with seniors pleasantries and what’s going on in your lives, it’s only casual talk. It’s like they were here only yesterday, they’re here today, and they’ll be back tomorrow.

Well guess what? They won’t, and tomorrow will be like the past 7 months have been (because I’m so bloody optimistic). But today was good, tomorrow we’ll be back to being final years, the day after we shall part ways and be gone. And the next year, it’ll be our turn to get dewy-eyed about all that we’d missed (or maybe that’ll be just me), heartily complain about our too loose/too tight cloaks, drown in hugs, pose for pictures, cheer in jubilation, throw our hats up in the sky, and finally wonder why we never realized life here was quite brilliant*.

*I hope.

 

 

Finally starting My Blog

Final year/semester of B.Tech –

You realize you don’t want to work an IT job or a Core job or any jobby job for that matter. Babies aren’t really your thing, they cry too much, would somebody pay you to take care of puppies? You realize you are now 21, you will be 22 in a couple of months and you’ve been spending the last 4 years (almost like a fifth of your life) in a subject that you don’t want anything to do with after graduation. You have no clue as to what to do after the 4 months of college that’s left. You realize you’ve practically wasted years of academics that could’ve been effectively spent studying something you actually like. You realize you don’t even know what that something you actually like is. You have no idea what to do with your life. You panic.

No, the last para isn’t about you, it’s all me. “You” just sounded better than “I”. So I had, um, a couple of mild and severe panic attacks in the past semester, but I’ve come to develop a certain mechanism to handle them which works fairly well. Except the two times that I had to be quarantined.

Step 1: Notify all my closest friends that I’m worried/confused/close to a cardiac arrest when I think of the future.

Step 2: Listen to what they have to say, mostly involves “same here” if the friend is doing B.Tech, “so are most of the others” if not.

Step 3: Calm down. (You are not alone is the best therapy ever). Sleep, wake up forgetting all the exasperating shit, go back to my life till the panic sets in another day.

Now, this is how I take my life decisions. Oh wait I haven’t taken any for myself. Either way it’s a ritual to consult her before tough ones and also after I screw up everything. Mostly because I never listen, still.

Screenshot_2015-12-22-00-58-55.pngThis is a pretty emotional moment for me, posting a Whatsapp screenshot in public. Yes, the convo’s been scrolled to a strategic point so that the (more) embarrassing stuff can’t  be seen.

Which is when I remembered about my TRUSTMEYOUREALIVE – name of my blog- that’s been dead since it was last alive.  Okay so I’ll confess I created this blog back in 2014 when I wrote something new after quite sometime and wanted someplace fancy to post it. I mean like a page just for like an article is like fancy, no?

This time, I decided to listen to Miriam after all. Blogging’s free and I could always read it later to myself, if nobody else does.

Special thanks to my brother(s) who bought me my new lap which is pretty much the only reason I’m here cos time and again, I’d thought of posting random stuff I’d written but the idea of sitting in front of the PC in my First floor hall on the molded plywood chair and typing it out made me drop it. Wow, I really need to start writing shorter sentences.

So here’s hoping I start writing online regularly :D. (OK AMMA, whether online or not doesn’t matter as long as I’m writing!)

PS: Sorry if the beginning of this post misled you into thinking it’s about handling panic attacks or life decisions even.

PPS: This was meant to be a teeny-weeny post of max 200 characters. Sorry for the long intro, you may now continue reading nonsense elsewhere.

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