This will not be about what it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be about how much IIT Guwahati and its hostel sucks balls. And how I hate my life, feel suicidally depressed, and terrible, for having landed myself in such a situation. And how, at a certain point of time, I was actually stuck in a rut how trying to blame myself rather than my parents for my ending up at a place so undesirable in nearly all criteria. That was what it was supposed to be about. But it will not be.
Lately I received lots of pep talks. Talks only seem like pep talks when you’re depressed or sad or feel like you really need one. I have recently been feeling an unusual excess of sadness too. Maybe it’s with how I’ve been sucking up my life more than usual. Maybe it’s that just-getting-out-of-teen age. Which is maybe equivalent to the next maybe option of maybe life hasn’t given me as much ‘challenging’ or ‘depressing’ situations before. Maybe, though by most chances I believe, it’s just that I haven’t been taking been taking sorrow and ‘stress’ and stupid things seriously so far. And I don’t think I ought to. I also think I haven’t been taking lots of life-ey things seriously, since a long time probably, which maybe I ought to. Somewhat. At least a bit more. But apart from that, stuff’s cool — always ought to be, and always will be. Unless I choose to believe it’s not.
For the sake of lyrics I’d say IIT Guwahati is [cool] — but I don’t say this because of the specifics of my brother’s recent pep talk which causes this essay to not be about what it was supposed to be — so, I have to say: any thing is, what we choose to make of it. I’d believe that anyways much more than anybody else I usually know. But I might have to put this in a better setting, and mix this with a story that was supposed to be distinct, to make it much more profound.
Here’s the other story (which was written right in between this other post, but is a distinct story. Yes, I’m that cool.):
I believe in magic. And not Science.
Magicians never surprised me. That might clearly be an overstatement, but I never had a problem in believing that if there is not a clear mechanical trick or so called ‘sleight of hand’ involved, it might very easily be ‘real magic’ — something that science can’t explain and would mostly be compelled to call paraphysics or something. I mean, I really like the concept of The Matrix — and I’m not saying the part where machines are harvesting humans for energy. The part where ‘there is no spoon’. And the part where the ‘rules of nature’ are simply established by a program which creates the ‘illusion’ of a life for us. I mean, among other things, because I was recently exposed to some thought about quantum physics, I would draw a parallel with how it almost makes sense, that physicists find lack of elegance and overcomplication a valid enough reason to not like a theory to believe in. Because if anybody made a program to describe the universe (which by most chances somebody did), he (or she) would try to make it as elegant, simple, and least default memory using. Least runtime memory too, I’d believe, but I guess you get the point.
That part. It might be because I never grew out of the I-believe-in-fairy-tales-age. Oh yes, I really do (believe in fairy tales, that is). It is also supported because I once got to participate in an activity like that. Where four people (including me) raised a rather heavy person, each of us using just pairs of fingers. And we weren’t using clever physics, balancing, or supporting ropes. We were made to do the equivalent of meditate, and we just did that.
That’s not what this story is about at all (well, it probably is somewhat, but not really.)
This is about how I recently got this amazing thing called a folliculitis. Now if you aren’t clever (in temrs of vocabulary), haven’t heard or read of it before, and just imagine the doctor saying it to you in a somewhat heavy accent, you’d think it was something. It’s preceding symptom, I can tell you, even moreso.
On a slightly irrelevant note, I rarely got ill after I broke my head two years ago. And yes, the second anniversary of my skull (mastoid, specifically) fracture, is on the coming 13th of September. Meet me, greet me, gift me.
By rarely got ill, I mean I spent the winters extremely often without sweaters, and didn’t get a cold beyond occasional coughs. And that coincided wth the time when my belief in magic got far too strengthened because of myself, Richard Bach, and random stuff.
So, it started with an extremely arbitrary and painful swelling in the back of my head. And that swelling grew radically within a period of three days. Scarily so. It swelled, and it got more and more painful. So much so, that by the time I’d decided going to the doctor, I was entirely looking forward to finding myself having brain tumour, or something comparably cool.
What was unusual was that I had gotten used to willing my ailments away, mainly cause they had been so insignificant — I would have coughs, I would believe that I wanted to be healed, and that they weren’t there anymore, and within a day it would be so. So my whimsical self liked to believe, of course. This swelling, wasn’t as easy to believe in the absence of (if you get what I mean). And I finally went to the doctor. And he used this scary (sounding) name, wrote it in a mostly inscutable scrawl that is customary of doctors, and gave me an antibiotic.
My mother believes in popping pills randomly, whenever she feels like them. That is not really true, not at all like how I make it sound, but I still like to make it sound like that. She self medicates in antibiotics, for random pieces of time, so on and so forth. I believe in a rigor in medicine — antibiotics are supposed to be prescribed, and consumed for the directed amount of time, and not more or less, without instruction. Not that I believe in medicines. I like placebo tests, the statistics behind them and how it works, and how homeopathy fails placebo tests and random stuff like that. But I don’t believe in medicines, and in that they work. And I took that pill for a week, and _it “magically” fixed_. You have no idea how stunned, impressed and weirdly happy I was. I found it incredible that medicines actually work. And on a bit of meta-though — I was surprised at my own surprise. Did I really believe in magic and _not_ in science? For some reason (that I know or think truly justifies my belief, but is beyond the depth of this article to discuss), I believe in magic and not in science. And I can’t remember what else I’m supposed to tell you here, so I’ll just tell you that folliculitis turned out to be the name of an inflammation of a follicle. Not _the_ follicle. _A_ follicle. A swelling of the bloody small dot any of my hair grows out of. That ridiculously lame. And I was hoping brain tumour. What terrible poor luck I have.
So that incident made me try to abandon my stark belief in magic, and try and believe a bit in science too. I did recall how whenever math worked/works, I felt happy and surprised. The VM tests, and I’m pretty sure the JEE, and every exam, actually fits the Gaussian Curve (or Erlang distribution, I don’t remember/know for sure). How cool. I still do. Math can be established by experiment. Especially shit like probability. How far fetched bizarre, and unusual. Don’t you think?