As most of my acquaintances are woefully aware, I’m proudly geek. Although I’m not vocationally trained to be a Science Boy (most certainly not the comic book superhero of Ross Geller), the concepts excite me. So much so that my pituitary gland arguably secretes more endorphins when I read about jet engines than when I’m subjected to watching erotically super-charged motion pictures, though am a perfectly normal guy let me tell you… and I scarcely seem to sweat since the sufferance of self supersedes the splendor of sensing a satire surfacing somewhere!
Just yesterday I was reading about turbojets and reliving as I do countless times inside my brain the fantasy of becoming a Science Boy. The fantasy is nothing to be ashamed of when you’re a kid and people reward you for by showing awe about your ambitions. It is only later that you realize that their vivid faces are just apathetically masquerading scoff & scorn, as if wanting to say “How much are you going to earn with that and what are you going to give to your dependents? You will just be another failure unless your Nobel Prize manifests itself at the very same fundamental dimensions that you proclaim to be at! Come on now, don’t worry about that; take heart in the fact that you’re not going to be an awful loser because no girl is going to fall for a geek and you’re going to die a virgin; hence no dependents!” Quite conveniently, you grow up and in most of the cases, the dream either diminishes altogether or gets shoved back into your subconscious like many such dreams which you think neither make any sense in the real world, nor are they worth pursuing considering the priorities of the rat race.
They say that real love can never be “gotten over” and no matter how old it is, it only takes something even remotely related to instigate the ambers in your heart to a raging inferno, as if liquid oxygen was spilt on them. Of course as you grow older you become quite the fire-fighter at countering the heart-burn, but that doesn’t mean the fires aren’t there in the first place. Since I have been unable to push my fantasies into my subconscious and I don’t find any defense mechanism to deal with my fire-fighting inabilities, I just have to burn. In such a phase (that I eternally think I am) I was reading about turbojets, partly marveling at the sheer genius of Jimmy Wales & Larry Sanger (they aren’t rocket scientists, they created Wikipedia you doofus) and dreaming of becoming a rocket scientist last evening. In the morning I read an article in the paper about the recent success of the GSLV-D5, which is no news by now and some insolents have even started considering it as no big deal. Now the problem starts because irrespective of that article being fuel or oxygen, it just seemed to make the burns get escalated to a higher degree. I don’t know if I have it in me to become a rocket scientist (though that would be just a gross denial of facts, I having failed to get marks good enough to become an engineer from a reputed college), neither do I believe it is realistically possible with my priorities of the rat race; this invariably leads me to believe that the universe is mocking me (yeah, right; as if the universe has no better things to do!)
Pull my strings and call me crazy but I prefer to ride the soothing waves of ecstasy that Wikipedia delivers through its pages on jet engines rather than burn in the mockery of the universe. For a change I thought I would give some crazy back to the universe, so this post…
Hasmukh :)
