After dreams die.

The IIT JEE results came out today. More broken hearts than when Abhishek Bachchan got married.

This is good ol' Tamil Nadu. Land of Temples, Thevars and Techno-geeks. And potential technogeeks, three a penny. A hundred thousand potential technogeeks die every March, and unfailingly a new crop is up, fresh and eager, and not in the least pessimistic, every year. I've always suspected it - there's something in the infant formula....(yeah, I love conspiracy theories! :-D)

Going for IIT classes is a status symbol. The fact that ninety percent of those idiots have about as much chance of clearing it than I do of morphing into Salma Hayek(I wish), is immaterial, of course.

The fact that more people have found true love(initiated, sustained, and- hehe - terminated through note-passing) than have passed the aptitude tests, is immaterial, of course.

The fact that other engineering colleges exist, and that, in May, one Siva Subramania Nadar in the hand is better than two Indian Institutes of Technology in the bush(look hard, you'll find the idiom), is immaterial, of course.

The fact that in-state, at least, supply has almost exceeded demand, and that it doesn't take an expert market-analyst to infer that it's hard to get a job, is immaterial, of course.

The funniest part is, every year, headhunters cry themselves hoarse that IITians aren't so hot anymore, they'd prefer people from second and third-tier colleges for a variety of reasons that I refrain from mentioning because:
a.I'm sure they will be misconstrued
b.they're repeated every year, and
c.I'm incurably lazy.

So: It is inanely hard to make it to an IIT, it is inanely hard to stay in IIT if you do happen to make it, and - it must be Christmas - it isn't even all that worth it once you pass out.

Ergo, the only reason you'd hope and pray and dream vivid dreams of IIT is....because...well...it's a dream. The place is enveloped in this golden aura and Mozart plays in your head when you think of it.

And it may not make much sense to others; hell, it may not make much sense to you, but you still go on (stupidly! stupidly!)dreaming. And when your dream goes up in flames, and when the last ember has died down, and the smoke has cleared and the dust has settled, and you finally get that fact past your insanely huge ego, that you're just not good enough for Number One....

You shrug, kick away the debris, and go to Number Four.



Wait, wait, wait.

When did this post start being about me?

I just took a quiz on Blogthings, on something I have always not-so-secretly wondered about.

Here's what they tell me.

There's a 33% Chance That You Need Therapy

You may need therapy, but you're probably doing okay at working out your own problems.In general, you are able to solve any troubles that come up. But there's no harm in talking to a professional.

Do'>http://www.blogthings.com/doyouneedtherapyquiz/">Do You Need Therapy?

I have a thirty three percent chance of needing therapy, eh? Hmmm..is that the same as saying that a good third of me is screwed up? Or are you to interpret that as saying that a have a thirty three percent chance of screwing up? They are not the same thing, mind.

If it is the former: well whaddaya know, two thirds of me is still normal. Or what is popularly perceived to be normal. Normal is kinda subjective, but for the sake of convenience(yes, I am a lazy bum), and brevity(correction, I am the poster girl of lazy bum), we will go with normal.

If it is the latter: This is slightly more worrying. Can we snowball this phrase into a future-telling corollary? As in, I am well on my way to screwing up in the near future? Taking into account the facts that that I am about to move two thousand one hundred and seventy eight kilometres away from home, and that even right here at home, I haven't had any problems, really, in screwing up either health or head, and last, that I am royally pessimistic when it comes to myself, I really wonder if it is all worth it.

Or maybe they're referring to the academics. Doesn't worry me; been there, done that.

But the options...hm.

When you are a walking(try falling, skidding, slipping) example of the things legendary klutzes are made of, you really begin to wonder if you shouldn't give up on college altogether and do the correspondence course thing. They even have that nifty video thing, where you get to sit at hawt Formica tables, elbow to elbow, wear these big clunky black headphones, and watch people giving you staticky lectures.

Cool, no?

Um.

Ok.

I wish I could grow out of this clumsiness, though. I want some grace, some smoothness, some polish(the next idiot who pops up with a Brasso joke at this point will regret it. I promise.).Inside a month, hopefully. I mean, a bedroom-to-kitchen journey usually involves two stubbed toes (one each on the doorpost and bed), and this, when the bedroom and the kitchen are ADJOINING ROOMS.

Save the applause.

So I have successfully begun a discussion(okay, okay, a dead boring monologue) on whether I need therapy, and converted it to a whine about my clumsiness.
With just a soupcon of college thrown in.

Darn, I must be bored.

I've been Bangalored to Jodhpur.

So I am now here.

For those people who used to regularly read my blog - two, at last count, one of whom, almost irritatingly accurately described it as the name for this blog - this new blog shouldn't end up being markedly different from the previous one. I am still me, life is still life, and last time I checked, I was still pissed with it.

Ah no, I am not depressed. It is just a combination of fresh proof of personal incompetence, and the very obvious distance between desire and gratification that is pissing me off.

Yes. I did not make it to the National Law School of India University, Bangalore. So, ya wanna make something of it, huh? Huh? *chin stuck out, sleeves rolled up*