Welcome to the chronicles of our beloved class.
Our class needed a voice. A voice not whispered while a lecture is underway, a voice not raised seeking ratification from a professor, a voice not posted anonymously by morons attempting to disfigure reputations,but a voice shared between 2 friends. All the characters in our class; the talented,the aloof, the focused, the hapless, the genius,the dumbfounded, the attentive, the sleepy,the timid,the brave,the discouraged,the zealous,the CR,the non CR,the witty,the serious,the happy and the sad;all are invited to share,dare and bare what they please, and chronicle this eventful journey of the batch of EC-11.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Incidentally
No INCIDENT happens, has happened and despairingly will happen without an acrimonious incident, or two. Incident is like a swashbuckling bashful party that the rich kid around the corner of the street throws once in a while. It's loud, obnoxious, derlirious, heavily intoxicating, but you have to go because he's got the best booze, the best chicks and the wildest dramatics in town.
No party jives up without interesting characters with their interesting antiques. This party has its fair share of interesting characters, if not an overdose.
The locos are the decent chaps in the party, who'd print the invitations, and who'd come to the party dressed in elegant formals seated quietly, engaged in conversation and light-hearted laughter in an inconspicuous corner of the room. They'd ask the DJ to tone down the music. They’d have an eye on their watch wanting to attend the following morning's classes.
The mallus are the uninhibited lot, subject of public outcry, who'd headbang to a Kannada song, who'd not give a damn if anybody's watching. The elegant locos would smirk at the mallus antiques and would at best describe them as obnoxious. The mallus would only be encouraged by the comments.
The tams would have their eyes on the girls from the first instant. They'd neither be too loud, nor too docile. They'd slowly, but steadily mingle with everyone in the party, giving the girls a very personable and amiable impression. Before anyone would notice they'd be at the girls table trying to work their magic.
The biharis and the mps would arrive in a big bunch, already slightly intoxicated, swanking their big numbers, bustling everyone on the dance floor. They'd moan if the DJ played any English score, and go wild on the dance floor for every bashful Hindi number.
The Bangalore guys would arrive at the party singly, dressed in a jersey and jeans, not acknowledging each other, giving a condescending attitude to everyone around. They'd drink quietly at the bar counter discussing what Liverpool did wrong, and how tool has redefined contemporary progressive rock.
The Manipal hips would want to make their presence felt. They'd arrive in thunderous bikes and enviable cars. They are like the neighborhood kids, like the close buddies of the rich kid whose organizing the party, wanting to see what the big fuss is all about. They'd drink and dance like there's no tomorrow and would pass out halfway through the party. The locos would help them get back to their homes after they pass out.
The Nit girls are like the homely girls who would have been the eye-catchers of the evening had it not been for the neighborhood Manipal chicks. They'd arrive in one big group quietly dispersing in separate parts of the room, some mingling with the tams, some cozying up to the Dasas, some trying a drink or two for the first time.
The Dasas are like the people who would groove into the party early, experienced at animal partying; dancing, drinking, talking and sharing. They'd brighten up the party by introducing limbo dancing, absolutely striking a chord with everyone. They'd be neither too drunk, nor too sober, nor too classy, nor too wild.
The NKs are like the guys who'd head straight to the dance floor. They'd trash the place; bully the DJ to play songs they like, dancing wildly, and drinking straight from the bottle. They'd make sure the rich kid runs out of whisky. People in the party would not instantly take to them, but they'd be the self-proclaimed bouncers, man-handling people who'd cause a ruckus. If it weren't for them, the Manipal kids would have vomited all over the place. They’d see what limbo dancing is for the first time, and by 4 in the morning they'd have mastered it, beating even the Dasas who'd introduced them to it in the first place.
The Incident party is one which is misgiving, overwhelming and yet admittedly very entertaining. The hangover stays for at least a week, the one party that is a one stop for all that is exciting and delirious.
There is stiff competition each year for who organizes the party, elected by their ilk and peers. They say that, if you want to get a friend in politics, get a dog. Politics is downright ugly, devious, and abominable to say the least. You may like it, you may hate it, but you definitely cannot ignore it. Perhaps, for the first time, a politician with breasts gets elected. Let’s hope this party doesn’t see any blood on the dance floor.
No party jives up without interesting characters with their interesting antiques. This party has its fair share of interesting characters, if not an overdose.
The locos are the decent chaps in the party, who'd print the invitations, and who'd come to the party dressed in elegant formals seated quietly, engaged in conversation and light-hearted laughter in an inconspicuous corner of the room. They'd ask the DJ to tone down the music. They’d have an eye on their watch wanting to attend the following morning's classes.
The mallus are the uninhibited lot, subject of public outcry, who'd headbang to a Kannada song, who'd not give a damn if anybody's watching. The elegant locos would smirk at the mallus antiques and would at best describe them as obnoxious. The mallus would only be encouraged by the comments.
The tams would have their eyes on the girls from the first instant. They'd neither be too loud, nor too docile. They'd slowly, but steadily mingle with everyone in the party, giving the girls a very personable and amiable impression. Before anyone would notice they'd be at the girls table trying to work their magic.
The biharis and the mps would arrive in a big bunch, already slightly intoxicated, swanking their big numbers, bustling everyone on the dance floor. They'd moan if the DJ played any English score, and go wild on the dance floor for every bashful Hindi number.
The Bangalore guys would arrive at the party singly, dressed in a jersey and jeans, not acknowledging each other, giving a condescending attitude to everyone around. They'd drink quietly at the bar counter discussing what Liverpool did wrong, and how tool has redefined contemporary progressive rock.
The Manipal hips would want to make their presence felt. They'd arrive in thunderous bikes and enviable cars. They are like the neighborhood kids, like the close buddies of the rich kid whose organizing the party, wanting to see what the big fuss is all about. They'd drink and dance like there's no tomorrow and would pass out halfway through the party. The locos would help them get back to their homes after they pass out.
The Nit girls are like the homely girls who would have been the eye-catchers of the evening had it not been for the neighborhood Manipal chicks. They'd arrive in one big group quietly dispersing in separate parts of the room, some mingling with the tams, some cozying up to the Dasas, some trying a drink or two for the first time.
The Dasas are like the people who would groove into the party early, experienced at animal partying; dancing, drinking, talking and sharing. They'd brighten up the party by introducing limbo dancing, absolutely striking a chord with everyone. They'd be neither too drunk, nor too sober, nor too classy, nor too wild.
The NKs are like the guys who'd head straight to the dance floor. They'd trash the place; bully the DJ to play songs they like, dancing wildly, and drinking straight from the bottle. They'd make sure the rich kid runs out of whisky. People in the party would not instantly take to them, but they'd be the self-proclaimed bouncers, man-handling people who'd cause a ruckus. If it weren't for them, the Manipal kids would have vomited all over the place. They’d see what limbo dancing is for the first time, and by 4 in the morning they'd have mastered it, beating even the Dasas who'd introduced them to it in the first place.
The Incident party is one which is misgiving, overwhelming and yet admittedly very entertaining. The hangover stays for at least a week, the one party that is a one stop for all that is exciting and delirious.
There is stiff competition each year for who organizes the party, elected by their ilk and peers. They say that, if you want to get a friend in politics, get a dog. Politics is downright ugly, devious, and abominable to say the least. You may like it, you may hate it, but you definitely cannot ignore it. Perhaps, for the first time, a politician with breasts gets elected. Let’s hope this party doesn’t see any blood on the dance floor.
Monday, October 19, 2009
What's the fuss about?
Scene: Junior and Senior meet up in NC.
Clueless Junior: Hey. Wassup? Not to be seen these days. What’s keeping your hair grey?
Know-it-all Senior: Engi work maga. Just a month away. Gotta justify all those election results.
Junior: That much eh? How does this whole thing work-the engi thing? Whose doing all the work? Most of us first years sitting here are clueless how things are working out the way they do?
Senior: Ah. The perplexed factions of engineer. It’s simple really. The aam bhola bhala junta elect CRs to get classes cancelled and do grunt work for the class. This CR is a wily little man though. He aspires for power. Various facets of election politics come into force and all CRs vote for a man they think is able enough to be the convenor of Engineer. Of course, personal gains may or may not masquerade their judgement. The convenor agreeable to all is thus elected.
Junior: Oh. I see. What about the rest of the guys?
Senior: This convenor guy mindfully elects coordinators. These tech club guys socialize and mingle a lot with others of their ilk. They are very good at that. . They claim to know whose best for what. They end up recommending people who’ve they’ve worked with for the job, mostly club people.
Junior: What do these guys do? These co-ords.
Senior: All these co-ords form the elite engi core, people envied for their fortunes, but peers know it’s no piece of cake. They form further committees for distribution of work, and the pyramid just builds up, layer after layer, very similar to our very own parliament. But it’s a little more disciplined, you see. Every committee then elects a convenor. All these cons report to the engi core.
Junior: So these guys supervise work right? Who’s lifting the benches and rolling the carpet?
Senior: Ah. Now you’ve come to the most important set of people. Juniors – volunteers, who are made to believe they are tiny idiots, but end up doing major chunk of the grunt work. They do it for free food coupons and end up checking out some chicks from Manipal. But these are the guys running around. Plus they get a chance to get a glance of the real deal, get to know their seniors and how things work, and very importantly how not things work.
Junior: Oh. Nice. Oh. So these clubs have a major role to play in all this?
Senior: Without a doubt. You barely find guys working for engi not in any tech club.
Junior: What sort of work is done in these committees?
Senior: Hospitality guys look after guests. Lucky ones get to stay in the Guest house. That’s the real deal. Office is where all the registrations happen, where the pretty girls sit at the events desk. All Dept. committees, technites, techspeak various other committees do what their roles are.
Junior: That’s a lot of people. If so many guys are organizing, who’s participating?
Senior: It’s the enthu brainy guys who participate in robotics kind of events. The good people end up with their Wallets and Resumes updated. Then there are several mindless fun events too which don’t expect lot of tech expertise. Lucky ones do manage to win quite a lump sum, and end up spending more than what they’ve earned on gluttonous jobless duds sitting back in the hostels. And you’ll always find people from local colleges and IITs seeking to stamp their superiority. Its healthy competition.
Junior: Nice. So this whole thing is for and by the students. Neat.
Senior: Yes. It sure is. But half the college goes home for engi, view it as a time when probability for a surprise quiz is the least and buzz off. Some of them take it as a chance to spend their time in other worlds, if you know what I mean. It’s a crazy time. It gives a chance to pursue whatever shit you’re interested in, unwind and have fun basically while you learn, that’s if you want to.
Junior: K. Just for curiosity. Which is the most sort after committee?
Senior: It depends on your interests maga. Nevertheless its Technites or Office; where the who’s who are, the flashy bunch. But it’s nothing like it sounds, or…. maybe it is. Nevertheless, you do what you think is best suited for you, something in which you think you can learn.
Junior: What committee you in?
Senior: Press. That’s where you end up asking whose who and you get a free rein to trip on anyone and anything, being able to go around from event to event looking important and purposeful, and coming off as incredibly witty and intelligent at the end of it all.
Senior: I forgot a very important aspect of engi, the follow-up treats, innumerable in number. Sometimes you don’t even realize who’s treating you. You just revel in the celebrations.
Junior: Good one. Anyway, so you think you can jug me into any committee?
Senior: errr... err... Gotta go. See ya.
Engineer Trivia:
National Sport of Engi – Mafia
And the award goes to…. The best con of engi for the last 6 yrs is the ISTE con
On the night Engi gets over, a mega all-con treat is witnessed in GB, the more fancied GB that is.
Hospitality committee work starts at early 5 in the morning or late 5 in the night, whichever way you see it.
Engineer is only one of the 2 times girls are seen at 12 in the night.
Clueless Junior: Hey. Wassup? Not to be seen these days. What’s keeping your hair grey?
Know-it-all Senior: Engi work maga. Just a month away. Gotta justify all those election results.
Junior: That much eh? How does this whole thing work-the engi thing? Whose doing all the work? Most of us first years sitting here are clueless how things are working out the way they do?
Senior: Ah. The perplexed factions of engineer. It’s simple really. The aam bhola bhala junta elect CRs to get classes cancelled and do grunt work for the class. This CR is a wily little man though. He aspires for power. Various facets of election politics come into force and all CRs vote for a man they think is able enough to be the convenor of Engineer. Of course, personal gains may or may not masquerade their judgement. The convenor agreeable to all is thus elected.
Junior: Oh. I see. What about the rest of the guys?
Senior: This convenor guy mindfully elects coordinators. These tech club guys socialize and mingle a lot with others of their ilk. They are very good at that. . They claim to know whose best for what. They end up recommending people who’ve they’ve worked with for the job, mostly club people.
Junior: What do these guys do? These co-ords.
Senior: All these co-ords form the elite engi core, people envied for their fortunes, but peers know it’s no piece of cake. They form further committees for distribution of work, and the pyramid just builds up, layer after layer, very similar to our very own parliament. But it’s a little more disciplined, you see. Every committee then elects a convenor. All these cons report to the engi core.
Junior: So these guys supervise work right? Who’s lifting the benches and rolling the carpet?
Senior: Ah. Now you’ve come to the most important set of people. Juniors – volunteers, who are made to believe they are tiny idiots, but end up doing major chunk of the grunt work. They do it for free food coupons and end up checking out some chicks from Manipal. But these are the guys running around. Plus they get a chance to get a glance of the real deal, get to know their seniors and how things work, and very importantly how not things work.
Junior: Oh. Nice. Oh. So these clubs have a major role to play in all this?
Senior: Without a doubt. You barely find guys working for engi not in any tech club.
Junior: What sort of work is done in these committees?
Senior: Hospitality guys look after guests. Lucky ones get to stay in the Guest house. That’s the real deal. Office is where all the registrations happen, where the pretty girls sit at the events desk. All Dept. committees, technites, techspeak various other committees do what their roles are.
Junior: That’s a lot of people. If so many guys are organizing, who’s participating?
Senior: It’s the enthu brainy guys who participate in robotics kind of events. The good people end up with their Wallets and Resumes updated. Then there are several mindless fun events too which don’t expect lot of tech expertise. Lucky ones do manage to win quite a lump sum, and end up spending more than what they’ve earned on gluttonous jobless duds sitting back in the hostels. And you’ll always find people from local colleges and IITs seeking to stamp their superiority. Its healthy competition.
Junior: Nice. So this whole thing is for and by the students. Neat.
Senior: Yes. It sure is. But half the college goes home for engi, view it as a time when probability for a surprise quiz is the least and buzz off. Some of them take it as a chance to spend their time in other worlds, if you know what I mean. It’s a crazy time. It gives a chance to pursue whatever shit you’re interested in, unwind and have fun basically while you learn, that’s if you want to.
Junior: K. Just for curiosity. Which is the most sort after committee?
Senior: It depends on your interests maga. Nevertheless its Technites or Office; where the who’s who are, the flashy bunch. But it’s nothing like it sounds, or…. maybe it is. Nevertheless, you do what you think is best suited for you, something in which you think you can learn.
Junior: What committee you in?
Senior: Press. That’s where you end up asking whose who and you get a free rein to trip on anyone and anything, being able to go around from event to event looking important and purposeful, and coming off as incredibly witty and intelligent at the end of it all.
Senior: I forgot a very important aspect of engi, the follow-up treats, innumerable in number. Sometimes you don’t even realize who’s treating you. You just revel in the celebrations.
Junior: Good one. Anyway, so you think you can jug me into any committee?
Senior: errr... err... Gotta go. See ya.
Engineer Trivia:
National Sport of Engi – Mafia
And the award goes to…. The best con of engi for the last 6 yrs is the ISTE con
On the night Engi gets over, a mega all-con treat is witnessed in GB, the more fancied GB that is.
Hospitality committee work starts at early 5 in the morning or late 5 in the night, whichever way you see it.
Engineer is only one of the 2 times girls are seen at 12 in the night.
Share care
When things are the most exciting, someone takes up a pen and takes note.For all events in history worth visiting again, there was a chronicler in place, bent upon capturing that moment, the spirit, the awe and that enormity of result in ink or in frame.
Unsurprisingly, the world's most covered event has been world war II.Apart from news agents and propaganda ministers, the war was a painful instruction to the generations that followed, that war doesnt determine who is right.Only who is left.
I am not some hitler supporting, nazi-loving freak.What i am saying is when people are getting killed and races decimated, there is no answer to be found there.Peace is but a necessary condition for solutions.
I am digressing. All i really meant to say is, We should really make an attempt to make this class space a more populated area.We should pen down the most happening moments of class and beyond.
Like a birthday, a going out story, a trip , something...
I cannot hope to be viewed with anything but confusion given the class temperature so close to engineer and endsems, however, i also do not want to write about the most important moments of class for me...The roll-call for attendance!
Unsurprisingly, the world's most covered event has been world war II.Apart from news agents and propaganda ministers, the war was a painful instruction to the generations that followed, that war doesnt determine who is right.Only who is left.
I am not some hitler supporting, nazi-loving freak.What i am saying is when people are getting killed and races decimated, there is no answer to be found there.Peace is but a necessary condition for solutions.
I am digressing. All i really meant to say is, We should really make an attempt to make this class space a more populated area.We should pen down the most happening moments of class and beyond.
Like a birthday, a going out story, a trip , something...
I cannot hope to be viewed with anything but confusion given the class temperature so close to engineer and endsems, however, i also do not want to write about the most important moments of class for me...The roll-call for attendance!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
One night at the Reading Room
“Where you off to?” queried my roommate. I could sense insurmountable suspicion in his eyes. Awkward silence. I was pulverized.”Udupi” I retort, rambling lucidly. I had sftifled. He had sensed it. He yanked himself up from the bed, rushed through the corridors, and gave shouts of ‘GPL, GPL, Sloger’s going to the reading room’. I dropped my bag meekly in submission and surrendered. My arms were held, my legs spread and promptly GPLed.I was battered, clobbered and bruised. My damped spirit lifted me up, and a dogged 15 minutes later, I was in the reading room. I could atleast find 20 guys from my class. I swore under my breath. I parked myself underneath a fan rotating at less than a revolution an hour. My steadfastness all at once failed me and I submitted. A small little siesta couldn’t harm me, I thought. I had almost dozed off, but I was woken up by a man sitting right beside me, who struck up a conversation with me.
Unidentified asshole: Sup macha?
Blank me: Who are you?
Unidentified asshole: I’m God. I’m here to answer all your questions, demystify all your mysteries. So go on, ask what you please.
Confused me: Am I drunk?
Smooth-talking God: No. You’re having a hangover. I’m real. Go ahead. Test me.
Baffled me: AlrightIE. Let me test you then. Who is the biggest sloger in the world?
Composed God: Even monkeys with half a brain can answer that. Shobhit. Madman. I appeared before him last week, the same way I did today, and the first and the only question he asked me was the schematic of an FPGA. I couldn’t answer it. He ridiculed me and answered it himself.
Amused me: Ya. I know. Tell me this. Why did you choose Tronix for me?
Witty God: So you could appreciate Friday nights better.
Not amused me: Not worth it, my friend. Why doesn’t anyone sleep in class? Why am I the only one?
Flattering God: Because they don’t dream. And besides, you’re not the only one, have you seen Parampalli?
Convinced me: Yes. That’s true. Tell me this. Do Voice club guys impress you?
Smug God: You crazy? I’m asleep at 4 in the morning. I don’t have the damndest idea what they are doing up so early!
Curious Me: I hear you have a crush on one of the Tronix girls. Come out with it God.
Hapless God: That girl who sits in the first bench right?
Very Curious me: Who? Rangdal?
Embarrassed God: No, you fool. That second year girl. Unbelievably pretty. Damn, we were good together. But she likes you more. Lucky you. (Gnarl)
Flattered me: Of course she does. Tell me this. How can I anticipate surprise tests?
Knowledgeable God: When you’re least prepared. I’m a big fan of Murphy’s Laws.
Unimpressed me: You are a sadist God. You should be ashamed. By the way, do you know who wrote that anonymous newsletter?
Smug God:Muhuhahahahaha!!
Disgusted me: For the love of God! Tell me. Who’s winning next year’s CR elections?
Helpful God: Navin
Confused me: Putta?
Ambiguous God: No.
Still Confused me: Vignesh?
Unclear God: No.
Stunned me: Naveen T.B?? You gotta be kidding me.
Shocked me: Ok, Ok. One more. And please don’t mention it to anyone. But….. Am I gay?
Smiling God: Only in the closet. I’ve seen the way you look at Videsh.
Hopeless me: Damn.What will I tell my mom? Anyway, can I mention this conversation in the class blog?
Cunning God: Only if you mention the gay part. Only then.
Me: Deal
God: Deal.
He disappeared into thin air, leaving me despondent, and yet having the satisfaction of demystifying invaluable class details. I put my head back on the desk, and lost myself in deep sleep. Not so many miles to go before I sleep.
Posted Non-Anonymously
Unidentified asshole: Sup macha?
Blank me: Who are you?
Unidentified asshole: I’m God. I’m here to answer all your questions, demystify all your mysteries. So go on, ask what you please.
Confused me: Am I drunk?
Smooth-talking God: No. You’re having a hangover. I’m real. Go ahead. Test me.
Baffled me: AlrightIE. Let me test you then. Who is the biggest sloger in the world?
Composed God: Even monkeys with half a brain can answer that. Shobhit. Madman. I appeared before him last week, the same way I did today, and the first and the only question he asked me was the schematic of an FPGA. I couldn’t answer it. He ridiculed me and answered it himself.
Amused me: Ya. I know. Tell me this. Why did you choose Tronix for me?
Witty God: So you could appreciate Friday nights better.
Not amused me: Not worth it, my friend. Why doesn’t anyone sleep in class? Why am I the only one?
Flattering God: Because they don’t dream. And besides, you’re not the only one, have you seen Parampalli?
Convinced me: Yes. That’s true. Tell me this. Do Voice club guys impress you?
Smug God: You crazy? I’m asleep at 4 in the morning. I don’t have the damndest idea what they are doing up so early!
Curious Me: I hear you have a crush on one of the Tronix girls. Come out with it God.
Hapless God: That girl who sits in the first bench right?
Very Curious me: Who? Rangdal?
Embarrassed God: No, you fool. That second year girl. Unbelievably pretty. Damn, we were good together. But she likes you more. Lucky you. (Gnarl)
Flattered me: Of course she does. Tell me this. How can I anticipate surprise tests?
Knowledgeable God: When you’re least prepared. I’m a big fan of Murphy’s Laws.
Unimpressed me: You are a sadist God. You should be ashamed. By the way, do you know who wrote that anonymous newsletter?
Smug God:Muhuhahahahaha!!
Disgusted me: For the love of God! Tell me. Who’s winning next year’s CR elections?
Helpful God: Navin
Confused me: Putta?
Ambiguous God: No.
Still Confused me: Vignesh?
Unclear God: No.
Stunned me: Naveen T.B?? You gotta be kidding me.
Shocked me: Ok, Ok. One more. And please don’t mention it to anyone. But….. Am I gay?
Smiling God: Only in the closet. I’ve seen the way you look at Videsh.
Hopeless me: Damn.What will I tell my mom? Anyway, can I mention this conversation in the class blog?
Cunning God: Only if you mention the gay part. Only then.
Me: Deal
God: Deal.
He disappeared into thin air, leaving me despondent, and yet having the satisfaction of demystifying invaluable class details. I put my head back on the desk, and lost myself in deep sleep. Not so many miles to go before I sleep.
Posted Non-Anonymously
Teeming masses
There are two ways of writing a post.One is when you sit and think and let your ideas flow, with a lot of backspaces and swearwords punctuating.That is called blogging.Other is you don't think and let your mind drift; set it free and wonder as it asks questions that astound you, amaze you, embarrass you or just plain ignore you.When you know you are in no state of mind to think, i suggest you don't think about posting.close your eyes and let it type...That is musing.
Bangalore, sometime in the middle of the summer:i am standing.and i see this tree.it has its branches swaying in the wind.It (the tree) is fulfilling its purpose as a flower bearing tree.the branch however is growing towards the adjacent house.Why?
why is the branch so desperately trying to curtail its life by venturing into no-go territory when it should, ideally move upwards towards sunlight which is but a few degrees away?
It is like asking a fish why it ventures out of its shoal when it knows(?) that itll be eaten by encircling predators.It is a certain thing.As certain as the conviction of the predator that given enough patience and alertness, it will get food.
the fish and the branch, are victims of teaming up.
someone has to take the axe.someone has to be the sacrificial lamb.That someone wouldn't be anyone without the same team,which eventually requires a sacrifice,for the 'greater good', in order for it to exist.
i wonder if every single fish in a shoal has its day.if, as fingerlings are born,the older ones are pushed towards the edge,to perish,for the team.
i wonder if apart from teaming up, the life of a fish is meant to end in the jaws of the predator.just as the branch is meant to be cut,just so it can grow long enough to grant stability to the flower-bearing tree.
i wonder if a fish would live longer in solitude.or does it need the shoal like the branch needs the tree?
What is a team?When is a team predatory on its members?When is a member indispensable?
when is the team more important than its members?Now that i come to think of it...does any company exist for its employees?does any idea,any thought,any business plan work to benefit the creator, the participant?Does a machine care for its cogs?Do human entrepreneurship enterprises care for anything other than profit?If yes, can an employee really believe to be benefitted from the company's policies?On an individual level, is the designer of a machine sure it won't replace him?Are human ideological creations intelligent?Do creations work in an unfathomable way to benefit us?or is that a fantasy we like to believe because we want to go beyond utilitarianism?Is Adam Smith's 'invisible hand' a myth?Is this post psychotic or what?i cannot answer now.can you?
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