Lord Murphy and his Laws

Murphy's Law is one of the fundamental laws of nature, even more fundamental than, for example, the law of Copyright. It is a very optimistic law, stating if anything can go wrong, it will. If it can't go wrong, it will go wrong anyway.. Although, it has been proved that god is actually behind Murphy's Law, and that Murphy is blamed incorrectly.

Murphy's second law

More commonly known as "the law of probabilities", Murphy's second law assures that a 50/50 situation will always end badly.

• A 50% chance of becoming sterile during a vasectomy actually means 95%.
• When playing Russian Roulette, all 5 other people will get lucky.
• If half of your songs are good and you put your iPod on shuffle, you will hear Aap ka Saroor until your iPod battery has exactly 4 seconds left.

Murphy's third law

Murphy was on crack to think the first law, and either law #2 or #3 is completely false. But #1 looks even more false. Murphy did all he could to prove the 4th law, but failed. Was that a proof or a disproof? This depends on whether *you* wanted the law to fail or not.

Murphy's Law, redux

Murphy, short for David Bowie, is an influential Irish politician. He's credited with another version of Murphy's Law, one that requires Murphy's Irish Red be imbibed at least once daily, twice on Friday. The law was passed without any votes against, critics mention that anyone who would oppose had been out on town the night before, and in a Murphy's induced stupor. Those for the law cite the same incident.

Einstein enjoys a good Murphy's, and packaging will change in the near future to reflect his posthumous endorsement of the brew.

Incidentally, Murphy's was also invented in a bath.

Amendments to Murphy's Laws

• The First Amendment

If anything can go wrong it sometimes can and possibly will.

• The Second Amendment

Thou shalt sometimes miss the first bus, and usually have to wait half an hour for the next one to arrive.

• Teh Thurd amendamint

if zoo heet your zelf un ze heeed weeth a freyin paan zu weel bezomme stupeeder and stupderr. theiz waz foist tezsted ooon tha whitar oof thezi farticle pection.

• The Fourth Amendment

The chances of the toast landing buttered side down is directly proportional to the cost of the carpet.

Murphy's Paradox

Murphy's Law says that if anything can go wrong, it will. But, this stupid law applies to itself: itself can go wrong, that is, there must be a situation where something can go wrong and it won't go wrong. So, Murphy Law is paradoxal, and by reductio ad absurdum, I boned your mother.

Late Night Musings

I sit here, Waiting for sleep. And while I'm at it, I can't help but wonder why I feel so philosophical at this hour, pondering over nitty-gritties of life? Is it only me? Or does everyone suffer the same way? One plausible explanation that comes to my mind is that at night one is often alone. And if one is also awake, then there are very few things one can do to amuse oneself - can't watch TV for the fear of waking the household up; can't read books as one's attention span, as well as one's grasping capabilities are frighteningly low at three in the morning (I say this from my personal experience, there may be exceptions); can't listen to music for the aforementioned reason, and also because music nowadays is not used for listening, but for hearing in the background while we busy ourselves with more pressing agendas...like chatting on gtalk. So with no one to pester and nothing to do, we think. We are also not very good at being alone with ourselves for longer than a few minutes, so we fiddle with 'day dreams', if they can be called day dreams for it is the middle of the night. First, in which there are a lot of happy chappies and love found. However, soon these happy dreams transmorgify into retrospection and then into thoughts on life, the universe and everything. And we philosophise. Bah! I am bored of this piece...Am off to do something more entertaining. No. Wait. it is four in the morning. Sighhh!

PS: Yours truly went back into his thoughts, cursing the internet company, for rendering broadband useless, and waiting for the day to break

PPS: my first not in over 8 years in fountain pen...and i didn't get my fingers messy.

Water colours and other random things

Journey of the Faith (water colours and ink on paper)

Nude sitting (ink on paper)

Mrs. dalloway

She would not say of any one in the world now that they were this or were that. She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on.She had a perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day. Not that she thought herself clever, or much out of the ordinary. How she had got through life on the few twigs of knowledge Fräulein Daniels gave them she could not think. She knew nothing; no language, no history; she scarcely read a book now, except memoirs in bed; and yet to her it was absolutely absorbing; all this; the cabs passing; and she would not say of Peter, she would not say of herself, I am this, I am that.

Her only gift was knowing people almost by instinct, she thought, walking on. If you put her in a room with some one, up went her back like a cat's; or she purred. Devonshire House, Bath House, the house with the china cockatoo, she had seen them all lit up once; and remembered Sylvia, Fred, Sally Seton — such hosts of people; and dancing all night; and the waggons plodding past to market; and driving home across the Park. She remembered once throwing a shilling into the Serpentine. But every one remembered; what she loved was this, here, now, in front of her; the fat lady in the cab. Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? but that somehow in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here, there, she survived, Peter survived, lived in each other, she being part, she was positive, of the trees at home; of the house there, ugly, rambling all to bits and pieces as it was; part of people she had never met; being laid out like a mist between the people she knew best, who lifted her on their branches as she had seen the trees lift the mist, but it spread ever so far, her life, herself. But what was she dreaming as she looked into Hatchards' shop window? What was she trying to recover? What image of white dawn in the country, as she read in the book spread open:

Fear no more the heat o' the sun

Nor the furious winter's rages

Water Colours

Venice (water colours on paper)

Morning Catch (water and ink on paper)

Post Surgery Day Dreaming.

So here I am...after a long period of inactivity. But really I couldn't post anything, what with operations and stuff. Now, if you don't know, a lot of preliminaries have to be taken care of before the big day - blood tests, CT scans etc. And all of them involve needles, and the person in-charge of needling me invariably fucked up the first time in finding the right vein. So i was pricked twice. And it is not a pleasant feeling. So anyway, i was operated on (3 hours in OT), given antibodies thrice daily for 3 days (injections, again) and let off, only to return 5 days later as my nose became blood faucet with a leak. So there I was, a litre of blood, and painful vacuuming of nose later (3 injections of local anesthesia in each nostril and yet i cried out in pain) in a familiar room with two beds, green walls and no windows. I was depressed, so say the least. Anyway, I survived. And here I am - alive and blogging. Here's my new painting - first one post surgery. I hope to be more regular now. But the humidity, heat and bugs make me want to just sit back with a tall cool drink. More later.