Prof

They always say the first impression is the only impression. Or in some extremely unbearable cases, the last. You may size a person up, chew him/her up and spit him/her out rightaway when that happens. But not always,hopefully, keeping one's ridiculously high hangout company standards a little secondary-ward as compared to his mortal social needs. So what makes one compromise? Dunno about that, but something sure tells me it's a word rhyming with desperation. Desperation.

Anyhow, the first impression I had of someone I'm now a fan of has nothing to do with the paragraph above you've  spent a good minute on. This man, I'd like to call 'Prof' henceforth is a professor of pediatrics at my college and even though I had been present in Prof's classes at least three times including today, I'd never payed attention the first two times, so this was, for all intents and purposes, the first impression. All I did the first two times is what I'm doing right now in an opthal class on IOLs. 

But I listened and listened and when I realized I was listening I screamed a bit at myself in my head. But Prof was magnetic with a totally profound point of view on bacterial meningitis. I've come across a LOT of professors in the past, MANY of whom I never paid attention to because they looked like they just wanted to get a bunch of medical facts over to the other side. Not Prof though. He seemed genuinely interested, his rasp of a voice oozing enthusiasm, not undeterred by the lack of amplification and acoustic clarity which he could have availed using the lecture hall microphone. What made Prof so unique was that I've never seen someone so animated in his talk, hands waving around, eager to teach, to extend knowledge which for all practical purposes was, in fact, in its true essence, medical WISDOM. 

Prof asked very few questions because he knew the 90 odd people were actually listening, if even with one ear, to his lecture. And that's a real accomplishment for a teacher teaching our class, believe you me. I myself, in the last bench was asked a question, the answer to which didn't seem difficult at all. You see what Prof was doing here? He wasn't just maliciously picking up students and testing whether they knew stuff he knew they didn't, he was merely allowing himself intravenous shots of pride with satisfaction in his work, which I felt he totally deserved.

Prof wound up 10 minutes well before time, and told the junta half smiling that it was his last class at AFMC. Hoots of "treat sir" were greeted sportingly and he graciously agreed for an All Present. And all the while Prof took to walk out of the lecture hall, for what might just be his last time, and out of sight, I was sitting right back there in the last bench thinking "Wow! Now that's how you make a first impression!"

Burning for me?

There's this light burning out by my window,
Blazing on throughout sun and snow
Bothers me no end
Shining relentlessly even at night
Trying wholeheartedly to prick my near- numb conscience
Trying to make it known to me,
That there are lots of things for which I have to fight
Before I can indulge in a good hearty sleep
Which I questionably presume to be an unquestionable right

I stare at the glimmer
Try to reason with it
Try to talk to it
As it burns moths and other clueless creatures of the dark down
Flames eating away at a small circle of  black around it
Makes no sense to me
Why the effort in the first place?
Why try to change things?
When no one's interested to change their ways?

Maybe you were born that way
Unchanging for the sake of change
And strangely enough, it comforts me
That something awaits for a rain
Which will nourish me,
Yet put out the embers of its dying flames...

A game of chess

I've been thinking a lot lately. Thinking about things which concern me directly or indirectly, most of which I can do nothing about. Most of these things happening to me are not the result of my doing, but a result of those around me; a butterfly effect so obviously pre-planned by some force some would call pure coincidence and others something more far fetched as fate.
Then a few days ago, these thoughts going round in circles in my head, I came across a couple of friends playing chess on one of those dime-a-dozen androids available these days. Though not as avid a player I was a few years ago, I do enjoy  watching a good game and peered out of genuine interest over their shoulders. It was a slow game with one guy taking hours to decide what to move and what not to. As the game progressed, it became clear the way they were moving their pieces was so dependent on how they had moved earlier, something as a 15 year old I had never fully appreciated. And at the same time, I couldn't help but notice how similar the pieces' positions and movements affected their immediate future and 'fate'. Sounded real familiar to me. Anyhow, the game ended with the slower player getting thrashed thoroughly with only his king left to hop in handicapped fashion till the other guy used a rook and a bishop to execute the finishing moves.

At this point, a comparison.

The chessboard has 32 pieces with 64 squares. Two players move them around trying to outwit one another based on a constant set of rules. The only aim is to checkmate the opposition by rendering the king immobile.
Now welcome to the real world. Our chessboard has as many pieces as the ones you would care to/have to interact with. The number of squares are the places you'd want to go to ('going places' is a good thing apparently, hence the phrase). And yes, you yourself are a piece; a pawn, a bishop, a rook or a knight. You don't get to decide that, the others do as they are the ones who perceive you as what you are or aren't. And each piece has an intellect. No one is moving them. They are moving all by themselves. The ultimate goal is survival. Period.

A few questions now. If no one's moving us, what determines to what extent we can do something about stuff we want to? How well can we judge others based on how they've moved previously? How predictable will they be in the future? To what extent can you influence that to your advantage? Can you actually do anything about it? And what is your idea of a checkmate? Do you get to decide what it could be or would it be lumped on you like it would be when in a real game of chess your opponent says "checkmate!" and you have no choice but to lump it?

One of my most confused posts, no doubt, but I really had to, you know..just realized what I really am is a chess piece which can think for itself on a presently very confusing chessboard.