-
-
{% include custom/header.html %}
diff --git a/source/_includes/juvia.html b/source/_includes/juvia.html
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0da2b27
--- /dev/null
+++ b/source/_includes/juvia.html
@@ -0,0 +1,52 @@
+{% comment %} Load script if Juvia comments are enabled and `page.comments` is either empty (index) or set to true {% endcomment %}
+{% if site.juvia_site_key and site.juvia_host and page.comments != false %}
+
+
+{% endif %}
diff --git a/source/_includes/navigation.html b/source/_includes/navigation.html
index 888042e..2f0e628 100644
--- a/source/_includes/navigation.html
+++ b/source/_includes/navigation.html
@@ -1 +1,15 @@
-{% include custom/navigation.html %}
\ No newline at end of file
+
+
+ {% include article.html %}
+
+
{% if site.disqus_short_name and page.comments == true %}
-
-
Comments
+
+
Comments
{% include post/disqus_thread.html %}
-
-{% endif %}
\ No newline at end of file
+
+{% endif %}
+{% if site.juvia_site_key and page.comments == true %}
+
+
Comments
+
{% include post/juvia_thread.html %}
+
+{% endif %}
+
+{% unless page.sidebar == false %}
+
+{% endunless %}
diff --git a/source/_posts/2011-08-22-the-illusion-of-choice-how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-the-matrix.markdown b/source/_posts/2011-08-22-the-illusion-of-choice-how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-the-matrix.markdown
index 6a88cd6..3cdb1f7 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2011-08-22-the-illusion-of-choice-how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-the-matrix.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2011-08-22-the-illusion-of-choice-how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-the-matrix.markdown
@@ -12,10 +12,10 @@ A recent survey[1] established that cribbing is the third most popular activity
2) A certain activity that takes place in the dark inside hostel rooms under sheets. (I was talking about sleeping, you sick pervert)
It is no secret that finding the words 'satisfied', 'Roorkee' and 'IITian' in the same sentence is as common as finding Salman Khan with a shirt on. But I digress from Salman Khan's attire.
-One of our favourite whineyards is the absence of good electives. Every semester before the endsems, IMG (now Campus Skunk) opens its floodgates exposing the naive R-ites to hitherto unheard of terms like Cosmetology, Snorkelling and Far side Entomology. The experienced lot are forced to disown trivialities like interest and learning in favour of easy proxies, no backs and the absence of an 8AM class. I recollect an article from my first year in the moronic magazine, aptly titled "Hobson's Choice: All roads lead to the earthquake department". But no more! With the influx of many a young turk, the days of gerontocracy were over. The institute had final woken to the sound of the clarion. New electives with fancy names were floated by departments above the slope, and held in class rooms that were actually near Nesci. The times, they were a-changing.
-
+One of our favourite whineyards is the absence of good electives. Every semester before the endsems, IMG (now Campus Skunk) opens its floodgates exposing the naive R-ites to hitherto unheard of terms like Cosmetology, Snorkelling and Far side Entomology. The experienced lot are forced to disown trivialities like interest and learning in favour of easy proxies, no backs and the absence of an 8AM class. I recollect an article from my first year in the moronic magazine, aptly titled "Hobson's Choice: All roads lead to the earthquake department". But no more! With the influx of many a young turk, the days of gerontocracy were over. The institute had final woken to the sound of the clarion. New electives with fancy names were floated by departments above the slope, and held in class rooms that were actually near Nesci. The times, they were a-changing.
+
"Enough was enough", I came to a conclusion. "I am in an IIT to learn, and learn I will". So I registered for one of those baroque, hard-to-pronounce electives offered by the MIT return. Four months later I enter my first class five minutes late, having missed 3 classes the previous week. Cold walls and the icy demeanour of 20-odd enthusiastic (read ghissu/muggu) juniors greet me. The young lecturer coolly informs me that I have missed five attendances as he had to take two extra classes the previous week, and a even a single case of absenteeism hence will result in my not being able to write the exams. "Oh and by the way, we have extra field trips too. Two hours every week in a field pulling strings to understand what String theory really is", he added with glee. Any wise man in my situation would have decided to go on and take the bull by its horns. But that wise man was not I. And so I decided to throw the towel.
2 Days, 101 signatures and a few thousand applications later, I was one of the teeming millions in an elective offered by a department dealing with disasters. "But sir", I argued. "How can anyone not appreciate the subtleties of Fire-Extinguising 101'. An argument that he could never refute thanks to generations of farzi* seniors who had populated the course and proven beyond doubt that Fire extinguishing was indeed every engineer's ultimate fantasy.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2011-09-04-living-in-the-ivory-tower.markdown b/source/_posts/2011-09-04-living-in-the-ivory-tower.markdown
index 3b6a9d3..07bb7d4 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2011-09-04-living-in-the-ivory-tower.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2011-09-04-living-in-the-ivory-tower.markdown
@@ -5,6 +5,10 @@ date: 2011-09-04 12:26
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Mrinal Tripathi, III Year, Chem
+
+
I swear,
“I never was the purple cow
I only got to see some
diff --git a/source/_posts/2011-09-04-watch-out-for-more.markdown b/source/_posts/2011-09-04-watch-out-for-more.markdown
index 13361f8..9a8142c 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2011-09-04-watch-out-for-more.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2011-09-04-watch-out-for-more.markdown
@@ -5,6 +5,9 @@ date: 2011-09-04 16:05
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By MK Arun Kumar, IV Year, Meta
+
There comes a time in every person’s life when he is asked to bark like a dog in front of a few extraordinary gentlemen, his selection into their beloved organisation conditional on him performing said demeaning task. He can choose to swallow the ignominy in silence and leave the scene without making a fuss. Or he could accept the challenge as his forthcoming baptism by fire, and get ready to unleash the canine within him in all its guttural glory. Either way, he risks getting stuck with a life-long regret. On an eventful early August afternoon 6 semesters ago, some higher power decreed that I throw caution to the winds and bark my heart out. In a life characterised by idiocy and imprudence, that remains one of the wiser decisions I have ever made.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2011-09-19-Ghissu-Ban-Gaya-Gentleman.markdown b/source/_posts/2011-09-19-Ghissu-Ban-Gaya-Gentleman.markdown
index 85a4d9b..fc6c9e4 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2011-09-19-Ghissu-Ban-Gaya-Gentleman.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2011-09-19-Ghissu-Ban-Gaya-Gentleman.markdown
@@ -5,6 +5,10 @@ date: 2011-09-19 17:13
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Hetu Ashara, III Year, Elec
+
+
Not so long long ago was a man of great valour. A bastion of strength. A man with a spirit to conquer the world. An astonishing urge to dominate the world. Stand what may come attitude bolstered by a unprecedented determination, flaring through the eyes. No one even lurked near him, such was his aura. After a worthy yet connoting introduction I present to you ladies and gentlemen the protagonist - GHISSU .
Ghissu was a boy of straight A+s. He demoralized the professors (!) of his college by hitting a spot on, bulls eye, perfect 10 SGPA in the first semester. He had achieved this unique feat all thanks to the qualities described above.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2011-09-23-rkb-resident-mistakenly-updates-his-status-to-rkb-muradabad.markdown b/source/_posts/2011-09-23-rkb-resident-mistakenly-updates-his-status-to-rkb-muradabad.markdown
index 17a3e60..3be3dba 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2011-09-23-rkb-resident-mistakenly-updates-his-status-to-rkb-muradabad.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2011-09-23-rkb-resident-mistakenly-updates-his-status-to-rkb-muradabad.markdown
@@ -5,6 +5,10 @@ date: 2011-09-23 11:14
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Bhavya Vats, III Year, Meta
+
+
Roorkee The day when his fellow inmates were hailing the newly operational 1 Gbps internet by putting up status updates on the social networking site Facebook, a 3rd year B. Tech student at Radhakrishnan Bhawan, IIT Roorkee created an uproar in his hostel wing by putting up a controversial status.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2011-10-19-unknown-destiny.markdown b/source/_posts/2011-10-19-unknown-destiny.markdown
index 81f7d5f..f3284e1 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2011-10-19-unknown-destiny.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2011-10-19-unknown-destiny.markdown
@@ -5,6 +5,9 @@ date: 2011-10-19 13:19
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Nisha C, III Year, Mech
+
Yesterday morning I had found my cycle punctured when I had already been running late to class by five minutes. Irked at my cycle's betrayal, struck by the sudden realization that I had no time for an afternoon nap, having the accuser in me smirking at the guilty mulling over how nothing useful had transpired during the vacations, I was convinced that that was the best time for apocalypse. In fact, I was so convinced that I removed the otherwise pointless drawing sheet with very ugly views of die-casters, acting as a sun-shield, from my head, in a move to encounter whatever, head on. Stumbling feebly across the road, there was a puny little kid, who, in a series of serendipitous events, was evading being hit by vehicles honking and zooming past her.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2011-10-24-bulldozed-emotions.markdown b/source/_posts/2011-10-24-bulldozed-emotions.markdown
index 1492688..0f9f0fc 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2011-10-24-bulldozed-emotions.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2011-10-24-bulldozed-emotions.markdown
@@ -5,11 +5,17 @@ date: 2011-10-24 04:56
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Abhishek Pandey, III Year, Meta
+
+
+
You told me to observe and learn from everything that happened around me. That way you said I would grow up to be an intelligent man. But of late it feels I have seen enough. Every new thing is not exactly new. Every event differs from its predecessor in the mode in which it occurs. The underlying sentiments somehow seem to be the same everywhere. I want to share something with you.
-
Just next to my hostel, in college, there is a small playground. It’s not actually that large to be called a playground, just a small stretch of underutilized land. At one end of this stretch there are a few residential quarters, allotted to the mess workers. Twenty steps from these quarters is a small Shiv temple. From the bathroom of the floor I live in, one gets a clear view of the temple and the quarters. So every time I went to brush my teeth in the mornings or to take a bath, I would come across their life, their style of living. Basic stuff they did in the morning. Men of the household sipping tea, reading the newspaper while the women used to cut vegetables sitting by, preparing breakfast. Watching them do all this stuff became a routine for me as well. Nothing of that was much of my interest, except for one thing. Every day the old lady of the house would walk with the youngest kid to the Shiv temple and offer her prayers. The kid absolutely oblivious of what his grandmother was chanting would just close his eyes and bowed his head down. This scene reminded me vividly of how I as a kid used to travel to the nearby temple with grandmother. This thought made me happy and somehow it felt as if the day had begun well.
+
+
All of this happened before I went home for the holidays.
The house does not stand anymore.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2011-11-22-the-curse-of-being-in-meta.markdown b/source/_posts/2011-11-22-the-curse-of-being-in-meta.markdown
index 18baa2e..f2273a9 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2011-11-22-the-curse-of-being-in-meta.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2011-11-22-the-curse-of-being-in-meta.markdown
@@ -5,6 +5,9 @@ date: 2011-11-22 06:14
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By an anonymous crusader
+
Our institute takes a rather ambiguous stance on the attendance shortage rule. While technically, a student should be forced to repeat a course if his attendance falls below that magical 75% mark, this dictum seldom comes into play owing to general leniency shown by professors and departments. Unless the figure under consideration has reached unspeakably abysmal levels, in which case the student probably knows what’s coming. Regardless of the course or professor or department in question, students generally breathe easy if they are somewhere near the 65 to 70% mark.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2012-01-11-basti-live.markdown b/source/_posts/2012-01-11-basti-live.markdown
index ca2d1d0..2d40717 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2012-01-11-basti-live.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2012-01-11-basti-live.markdown
@@ -5,10 +5,15 @@ date: 2012-01-11 15:37
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Abhishek Pandey, IV Year, Chem
+
The summers are always long. No matters how good a family you got, or how much money to spend; they do at some point or other start boring you. The point is everybody starts looking out for unconventional ways of killing time.
I am 21, single, with no interest left in my education. I am miserable. Therefore my drive to find crazy ways to kill my time is much stronger than the rest of the population. One such way is dirt biking. I usually take my bike out in the morning or late evenings and set off to far off villages. Well most of these villages are not electrified, neither does any of them has roads laid out. I believe that these villages can be developed as great dirt biking locations, although I am not pretty much certain that they are fit enough for human settlement. During one such expedition I came face to face with what movie analysts would call dark comedy.
+
+
There is this hamlet called Haidurganj on the Gorakhpur-Basti highway. This Muslim dominated locality is exactly like the dozen other villages spread across the highway, except for the fact that it has a mosque which is more magnificent than any other you would find in entire Gorakhpur. The floor is entirely laid with high quality marble. The marble was specially imported from Rajasthan for the construction of the mosque. There is brilliant calligraphy done on the inner side of the dome wall. It would make Steve Jobs proud. Rahman Chacha tells me those are verses from the Quran. He knows the best. He did it.
However it’s not the mosque which brought me to this village.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2012-08-24-the-lost-paper-trail.markdown b/source/_posts/2012-08-24-the-lost-paper-trail.markdown
index 778a69a..df926cc 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2012-08-24-the-lost-paper-trail.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2012-08-24-the-lost-paper-trail.markdown
@@ -5,11 +5,18 @@ date: 2012-08-26 21:07
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Anonymous
+
+
“An educated person is one who has learned that information almost always turns out to be at best incomplete and very often false, misleading, fictitious, mendacious - just dead wrong. “
Russel
B.Tech in Pulp and Paper Engineering, the brochure reads. Placements have been good in this field in the recent years. And as a small aside- the course is run in Saharanpur Campus, 50 km from Roorkee. The descriptions of Polymer Science and Technology and Process Engineering with MBA, run along the same lines.
+
+
+
Every year, groups of students who clear the JEE, but only just,grab this course along their only path to become an IITian. Sacrificing the chance to learn their favorite courses at rather less reputed institutions, they put all their faith in the hallowed name of IIT, sometimes leaving their homes thousands of kilometers behind. Alas! Fate is cruel to them- they get a rude shock soon after arriving to take their place in the halls of their dreams. Nothing in their worst nightmares could have prepared them for the mental distress which plagues everyone in this institute. Isolated from their classmates, unrecognized as IITians even by the shopkeepers nearby, they are soon struck by the realization that this was certainly not what they signed up for, and definitely not what they deserved.
Soon plagued by the contagious depression that infects this campus,they start feeling imprisoned.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2012-10-15-lucifers-angel.markdown b/source/_posts/2012-10-15-lucifers-angel.markdown
index cc4103a..a9134a2 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2012-10-15-lucifers-angel.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2012-10-15-lucifers-angel.markdown
@@ -5,6 +5,9 @@ date: 2012-10-15 16:29
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Ali Yawar, III Year, Mech
+
“Hah! I am a thorn in His heart, Gabriel, always with Him. You go on, chant His name in vain, He thinks of me more than He ever will of you”.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2012-10-25-beauty-within-the-beast.markdown b/source/_posts/2012-10-25-beauty-within-the-beast.markdown
deleted file mode 100644
index fb3dda8..0000000
--- a/source/_posts/2012-10-25-beauty-within-the-beast.markdown
+++ /dev/null
@@ -1,61 +0,0 @@
----
-layout: post
-title: "Beauty Within The Beast"
-date: 2012-10-25 21:53
-comments: true
-categories:
----
-Heb 13:2-“ Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
-
-On a little hillock, beside a lively stream, overlooking a brightly-colored congregation of wooden cottages stood our large, proud, rose-colored bungalow. With gates as high as the heavens, the intimidating structure, over the years, had done well to keep uninvited visitors away. It was the fall of 2003 in Shillong, and like every fall, the skies had gotten greyer and gloomier, the winds had gotten stronger and chillier, and the trees had gotten barer and browner.
-
-Every evening, from five to seven pm, Mum would entertain poor patients, and treat them for free in her little office attached to the house. Sometimes, I would peep through the window to see her patiently attending to all these terrible looking and withered people. I often wondered how she put up with all their exaggerated wincing.
-
-“Must be a very depressing job to do” I used to think to myself. Perhaps, it was this thought that sub-consciously influenced me against taking up this profession.
-
-One chilly October evening, as Mum was fixing supper, there was a sharp knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man, “Why he’s hardly as tall as me” I thought as I stared at his stooped shriveled body. I had seen many a woeful looking patients but none as appalling as this; his face, disfigured from swelling, his skin, rumpled and raw, his weak hands, pale and shivering.
-
-“Good evening, Is Doctor Memsahib at home? I’ve come to get some treatment.” His voice was pleasant.
-Mum was visibly tired that day, and it was already half past nine, so, I lied.
-
- “Doctor Memsahib is sleeping, Could you please come back tomorrow at five? I will tell her your name.”
-“I come from a village very far away; I took the bus this morning that unfortunately got delayed, I have been hunting for a room, but no one seems willing to offer me one. I guess it’s because of the way I look. Could you spare me a place to sleep for just one night; I will go back after treatment tomorrow.”
-“Please wait, I’ll call Memsahib.”
-
-Mum hesitated for a bit, then looking at his condition said, “We’ll get you a bed, but, you will have to sleep on the porch. I’ll treat you after supper; you can go back in the morning.”
-
-I was understandably piqued by this unnecessary act of benevolence.
-
-“You should take care of yourself too, you know.” I said to Mum.
-
-After Mum had finished her treatment, I went out to speak with him for a few minutes. It didn't take me long to realize that this old man had an over-sized heart crowded into that tiny crippled body. He told me he was a farmer, and worked to support his widowed daughter, her four children, and his wife. He didn't say this by way of complaint. In fact, every other sentence was prefixed with a ‘thanks’ to God for a blessing. He was grateful to my mother for having given him treatment; he thanked God for giving him the strength and to keep him going to support his family.
-
-When we got up in the morning, the bed-sheets were neatly folded and he was out on the porch. Just as he we leaving for the bus, benignantly, as if asking a favor, he said “Could I come back and stay the next time? I won’t put you out a bit; I’ll sleep on the chair.”
-
-He paused a moment and then added, “Your son made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my appearance, but children don't seem to mind."
-
-Mum said he was welcome again.
-
-Over time, the tiny old man grew fond of me. Every time he came, he brought for us a basket of the most wonderful strawberries and peaches we had ever seen or tasted. During the following months, there was never a time that he did not bring strawberries and peaches. Knowing how little money he made, his gifts were doubly precious. He once told me of little white rabbits that he had in his farm, and I asked him to get one for me.
-
-Unexpectedly, my father received his transfer orders to another place and we were to vacate the house in two weeks. We were sure of meeting him at least once before leaving, but, he never came. Mum informed the neighbours and left a note with them containing our new address and telephone number, hoping he would call. He never did.
-
-Mum and I never forgot about him and we will always be grateful to have known him. “From Him”, Mum said, “We learned to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.”
-
-Ten years hence, there was knock on our door. I opened it to find a young lady carrying a little white rabbit in a wooden basket. There was a note attached to the basket.
-
-“I apologize for not being able to meet you before you left. Here is the rabbit you asked for. I shall always be grateful for all the help I received from you.”
-
-The same day, Mum and I were sauntering about in our new garden. As she showed me the flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.
-
-“Shouldn't you put this in a better pot?”
-
-"I ran short of pots," Mum explained," and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, until I can put it out in the garden."
-
-Mum and I laughed delightedly.
-
-"Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old farmer. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
-
-
-
-Varun Rao, IV Year, P&I
diff --git a/source/_posts/2012-10-25-not-that-anyone-cares.markdown b/source/_posts/2012-10-25-not-that-anyone-cares.markdown
index 9a38cb7..c24a59d 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2012-10-25-not-that-anyone-cares.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2012-10-25-not-that-anyone-cares.markdown
@@ -5,10 +5,16 @@ date: 2012-10-25 17:13
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Nisha C, III Year, Mech
+
Perusing the notice boards in the departments and the hostels is a useful habit well-cultivated by many on campus, perhaps on seniors' insistence and their own observations regarding the importance of the information that the notice boards usually carry. I am not a perfectly regular notice board-reader but I was standing there, nevertheless, scanning long sheets of shabbily clipped paper, for something significant. A breach of the code of conduct here, a hijacking of disciplinary marks there, a warning for participation in a hunger strike here and a suspension order for misconduct there.
+
+
+
I checked again to see if it was true that there was nothing else the department wanted me know at that moment. My doubts had been well-reasoned after all. There was going to be a conference on advances in friction welding. Exciting, surely. I mean, I remembered how heroic I had felt donning that threadbare apron which I was sure was older than I was, those sooted gloves that would have been an unmistakable fit for Mr.Sultan Kosen if manual welding ever struck his fancy, and going bzzzzz...over Cast Iron to make a butt joint. If I had had more confidence in the safety of the dingy advanced welding(which is more accurate and automatic) lab, I would have easily slept through the practical or something. Naturally, I was just thinking about the other notices and this one just made want to distort the whole notice board, with the welding torch, if possible.
We used to have McRennett opposite our school. For the most ridiculous of reasons, the school administration decided that we should pass up a chance to have the most delicious cakes in the world(it's been years since I had my last, but, believe me the taste lingers) after school hours. We weren't allowed to go. Of course, when rules become cold, they can be forgotten and indifference to them can be forgiven. Everyone started frequenting the bakery again but I wouldn't go for a while. My excuse was always the same. I would say that I am not one for answering uncomfortable questions if worse came to worst and some teacher chastised me. For the record, that never happened. My school had a set of unbelievably kind teachers. Despite being busy with churning out maximum marks in the board exam, my school did give each one of its pupils pleasant memories to cherish.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2012-11-13-the-cost-of-sustaining-religion.markdown b/source/_posts/2012-11-13-the-cost-of-sustaining-religion.markdown
index 72d9b88..6357dc2 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2012-11-13-the-cost-of-sustaining-religion.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2012-11-13-the-cost-of-sustaining-religion.markdown
@@ -5,12 +5,19 @@ date: 2012-11-13 12:38
comments: true
categories:
---
+
+By Abhay Rana, IV Year, P&I
+
+
+
Disclaimer: The views are the author's alone. The reader is advised to adopt an open mind.
When I came to IIT-Roorkee, I was an agnostic-turning-to-atheism, hoping that I would be guided the right way. However, meeting so many people with so many different views to life made me move away from religion, if anything. The more I tried to understand faith, the more it got away.
India, as a rich and diverse country, has its own share of religions, superstitions, and weird laws that come with these religions. For instance, changing your religion is illegal in several states, while some others may require you to give a one month notice or else face fines. India is one of the few secular countries which governs several laws based on religion. We have different marriage laws for different religions.
+
+
Are you worried about politics in India mixing with religion? I’m worried about the lack of atheist support in India. Our most recent census does not include a section for atheists, and assumes all Indians are believers. At the same time, we have many of our politicians swearing oaths as atheists. Our first Prime Minister was openly an atheist, and having another such is unthinkable at times like these. Recently, a pic doing the rounds on the internet argued that the theoretical taxing of religious organizations in the US would lead to enough budget($71 billion/year) for NASA to send 28 Curiosity rovers per year, forever to Mars. Taking on a similar hypothetical question I wondered: “How much could India benefit, if India suddenly embraced atheism”. As it turns out, the answer is a lot.
Keeping economics in track, we might see a shift from religious donations(which are the majority of donations in India) to charity being given to other NGOs and such. Tirupati, Shirdi Baba, and the top 10 temples of the state earn a huge sum every year, which is non-taxable at the moment. Some of it might even trickle down to help our economy.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2012-12-31-revolutionary-protests-that-cause-no-revolutions.markdown b/source/_posts/2012-12-31-revolutionary-protests-that-cause-no-revolutions.markdown
index bbb8a5b..78efa79 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2012-12-31-revolutionary-protests-that-cause-no-revolutions.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2012-12-31-revolutionary-protests-that-cause-no-revolutions.markdown
@@ -6,10 +6,15 @@ comments: true
categories: societal
published: false
---
+
+ By Nisha Chandramoorthy, III Year, Mech
+
Speaking in cliches is an easy thing to do. Sometimes, you let slip a few words that are supposed to be spoken in particular circumstances like a programmed machine. You trust they are appropriate and don't stop to ponder about what they truly mean. It is a call for action, they say, or May her death not go in vain. In a moment of hatred, of protest and rebellion, you, inconsiderate reader, start to accuse everyone; your blood curdles on hearing cliches. You despise the random bloke who made sexist remarks, it galls you to think of Prime Ministers who gaffed inadvertently while addressing nations, of grey-haired Chief Ministers who make speeches that count for naught. In the heat of rage, you, thoughtless reader, turn misanthropic and ruthless in your criticisms.
+
+
God forbid, had the tiniest part of the unfortunate event that occurred in the moving bus in New Delhi two weeks ago happened to me - I am sorry I can't finish this sentence because I don't have the courage to even think of the possibility. Yes, unkind reader, it is of fear that I speak. Abashedly huge fear, nothing poetic and great about it. Not of darkness, but of the people who are its whelp. They have a heart black as coal, they don't feel the slightest prickle on their skin when they hurt another and they have enormous physical strength. Much greater than my own.
As I write this, I realize that you are all I have, blog. I am not able to organize my thoughts into 10 bullet points in which I explain "What are the steps to be taken to make Delhi safe for women?" on Quora. But, folks there have covered everything. They write beautifully, boldly and thoroughly. They give complete answers and shout out their opinions from a pedestal. Much like the protesters out in the streets who demand that justice be got. Again, brave folks who struggle to push a car that doesn't seem to start. They propel it forward with all their strength hoping it will get to ignition with a jolt. You, dear blog, don't rise in response as I bore you with a quagmire of thoughts and mostly impulsive ones interspersed with humorless jokes and everyday trivialities. You lie here on the internet like a cold cadaver, filled with odd words that have no fight in them. The words that I feed you which have no direction and strangely, are meant for no one. You reek of me, speak excessively of me and you don't complain that I am a nobody myself.
diff --git a/source/_posts/2013-01-20-shadow-of-the-cloud.markdown b/source/_posts/2013-01-20-shadow-of-the-cloud.markdown
index c4beace..e9368d9 100644
--- a/source/_posts/2013-01-20-shadow-of-the-cloud.markdown
+++ b/source/_posts/2013-01-20-shadow-of-the-cloud.markdown
@@ -6,12 +6,19 @@ comments: true
categories: literary
---
+
+By Jayant Jain, II Year, Mech
+
+
I was staring out the window, distracted from the unenviable task of dimensioning a long-forgotten machine. As I stared at a shadow moving along the ground (yes, that's how unenviable my task was), I noticed the shadows that had been previously hidden, being revealed by its motion. That's when I realized how most shadows stayed hidden and unnoticed within all the other shadows.
And that's when my eternally crazy, philosophy-tinted mind made a rather far-fetched link to my own ignorance, and my ignorance of my own ignorance. The madman within me screamed at me to express the revelation. I quelled the insanity.
He ultimately won, though.
+
+
+
A city of blissful mortals and mournful souls
Within weary walls, and the winter cold.
@@ -51,6 +58,4 @@ Will lightning strike?
Or will nighttime fall?
{% for post in site.posts reverse %}
- {% include archive_post.html %}
-{% endfor %}
\ No newline at end of file
+{% capture this_year %}{{ post.date | date: "%Y" }}{% endcapture %}
+{% unless year == this_year %}
+ {% assign year = this_year %}
+
-