Part II: From the Sewer Toad to A Bullfrog: The T Square & I

NOTE: If by some quirk of Karma, you're about to read what's below, know that this is the second part of the harangue that can be located here... or else, read on O helpless one!

With the arrival of cable television, came information; I had forty-three more channels to keep my mind occupied and away from my He-Man action figures trying to get cozy with Teela in Castle Grayskull's in-house French Bakery. Informative and educational programs like 'MTV Grind' and a PhD candidate's satellite-beamed-bible 'Fashion TV' craftily devised by the French for world domination, would help me carve the plans of the future on the proverbial tablet of my mind. These resources helped me greatly to recognize anthropometric data, predominantly emphasizing on the female anatomy. Although during rigorous research sessions involving these fine sources, my sun-dial always cast a deep shadow and for some reason the sun never did get out of it's winter phase.

With such in-depth, insightful research under my buckle and a notion turned urban-legend that it was a branch laden with beautiful women with real interest in art apart from Revlon Mascara (the one that does not leave a stain), I took the plunge. I recognized my full potential when I took the entrance test and held a paint brush for the first time. The day I took the test, my family burnt effigies of Louis Kahn & Alvar Aalto, while picketing outside the test center holding banners such as 'Down With Aesthetic Sensitivity' & 'The Devil's in the Detail'. I'm kidding. They've always been supportive of whatever I wanted to pursue, except the time that I wanted to make a living by selling smuggled perfumes. Or the time that I wanted to pose for Afghan Pillsbury Doughboy commercials. Due to the quirky insensitivity of the baffled idiot who had set the aesthetic sensitivity test, I was tempted to use bright colors and the drawings in the end aiffirmed my inability to break away from my kindergarten crayon skills. So much for an admit at the 'artsy' architecture school sporting a messenger bag with a shoulder case to keep cell phones and a loin cloth worthy of a Cherry Coke endorsement.

But I did not lose hope. The weekend warrior that I was, I decided to change course and consider computers. My cousin who was studying electric engineering tried to test my analytical skills with the help of a basic algorithmic flowchart. To whit, I drew an outline around the flowchart and made it look like a jelly fish with tentacles holding a bottle of Cherry Coke and a three day old Subway sandwich. Take that Jared Fogle! Computers didn't work for me either. So I was back in the scheme of things trying to study architecture. Eventually, I landed a seat at another school which was prestigious for its violence and bowine population contributing to the urban fabric of the universe along with some manly girls thrown in for feminine charm.

.... To be Continued