Simply Me

I’m going to keep this short and simple. Basically because of two reasons: One, because it’s Friday morning and I was supposed to turn this in by er, Friday morning; and secondly because I’m finding it just too darn difficult to write something about myself.

So let’s get the usual stuff out of the way first. My name is Hari Nair. I’ve done my schooling from Montfort School, Delhi, then after that I completed my B.Tech in computer science from GPMCE, IP University. Currently I’m doing my M.Tech in Information Systems from Delhi Technological University. I love playing basketball and table tennis.

Now a bit about the reading I do. It’s predominantly fiction. I swear by Harry Potter. I have no qualms in accepting that I would be a very different person without the presence of those seven books in my life. Like all others, I too treat Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings with a respect that borders on reverence. I’ve read CS Lewis’s Narnia series and in my opinion it would be quite difficult to find somebody else who writes so simply, yet so beautifully. Artemis Fowl, Eragon, Septimus Heap and the Bartimaeus trilogy are some books that I have really enjoyed. Among others I’ve also read a fair share of those Robert Ludlum ‘Spy/Ex CIA/Rogue FBI guy who saves the world in one night’ novels along with James Hadley Chase (I dig the girls on the cover. ;))

My favourite genre would have to be humour though. It all started with Oscar Wilde’s Importance of being Earnest. Then I fell in love with the writing of PG Wodehouse. Jeeves, Bertie Wooster and the pretentious cream of the English society have delighted me to no end. After that came Douglas Adams and his hitchhikers guide to the galaxy. He gave me the answer to life, the universe and everything and more importantly Marvin, the Paranoid Android! Things like improbability fields, babel fishes, total perspective vortexes, bistromathic drives.. I could just go on and on about the crazily funny stuff that man invented. And the final author to complete my trinity of humor is Terry Pratchett. The man is a living legend.  If you enjoy reading humour you must pick up a book from his Discworld Series.  Apart from this, I also indulge in a lot of comic book reading, Marvel and DC mainly. My favourite comic book strip is Calvin and Hobbes (Bill Watterson FTW). I’ve also read all the Tintin and Asterix books. (I believe that when it comes to word puns, nothing can beat an Asterix book)

When it comes to music, I listen to a bit of everything.  Beatles to Eminem, it’s a pretty wide spread. I’m also a fan of old Hindi songs, Kishore Kumar, Rafi, Mannade and all. Of the nine gems my favourite artiste is Hemant Kumar, his being the first song I ever heard in this genre(Zara nazaro se kehdo ji, in case you were curious). I could sing pretty nicely at one time. I can’t any more. At my best, I’m a passable bathroom singer.

By now, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I enjoy writing humour, though my attempts are sometimes so pathetic that it’s funny (Hey! Mission Accomplished).  I’ll leave you to be the judge about the way I write though.

So that’s that. 600 odd words should be enough to gauge a man don’t you think? I hope you’ve gained some insight about me and my life. And don’t sweat it if you haven’t, I’m not that worth knowing anyway.

Cheers!
Hari Nair

Ram-Leela blamed for Narendra Modi Speech Slip Ups

After his latest mistake wherein Narendra Modi referred to Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi as Mohanlal Karamchand Gandhi, sources close to him have finally revealed the reason behind this recent series of gaffes. "Modi Sir is not in a correct state of mind these days. He barely eats and sleeps, his entire mind is preoccupied with one thing, and one thing only." said Prempreet Pyaare, a BJP aide.  "You see we were asked to keep quiet about this, but those smart asses over at the Youth Congress sending us old 10th class history textbooks was the final straw.”

Prempreet Pyaare continued

“Around a month ago Modi Sir received an invitation from that Sanjay Leela Bhansaali to watch a special screening of Ram-Leela. Sir had his doubts, especially after watching Saawariya, but since the film is set in Gujrat he had no choice but to go.” When this faking news reporter questioned why he had gone to watch Saawariya in the first place, Mr Pyaare replied, “Back then there were many who were saying that the Modi Idealogy was too saffron and since it was pretty clear at the time that Saawariya was the blue film to see, Sir decided to give it a go. He’s been staunchly saffron ever since.”

“Everything started going downhill from that point of time onwards. You see the fulcrum of our campaign is progress; and this Ram-Leela is the antithesis to this very concept. It….just…doesn’t…..progress. There’s this one scene where this lady keeps on running for like 10-15 minutes where a simple 2 minute run would have sufficed. There are so many unnecessary songs. All this hamper the development of the film! Sir has been shaken to the core after watching this film. And to think this picture is set in Gujrat. We all know how much he loves Gujrat!!!!! (Mr. Pyaare insisted on the extra exclamation marks). It’s completely thrown him off his game. Actually he almost broke down when Sanjay Leela Bhansaali asked him to list the film as one of the shining achievements of Gujrat.”

There has been some speculation in the BJP camp that this film is a clever ploy by the Congress to derail the Modi Juggernaut.  “Somebody should examine this film’s financing ledgers. From where did this Bhansaali get so much money to build such ostentatious sets and surroundings?  There is something definitely fishy going on here.” declared Prempreet Pyaare.

Meanwhile Rahul Gandhi was quick to rebut, “Hah!! This is just another underhand ploy by the BJP. Have you not seen this film?! It’s completely saffron in hue. Diggy uncle told me that Bhansaali is a RSS agent. By using all that orange he’s subliminally influencing the aam aadmi’s mind. Modi messes up because he is a foolish man. And unlike me he doesn’t have the oratory experience and skill of mummy, didi and Diggy Uncle to bank upon.”

“Potato.” Digvijay Singh added.

Music that you should listen to while Bug Fixing:

Requisites: Rolling Stones top 500 songs playlist and others. 

1. Read the bug scenario while listening to Desperado by Eagles. The song's piano work should quell any anxiety arising from the fact that you don't understand a word of what you are reading. 

2. Try to replicate the bug scenario while listening to Eminem's Stan. If you can, cool. If you can't... well it's a great song and who cares about replication anyway?

3. Bug resolution. Your brain requires stimulation, and young Michael Jackson's vocals in I want you back prove just right for that. Those sprightly beats don't hurt either.

4. Of course, the first fix didn't work. :-| What you now require is new ideas and motivation to keep thinking. What you need is Highway to Hell playing in the background.

5. Still not successfull? You really need to wring that old noodle for all its worth. Time to bring out the big guns. Led Zeppelin's Kashmir or Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. Or both.

6. Bug yet not squashed? You need to cool off. Ponder about the futility of the task you've been assigned while hearing to Dylan's Blowing in the wind.

7. Time to give this another shot. This time take a different approach. Start slow and systematically. Ben E. King's Stand by Me is your best bet. Then move onto 'Suspicious Minds' by Elvis.

8. Hopefully things should have worked out by now. Test your fix. Iron Maiden's When the wild wind blows is a great song to hear while you are testing. The ballad poignantly sums up the ups and downs you have faced during the entire process.

9. Triumphantly document your fix while listening to Hey Jude by the Beatles. You've earned it.

10. Await your code review. Bleed it out by Linkin Park is what I hear at the time.

11. Once having been told by your manager that this fix won't work, listen to Sympathy for the Devil by the Stones. Console yourself that at the least you've got great music to keep you company.

12. Eye of the tiger, by Survivor. Crick your neck, Agent Smith style. And back to 1.

Ambika

The odour of burnt leather assaults my senses, overpowering everything, even the sensation of the fiery twisted metal all around me. I try to open my eyes, but the heat seems to have welded them shut.  I can’t feel my legs, presuming I still have any. Darkness sets upon me, and it’s almost a welcome relief as my body slowly gives up its feeble attempts to stay alive.  Then Noise!! Screams, the whining of sirens, rushing footsteps; I hear someone say, ‘This one’s still alive, Get the defibrillator, Quick! ’ I feel hands upon me as they try to get underneath my clothes to reach my charred body. I feel an icy metal surface come into contact with my chest, ‘Clear!’ somebody shouts and I feel life coursing through my body, or is it electricity? I do not care, I need more. The voice seems to agree with me and with one more command, another jolt rocks my body. Then silence. ‘To be back from death, just to die again’, is all I can think. Then amidst all that quiet I hear a dull thumping; a rhythm that seems to permeate through every pore of my existence.  I realise it’s my heart making one last stand. And this time I must help too.  Utilizing every fibre of my will, I crank open my eyes. The effort almost makes me pass out but I somehow manage to cling onto my senses. ‘This one’s conscious. He needs medical attention immediately, get him on the stretcher’.  I feel strong arms lifting me up and placing me on a platform. My neck bends at an awkward angle and my eyes behold the wreckage in front of me. And amidst all that pain and destruction, I see her.

I woke up gasping for air, looking around wildly.  A nightmare, that’s all it was. But it had all been so real. I could still picture the entire scene in my mind’s eye. Funny how some accidents scar you both on the inside and the outside.  It had been eight months since that accident. Eight months since my body sustained severe second degree burns, leaving me disfigured forever. My world had then become limited to my bed. In the beginning it was a struggle in itself to reach out and pick up the glass of water lying on the bedside. Things like the incessant burning, my pain, and my family’s pain on seeing my pain were slowly getting to me.  The prospect of me remaining a vegetable for the rest of my life was slowly but surely eating away all my optimism. Things would have gone a lot worse (and trust me they were pretty bad already) had it not been for the individual who was sleeping right beside me; my wife.

Ambika was lucky. She was in the car with me that faithful day, but the impact tossed her aside and she was relatively unharmed. All she had to show for the accident were some bruises and a small scar on her cheek. On some dark days I mustadmit, I envy her fate. But those are really dark days; most of the time I really thank the good lord for her presence in my life. Dark curls framing an angelic face, lips that could, depending on her mood, form an adorable pout or a thin slash of disapproval, Bambi eyes and a snub nose. As you might have already gathered, not ugly at all and what really matters is that she’s even more beautiful on the inside. Not many women would decide to still stay with a husband that’s been reduced to a pitiful excuse for a living, breathing human being, and even less would do so willingly.  If anything, I feel her love’s increased for me even more. As I watched her, her eyes suddenly flickered open. It was this peculiar trait that she’d recently developed, she somehow always seemed to sense me watching her.
“What’re you looking at mister?”
“Nothing,” I replied “just admiring the women in my bed”.
“Mmmmm, what would you give for a closer look?” she said snuggling up to me. She smelled of crushed lilies. I was happy as anybody with burns and scabs all over his body could be.

Further pillow talk was interrupted by a polite knock. Jeevan kaka has been serving the house before my birth. To my knowledge he’s never taken a day off work or asked for money other than his wages. Silent and subtle, most of the time we barely realize he’s around, but we all know that the lifestyle we’ve gotten used to in the house would come crashing down onto our ears if not for him.  Tall and unbent even at 70 he’s an impressive sight with his shock of white hair and bushy eyebrows. Though cordial and respectful to all, I found his recent attitude towards Ambika a bit startling. Kaka never really liked her from the beginning, but always maintained an amicable dynamic with her. But after the accident I feel Kaka, somewhat foolishly, on some level blames her for coming out unscathed from the crash, leaving me to burn. He sometimes neither answers to her nor responds to her queries. I took this up with my parents and they told me that everybody was shaken up by this entire incident and that I should make allowances. I understand and hope that with time, things between the two would go back to normal. Ambika understands too, but I sense at some level she is hurt.

“And what would Sir like for breakfast?”
For obvious reasons, I prefer breakfast in bed. “Toast and a glass of milk”, I replied.
“Very good sir”, and turned to leave the room.
“One minute Jeevan! You haven’t asked what Ambika would like to eat”.
He turned back, “O-oh sorry sir, I didn’t realize that she too would be joining you for breakfast, Ma’am would like then?”
“I’ll have the same too. Thanks kaka”. And with a nod, he quietly left the room.
“His attitude towards you bugs me to no end.” I told her.
“Its fine dear, things should gradually become alright. Now why don’t you get ready for breakfast?”

Wincing, I got out of the bed and slowly made my way to the bathroom. Though each step was an effort, it also gave me great pleasure because all that physiotherapy was finally paying off. And again it was all thanks to Ambika. I had resigned myself to remain bed ridden for the remainder of my life, but it was she who encouraged me, inspired me to not get overwhelmed by the odds stacked against me but to fight and overcome them. She signed me up for these physiotherapy sessions. At first even the simplest motions brought tears of pain to my eyes, but slowly and surely I made progress until I finally got to the stage where I could walk by myself without help. Yes it’s true, I owe her a lot.

Jeevan wheeled the breakfast tray into the room. He laid out our plates and with a quick ‘Enjoy your meal, sir’ left the room.  For the past few weeks Ambika has been trying to bully me into stepping outside the house, and today was no different. Walking around a bit in your own home is fine, but in the outside world while attracting stares from everywhere; I shudder at the very thought. “Just think of it as a tattoo gone wrong”, seeing my look she hastily amended, “alright, a whole body tattoodone by a blind drunk old man hung upside down, gone horribly wrong”.  I could not but help smile, and I knew my resistance would not count for much. Ambika usually gets to have her say and way.

While eating breakfast Jeevan once more entered the room. “Jai sir is here to see you. Would you like to see him now?” “Sure, Jeevan bring him up.” Jai Bose, my childhood friend, but more importantly a psychologist by profession. I’ve always maintained that Ambika was all the therapy I needed, but everyone felt it was necessary to seek expert help too, so I decide to humour them. “You boys catch up, I’ll take a bath in the meanwhile” and saying so she got up and headed towards the shower.

The door opened and in came Jai, immaculately dressed in his shirt, tie and formal trousers.
“Hey burns! Feeling any hot today?”
I really did not mind, in fact I enjoyed matching wits with him and I suspected his frivolousness was a ploy to get me to stop all that self pity
“You are a psychologist sir, don’t you think constant reminders about a patient’s traumatic experience could damage his psyche?”
“Yeah maybe, but then again I’m doing this for free.”
Intelligent eyes surveyed me behind black framed spectacles, “Seriously though, how are you?”
“I am feeling quite good. I can even walk around a bit now.”  I replied.
“That’s excellent news! It’s time then to get out of the house now, don’t you think?”
“Funny thing, Ambika was just badgering me with the same advice right now. Maybe, let’s see.”
“Ah, Ambika, where is she? “
“She’s in the shower”
“Oh, good. Well inferno (*sigh* he’ll never learn), I am here to tell you about another intriguing case. Interested?”
I fancy myself to be an amateur psychologist. Jai always drops in with interesting stories about his patients. We have always been fascinated by the human brain and how it can adapt to any kind of situation.

“I’m all ears.”
“Well here it is then. You might find this interesting because it is very similar to yours. He too suffered severe second degree burns in an accident, the only difference being that his wife did not survive the unfortunate incident.”
“Poor man, “I said, “I couldn’t even imagine where I would be without Ambika”
“Ah, but then things got interesting. Part of the poor man’s brain began to manifest traits of his wife until he couldn’t differentiate between what was real and what was not. He hallucinates that his wife is still alive and well. “
“Strange are the works of the brain” I mused, “Why don’t you help him out of this delusion by telling him his wife is nothing but a figment of his own fractured imagination?”
“I am afraid to do so. Who knows what effects such a revelation might have on him? It could break him completely and undo all that progress he’s made till now. I believe his brain itself will let him know when he’s ready.” He looked at his watch,”Well, I’ve got to run now. See you later in the evening”
“Don’t you want to meet Ambika? She’ll be out any moment.” I asked.
“Never mind, I’ll meet her sometime else.” And he turned to leave.
“Wait a minute Jai, what’s this guy’s name?”  He told me.
“Ummm.. could you write that down, I didn’t get that entirely” He wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it over to me.
“I. M. Kasab Eiadd, that’s an odd name” Jai smiled sadly and said,
“Sometimes strange men have strange names.” I watched him leave and then turned my attention towards the piece of paper again. Somehow the name felt familiar, and it was not because of the obvious reason. I identified with it somehow, but like a slippery pebble in a glass of oil, I just couldn’t get my hands around what exactly. Oh well, perhaps Ambika could figure out what was so special with Mr I. M. Kasab Eiadd.

I heard the shower stop. “She’ll be out any moment.” I thought happily and finished off my milk.   

 –

Hari Nair
MTech(IS) 3^rd Sem
DTU

Gift to my Grandad

Thank You

Dear Appupa

Well I’ll be honest from the start, its 4.17 am in the morning; I’ve been thinking about what to get you, and I’m stumped. Picking out Ammuma’s Sari was by no means an easy task. Khadi, Tusser, Kanchivaram, handmade, machine made, I must have browsed through at least 50 of them before settling for one that I actually liked. Right now as I write this I’m not even sure how my choice will be received by you all but hopefully everyone will like it, especially Ammuma. In her case I’ve always known from the beginning what I needed to get her, it was just the selection that was the tough part. But you Sir, have proven to be an exceptionally difficult person to shop for.

You see the reason behind this is that I believe a gift should not be given just because the occasion demands that one be given.  It should hold some value in the hearts of both the receiving and gifting parties. In Ammuma’s case, this Sari is actually the fulfillment of the promise I made to her when I was god knows how many years old. So it naturally means a lot to both her and me. No such pact exists between us. You’ve never asked, and neither have I ever offered to buy you anything from my first salary. But I really want to get you something too, so I have given this a lot of thought, trying to come up with some suitable options. But I soon realized that whatever I could come up with, be it a watch, t-shirts, walking sticks or pens,  was something you already possessed and that too in surplus amount. So it wouldn’t really be useful. Actually no, as I’m writing this I realize that you would indeed happily accept any of the above, just because it’s a gift from your grandson. The actual reason behind me not going for something like a Titan is something far more selfish; I want to give you something that’s special and I wouldn’t personally derive the same pleasure giving a simple watch to you as I would giving that Sari to Ammuma.

Finally I’ve come to the conclusion that I really can’t buy you anything. Simply because unlike Ammuma’s sari, whatever stuff I buy you would only be materially significant. It’d seem like merely going through the motions; like a formality.  No, I want my gift to be more. To mean more. So I’ve decided that if I can’t buy anything for you, I’ll create something for you. Now if I was a painter I’d paint you a picture, or if I was a singer I’d have composed a song and sung it to you, but since writing’s the medium I’m the most comfortable with, I’ll try to do this with words. ­­

Your principles have always acted as a lighthouse for the family, guiding us to safe waters during troubled times. I’ve always regarded you as the only role model of my life, and hell, if I’m able to conduct my life even half as honorably as you have I’d be an extremely happy man. I’ve always believed that the worth of one’s existence shouldn’t be judged by the success achieved by him, but by the difference he’s made in the life of others. And I’m sure each and every one of us in this room would be very different people hadn’t you been a part of our lives. Be it about cricket, politics, religion, science, mythology or just life in general, I treasure each and every conversation I’ve had with you. They’ve played a major role in defining my value system and how I perceive things.  Even more though, I treasure the time I got to spend with you while having those conversations. It’s only after staying in Bangalore for such a long time, that I realized how much I valued those morning and evening walks with you. And not just the walks, sitting with you and verifying if all the medicines had been properly derived, listening to you explain the finer points of the Gita to Ammau, you getting that tad bit irritated when Ammuma’s nagging got a bit too much to handle, your frustration with those never ending Malayalam TV serials…..… I miss them all. In a nutshell, all I’m trying to say is that today I’m working in a respectable company and earning a respectable income, I’ve also had a moderately successful academic career, and to a large extent it’s because of you and you’re presence in my life. But most of all I owe you for my principles. They definitely wouldn’t be what they are if I didn’t have you to observe and learn from.

So Appupa, this is it. My gift to you. It may not be much, but these are 888 words straight from the heart. I won’t call them the best 888 words I’ve ever written but they’re definitely the 888 most honest ones. Of these 886 of them are also though, the most unnecessary ones that I’ve ever put on paper. That’s because everything I’ve said and everything I’ve wanted to say but somehow couldn’t, can all be summed up by the first two words you read.

I love you.

Oh, and a happy belated birthday!!

-Hari 

Poetry

Yeah, a word of caution. I'm NOT a writer of verse. But I respect the form nonetheless, not in the least because I've got friends who are an ocular mishap away from becoming Homer (er..the poet, not the yellow fat guy, though he's a pretty good poet too.)

Oh and my misguided belief is, It ain't a poem, if it ain't rhyming. 

What follows is just a story in the form of a poem. And its taken a lot out of me. I've got an exam tomorrow, and to borrow Mr Jay Zs words

Son, problems I may have got 99

And damn it bitch, I just can't stop thinking in rhymes 

meh...

.....

I live in house, They tell me it’s my home

Its walls are mainly pink and red

Its where I’ve been bought up, cared for and fed

They told me I was free to do as I please

Read, write , philosophize or just roam

But whatever you do, they said, Just don’t leave this home.

I asked, Why not? What’s out there, that keeps me in here?

They said kid, You don’t want to know

But I very much did, So I threw a tantrum and cried

They had no choice so they complied

They took me to two windows, both covered by pretty drapes

Pretty they were, though dusty too

It seemed they hadn’t been opened in an age or two

They were flung aside, And I was ordered to look outside

Colours!! So vivid, so bright

The sensation hit me like a running train

What do you see, They asked

I said, so much light, so much pain

Draw the drapes! I begged of them, never again.

The drapes were drawn, the windows shut, they faced me and they said

That is the cruel sun my son, regard it with dread

She shall shall burn your skin and your soul

She shall beckon you to come outside and live a life

And then she shall fill it with misery and strife

There is also her brother, the cunning moon

Fickle as a colt, colder than ice

He shall fill your mind with fantasy and lies

And laugh as you chase them, helpless as mice.

And saying so, with all care, They took me to my room

A hot meal and a warm bed, That’s all you need

To put your fears to rest, they said.

The sun and the moon, Demons hot and cold

Making all life miserable, young and old

That’s what I was told to believe

Try as I might, I couldn’t dismiss that sight

Terrible though but Beautiful so,

I resolved to step outside

But next day when I woke up, I felt that fear take over

I felt the sun, It made my skin crawl

No I can’t, and lay back in my bed

Sinking, lower and lower..

Then one day as I approached the door

And lo and behold! It was open a crack

A shaft of light piercing dreary gloom

As I peeked outside, wary of impending doom

The colours were still there, still vivid, still bright

But what drew my attention was a tiny snail

Oozing his way through, small and frail

But unmindful was he of the burning sun, the pain, and the fright

Slowly, inch by inch, it made its way through life.

So I reasoned, A lowly creature such as him

And yet not afraid of the mighty sun

Then why should I? No I shall not!!

And heedless of what they told me

I flung the door open with a spurt of might

And stepped outside.

I was wrong, their counsel wise

I could feel the sweat running through my brow

I could feel the frenetic thumping of my heart.

But most of all and Oh, this scared me so

I could feel the pain pulling me apart.

I looked again at the snail, for inspiration

Then realized something in my desperation

That puny thing slithering on was so simple, So free from complexity,

What did it know of the tragedy that is life

Or about how horrible things might turn out to be

Ignorance is bliss, I heard my brain chime

At least that I had learnt from the thing in slime

But then as I felt my senses depart

There was another lesson, I realized with a start

They found me unconscious on the sidewalk

Picked me up and carried me inside my hive

They lay me on that pretty couch, and fanned me

Until I regained my senses five

Didn’t we tell you, Distress in their voice

Of the sun and the moon, Of the terrors outside

Of the burning heat, and the freezing cold

Of the trials and tribulations galore

Look at your skin, Oh how its burnt

Poor child, Why didn’t you learn?

I looked at them, I remembered the snail

I remembered how I had mocked its pace

But alas, there lay the key

The problem wasn’t the sun; It was me

With wisdom and sparkle in my eyes

To take life one step a time, no hurry no haste

To tackle each problem with an unfettered mind

And never let my wit go waste.

And when things seem to go out of hand

To take pause and relish, ‘Cause it’s just the start, not the finish

To remember that life’s a marathon and not a sprint

Thank God, for whoever put that in print

That slimy thing, oozing away at its pace

Taught me that indeed, slow and steady wins the race

I then took a look at my burnt red skin

Worry not, I assured them

Nothing but a rite of passage,

I’ll soon forget the pain, but never the message

And so saying this, with a spring in my step

I made my ways to the drapes

Drew them and drunk in the scene

Then found myself at peace

And finally as I gazed at the burning globe

There my friends, There was hope.

.................

There its done. Eagerly awaiting your criticism. 

Cheers!!

Hari 

^_^ 

M.Tech: An Ode in Code

M.Tech: An Ode in Code

void mtech_research ()

{  

   have_good_time_with_friends();

   while (exam_near == true)   

    {     

      if(play_basketball == true)     

      break;     

      preparation=study();   

    }     

  give_exam(preparation);

  while(guide_pressure == high || submission_deadline

   {     

     if(play_basketball == true)      

     break;      

    while (happy != true)       

      {          

        if(play_basketball == true)       

        break;          

        read_related_papers();         

        start_coding();          

        happy = guide();       

      }   

    }    

}  

preparation_state study( notes, books) 

{   

  while(preparatory != 0)   

   {       

     while (onfacebook == true || canprocrastinate == true)

      {           

         have_good_time_with_friends();          

      }      

  if (notes == false && books == false)       

  return youre_screwed;     

  else       

   if(onfacebook == false)       

   studying++;

   preparatory--;     

  }     

   if (studying < half_course)

   return probably_enough;     

   else     

   return good_enough;    

}

 void give_exam(preparation) 

{   

   while (time_left != 0)     

    {       

       if (preparation == youre_screwed)

       drown_in_regret = true;

       if (preparation == probably_enough)       

         if (qpaper_difficulty > preparation)             

          in_gods_hand = true;       

          else      

          thank_god = true;

       if (preparation == good_enough)    

       write_like_a_baws = true;     

      time_left--;

      } 

}       

void read_related_paper() 

  {   

     if (unknown_concept == true)   

     read_reference(); 

   }

  void read_reference() 

  {     

     read_related_paper(); 

   }

   start_coding() 

    {     

       if (concept_clarity == false)     

       read_related_paper();          

       if(check_internet_for_code == true)     

        {         

          copy();         

          paste();         

          return;     

         }     

        else     

        {       

           pray_to_god=true;       

           start_code=true;     

         } 

    }     

boolean guide()

{

  return false;

}