Hacker

Another one was caught today, it's all over the papers. "Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"...

Damn the kids of today. Damn them. They are all alike. All result of a misspent childhood. Damn them.

But hey, you, yes you, who thinks all the world's wisdom lies in your pea sized brain, yes you, in your three-tier psychology and a apartheidic mind, have you ever dared to look into the psyche of a hacker?? Ever wondered what turned him on, what forces molded him, how come he is like the way he is??

I am a teenage hacker, enter my world.....a magnificent one that it is....one that would sweep you off of your very foundation......one that would overwhelm you and stupefy you at the same time.

Mine is the world that begins from school.........I'm smarter than most of the other kids, the crap they teach us bores me...."Damn these kids....why do they turn up when all they are interested in is watching birds and trees."

Damn underachiever. They're all the same.

I'm in high school now. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to multiply two fractions. I understand it. "No Ma'am, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head......"

Damn cheater. Probably copied it. They're all the same.......

I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Hang on, this is way too cool. it does what i want it to. It doesn't scolds me or mocks me. If it makes a mistake because i screwed it up. Not because it doesn't like me.....or feels threatened by me.......Or thinks i am a bloody maniac......I have found my rightful companion......

Damn this kid. All he does is play games. Isn't he taught anything at school. Damn his teachers.

And then as if the floodgates were waiting to open....they opened the door to the world......an entirely different world rushing through the phone like drugs through an addict's veins, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetency is sought......the escape-route is found. "This is it.......this is where I belong...." Its as if I know everyone here....though I've never met them, never talked to them, and may not here from them ever again.....guys I know you all.....

Damn kid. Blocking the phone line again. They're all alike......

You bet your ass we are all alike........we've been spoon-fed baby food when we hungered for beef and steak......any bits that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We have been dominated by sadists, ignored by apathetic. The few who had something to teach found us willing pupils, but those were like the few drops of water in the desert.

But now we have our own paradise......the world of electron and the switch, where the power is in our hands. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore....... and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals.

Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for. I am a criminal and I am proud to be one. You may stop this entity but not all of us.......after all we are all the same.

Comment: Writing style not original as i found this on the internet and just wanted to write my own version of it. You might find some content to be the same, especially the tone. I am not claiming it to be my original work.

You really dont wanna know how it ends

Naresh had never been to Mumbai before. He stepped out onto platform 14 of Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus as the train drew to a halt with a drawling grind, armed with a briefcase, and a face kindled with fascination. In his mind's eye the place had appeared much brighter and clean; but he cared little. Mumbai's grandeur lies not in cleanliness, but in size and activity, thought he, besides, it's cleaner than most stations I've seen.

Never ceasing his gazing and with his awestruck face, Naresh headed towards the exit. Having spent most of his life in a small naxalite town in Chhattisgarh, he had jumped at the opportunity to visit Mumbai as a representative of the organisation he worked for. He had pleaded his superior to extend his visit, but to no avail. He was to stay only for the day fixed for the conference he was to attend and leave for home the next day.

The clock read two 'o clock, and the conference was at six. With a heavy heart, Naresh decided to head straight for his hotel (which also served as the venue for the conference) instead of sightseeing. There was hardly any time, he was too tired, and had to formulate for the meeting.

Lost in thoughts, he removed himself just in time from the drag of a mob alighted off a local train. Their haste and indifference served only to deepen his enthrallment. He followed them, matching his pace with theirs, swinging his briefcase merrily.

Outside, a clean sky greeted him, along with the hustle bustle of the city with its myriad vehicles and pedestrians. While the former skirted along the roads, ranging from motorbikes to double-decked buses, the latter carried on with their harried pace, some stopping in their way for footpath peddlers selling everything from footwear to toys. All this Naresh watched as he searched for an autorickshaw to carry him to his destination.

Gazing at the quaint mixture of ancient and modern buildings surrounding CST, he beckoned at an empty auto passing his way. Telling the driver his destination, he climbed inside and resumed his gazing. He had never seen such wide roads. There was no sign of animals upon them, no dung, no filthy plastic bags or overflowing garbage bins. Neither was there any sign of loose gravel or potholes.

His reverie was broken soon when the auto drew to a halt in a traffic jam. Within moments Naresh found himself engulfed in billowing smoke and bellowing car horns. His eyes smarted, his nose itched and he started coughing. He pulled over his briefcase on to his lap to retrieve a handkerchief -

"What is in that briefcase?"

Naresh wasn't as surprised at the question as he was at the tone with which it was asked: extremely stern and almost hateful and threatening. He noticed the driver's gaze, and replied in a strict voice,

"How does it matter to you? Just keep on driving."

"I will not drive any further until you show me the contents of your briefcase."

Naresh thought of getting off the auto but hesitated as they were yet in the midst of the traffic jam.

"I'm sorry, bhaisaab, but I've had bad experiences with briefcases. I need to look inside to ensure my safety. If you would just show me, I will not disturb you any further."
There was something about his tone, a vague sincerity that made Naresh open his briefcase and turn it towards him,

"See? Just clothes and documents. Now would you please go on?"

"Yes, okay, bhaisaab. Sorry for the problem."

Naresh stared at the autowallah. He was young, almost his own age, with a healthy build, and a stern, square face with short, cropped hair. There was a certain gleam in his eyes that Naresh could not fathom. It puzzled him, as much as the 'bad experiences' he had talked about. Noticing his gaze, the autowallah said,

"I haven't told many people about what happened to me because of fear, bhaisaab, but I'll tell you because you're a kind man, and I feel sorry for troubling you."

The traffic cleared, and the autowallah began driving,

"I came to Mumbai four months ago; alone, and in pursuit of a better life. After being rejected for even the most mundane of jobs, I had to settle for driving an autorickshaw. Most of my day is spent caught up in traffic jams and avoiding collisions. When night falls, I turn to the slum I live in, trying to find sleep in inhumane conditions.

"I was getting used to it, when about two months ago I picked up a man from Churchgate, carrying a briefcase just like yours. The place he wanted to go wasn't too far away, so I agreed and began driving."
He sped the auto past a car, placing it behind a bus.
"There was something peculiar about him, bhaisaab. I swear I saw it when he got inside. But foolishly I ignored it.
"It didn't take long for us to reach the place. He had been fidgeting with the contents of his briefcase; closed it and got off. I turned towards him, expecting money. Instead, he was pointing a gun at me.

"He commanded me to follow him, and led me inside a shabby apartment, where there were two more like him. They had their guns drawn out as they allowed us inside; Now they pointed them at me.

'Sit.' said the man who had opened the door, beckoning at a chair. I did.

'Am I late?' said the one who had brought me in.
'No. He's still inside. We'll have to hurry up, though. He says he'll be out in 15 mins.'
'What about them?'
'They didn't follow him inside, but he's sure they're going to follow him here and ambush us.'

The guy who had brought me then turned away and -"

A couple of motorcycles whizzed past from the left; The autowallah just avoided colliding with one of them. He drew out his head and mouthed angry curses at them,

"I'm sorry, bhaisaab, these crazy bikers are always trying to get themselves killed...

Well, the guy who had brought me in started talking on a phone. The other pointed his gun at me again, and said,

'Do not act smart. Do as we say and you will be unharmed. If you deviate at any point, we will not hesitate in killing you. Even if you escape, we will track you down and make sure you breathe no more. Do you understand?'

I nodded.

'Good. Now you will take Ash here to the Administration Tribune building in Khetwadi. Drive steadily and reach within 10 minutes. Ash will get down and our companion Shaz will get inside when you arrive. Take him where he tells you to.'

I nodded again and followed his gaze. Ash was filling up the Briefcase my captor had brought with him.

He continued, 'Do not panic and keep calm. Remember, any smart moves, and we will kill you.'

Meanwhile, Ash had completed with the briefcase. Pointing his gun at me, he beckoned me to follow him, and said, 'Let's go, Rob,' to the guy who had brought me in. He followed us out, while the third stayed inside.

"Rob didn't come with us. He went in a different direction. Meanwhile, I drove with Ash. All the time I was aware of the gun he kept pointed at me. I had no desire to disobey them, and did as was told. We reached the Tribune building within 10 minutes, and as I halted in front of it, I saw a man emerge from within, with a briefcase identical to the one Ash was holding. Ash paid me and left, leaving his briefcase behind. Shaz approached me and was telling me where to go.

"He repeated the same address on his phone as I began driving, after which he disconnected. He was panting, but there was an air of pride about him; as if he had succeeded in a very difficult task."

The autowallah took a sharp left turn which almost propelled Naresh outside. He continued,

"Shaz looked at me and said,

'Hurry up. We are being followed. Do not let them catch up with us.'

I looked at the rearview mirror, and saw a car tailing me not very far away.

'Do you know what this is?' he said boisterously, pointing at his briefcase, 'These are copies of extremely secret documents. They didn't suspect me earlier, but now they are following me all the time. They believe I haven't noticed them and want to catch me delivering these to my associates. But that's where You come in.'

"I hated that guy, but made sure I didn't show it. He was the one responsible for my predicament, and his haughty tone only served to accentuate my loathing. Yet, I was very afraid; I didn't know if I would escape this alive. Even if there were no mishaps, I feared they would kill me to protect themselves.

He took a long breath, and released it in a sigh,

"We arrived at the destination soon. Before he got off, Shaz exchanged his briefcase with the one Ash had left inside. I saw Rob waiting nearby; he approached me and got inside as Shaz was leaving. There was no sign of recognition on his or Shaz's face. He ordered me to go back to their hideout.

"He ensured that we weren't being followed and then opened the briefcase. There was a momentary gleam in his eyes, but he hid it as soon as he saw I was noticing him. As we got away, I saw the car following Shaz stop in front of the place he had got off. There were people getting off. But I turned left and couldn't see any more.

"Rob got off with the briefcase as we reached the hideout. I looked at him with extreme apprehension. I have never been more afraid, bhaisaab. But he just reminded me not to breathe a word to anyone else, and then turned away."

The autowallah paused for a moment and continued in a voice heavy with emotion,

"I cannot express to you the relief I felt when I watched him go. I drove away as fast as I could; nobody followed. I was free.

"Since that day, I have been living in dread of seeing them again. When you opened that briefcase, I thought you were one of them."

There was a long silence. Naresh couldn't think of what to say. He blurted out, "So, you didn't tell the authorities?"

"No, bhaisaab. I told a few friends about this and they advised me not to go to the police. They say there are informers within the police."

"But then, why do you keep staying here?"

"I cannot leave. Not until I have made for myself a proper living. I don't think I'll see them again. They would have killed me otherwise. I won't return to my village worse than I was when I left it."

Naresh looked outside. The city appeared to him much more familiar now. Behind the shining mask, it was hollow, ridden with disease, poverty and crime . Now and then he could discern shoddy buildings, filthy huts, and angry, troubled people. No longer could he see pride on their faces: it was replaced with worry and hidden sorrow.

The hotel arrived. The fare was Rs. 65; but Naresh paid the autowallah the spare Rs. 80 he had with him. He went to his room and prepared for the conference, but couldn't concentrate. The conference was trivial; he didn't have to do much. Probably this is why they sent me here.

Naresh woke up early next morning to catch the train that was to carry him back. He prepared himself, signed out of the hotel and caught an auto to CST. During the journey, he kept looking outside and thinking about the city and its people. The autowallah kept returning to his mind.

Thus lost in thoughts, Naresh was surprised to find CST approaching. He looked at his watch. It was only 10 minutes since he had left. The auto stopped. He looked at the fare. It was Rs. 23.

Birthday Wishes.

It was just another Monday morning at the Kurla station in Mumbai. The platform was dirty, smelly and filled with people, vendors and beggars. Trains stopped by every now and then, hardly for a few seconds. A distorted female voice would announce the train in Marathi and Hindi. A horde of people would jump out from the heavily loaded second class coaches, and an even larger number somehow managed to get inside. Nobody wanted to wait.

However, today, Raghav Dutta didn't care about the pain he had to endure when he travelled to work at a small business firm in Mahalaxmi. As usual, he reached the platform by 8:30 AM and boarded the 8:43 AM slow local towards Dadar. As soon as he boarded his usual second class coach, his commute friend Rakesh greeted him.

"You seem awfully jovial today, Raghav. What's the matter? Did you finally convince your boss about that salary raise? "

"Today's my daughter's 17th birthday. She has been yearning for a cellphone for months now. I'm going to buy one today after work and surprise her as I reach home."

"That's wonderful! But how's your daughter? You said she was down with fever last Friday."

"Haan, she wasn't well the last week. Her fever wouldn't respond. The doctor said that it was just normal viral fever, and prescribed some medicines. She's better now. It's good that she has summer vacations, or else she would worry about her schoolwork. Poor child, she has to stay in bed the whole day. She hasn't many friends nearby, either."

"You sure care about Payal a lot. A lot of people with your salary wouldn't even think of buying a mobile phone."

"She was very young when her mother died. She had no one to care for when she was growing up. She's the only one I've got. I feel guilty because I cannot give her much attention and care due to my work."

Rakesh felt strange. Raghav seemed cheerful, but sounded depressed. He never seemed so melancholy about his wife's death before. Maybe it was because of Payal's birthday. He replied,

"Yes, I know, my friend. I hope that Payal recovers soon."

Soon, Raghav got down at Dadar to change trains for another route towards Mahalaxmi. As usual, the relentless crowd at Dadar showed no remorse for the people getting down, and crushed them like a huge tidal wave. Rakesh watched his friend leave, battered and dusty, but knew that it didn't matter to Raghav today. Raghav's love for his daughter knew no bounds. Nevertheless, Rakesh felt that he needed to brighten up his friend's mood. He decided to surprise both of them.

It was about 8:30 PM when Rakesh reached the locality where Raghav lived. It consisted of a few 3-storey buildings, each containing 50 or so tiny flats. The surroundings were filthy and muddy, as there was a huge slum just besides the buildings.

Rakesh knocked on the wooden door. Raghav opened it.

"Rakesh! What a pleasant surprise! I didn't expect this at all."

Rakesh again felt the strange note in his voice.

"I bought a present for your daughter. Where is she?"

"Come over here. She's still sleeping. But soon she'll wake up. She's really weak. Payal beta, look who's here for your birthday."

Rakesh felt awkward when he saw Payal. When Payal didn't respond to her father's call, he came closer to the bed. He panicked. Trembling, he reached for the phone in his pocket.

The doctor confirmed that Payal had been dead for about 40 hours. Further investigation revealed that she had died due to ingestion of a potentially dangerous drug. This drug was erroneously supplied by the local dispensary instead of the drug which the doctor had prescribed.

How to Study like an IITian

To begin with, there are two kinds of people. Those who have read Five Point someone and those who haven't. Now those who have read think they know how hard it is to score marks in iit but still they are as clueless as the ones who have no prejudices about the topic of the article.

As it turns out there are a lot of delusions about how IITians study- so in the interest of improving the level of information on the internet and in public interest allow me to expatiate.

First things first. As a First Commandment that every IITian must play second fiddle to is never do anything before the last minute. If any assignment is to be submitted at 1600 hrs finishing it before 1545 is a blasphemy and thinking of finishing it before 1520 is like the concerned guy is from another universe pretending(as awful a masquerade as that) to be in a human form. Lab reports, however lengthy they are and the complex calculations they involve are meant to be started the night before its due. The time to begin scales down depending on the length of the report and on occasions the mission is accomplished in the lunch break after which its to be submitted. Well you get the point, I assume.

Those who genuinely buy books are seriously endangered species, almost on verge of extinction. Others get the books through "jugaad", photocopies, through seniors and not returning the library books on time.[:P]. The concept of Class Notes is a quickly diminishing one with its takers declining faster than the cash in recession times. And are distributed and photocopied throughout the exam time repeatedly. The whole system is brought to a standstill in the exam time.

Now comes the night before the exam. All the preparations are done. By preparation I mean all the notes are photocopied, assignments are arranged and everything useful is available. Thankfully enough a generous "doppelganger"(the ones mentioned before as from another universe) has informed them of the whole syllabus. Now during the night they would start with the notes covered in class in about a month, plus the assignments ,if time permits and then carry on till the morning so that they can score enough marks to bail them out of the course.

The time devoted to self-study in the interval between two different midsems??? Well self-study is something that is to be adjusted between video games, chatting, TV series, movies, sleep, extra- currics and a few classes.
Hope this helps.

P.S. This is my first satirical post. Do comment if you like anything about it.

The charisma of Solitude

"Solitude, though it may be silent as light, is like light, the mightiest of agencies; for solitude is essential. All come into this world alone; all leave it alone. "

Though social enough, i prefer being alone as my profile says. And to mention it ,its not about any girl or love or sorrow that makes me like that ,but here I shall discuss the magic of being alone ; or with one person.

Whenever I am with friends , a 'gang', in other words ; we share jokes, speak slangs, make fun of each other and almost die out laughing. It acts as a great stress buster. They make you forget your wildest of traumas in just a few minutes. Depression definitely makes its way out of mind, but only for a while. Its like a cigarette .The moment you leave it ,that relaxation disappears. Serious issues often vanished in fumes in these moments ,but not in reality ,so they had to return to me, once those nice moments ceased.

But with one trustworthy person, I can discuss my woes ,seek opinions, it gives me all the warmth I need, and its not another cigarette ,the advice persists and beneficial many a times. Quite often the discussions alone have steered to solutions of continuous troubles persisting in life ,and many a time as productive ones, too resourceful a tool for personal development in the years to follow. The laughter also shared in these moments is calm, but mind boosting .

Another thing done alone is reading those fantastic novels ,an ultimate platform for me into writing and enjoying the thrills accompanying it. Pondering over certain topics going wrong in life ,can be often magical and lead to pretty wise decisions .And then comes writing alone and alone.

Also Solitude brings me a fantastic chance to rejuvenate myself, exhilarate a new life and get my focus back. It offers me the solution to everything that I am stuck with, also allow me just to calm down a bit after a frantic day and gives me the chance to spend time with mysel.

But that doesn't mean I don't like being parts of gangs ,I love to be ,but with the exception of a few times ,when the magic lies ahead in discovering some things, awaited in life smoothly and calmly.

Strangers on a Local Bus

Shubhonker Das stood waiting at the murky,calignous bus station situated near Kidderpore Road, in the dense, busy city called Kolkata. The battered old Government bus, marked with a no. 12D, arrived;Shubhonker boarded it. He was headed towards Behala, where he worked in a local departmental store.

Shubhonker sat down, the bus was almost empty. He looked around, and saw a man of around his age sitting ahead of him, an old man a few seats ahead, a woman seated opposite to him, and a college girl behind him. "No Smoking", said a sign right next to him;wonder if that was specifically for him. He smirked inside his mind. He pulled out a pack, drawing out one of the white sticks of pleasure. Lighting it with a match, he took a mighty puff.

Debashish Ghosh looked at the man seated behind him. He was traveling towards a market situated near Diamond harbour. He was new to the city, felt that it was larger than life. When he saw a cigarette being pulled out, he couldn't resist. Fishing for one in his pocket, he felt the longing for the thing he always felt. He found one and lit it.

Shubhonker felt good that he wasn't the only one. He felt that he and the man ahead belonged together. It wasn't a bond of habits, he knew that the person ahead of him was as desperate as he was. It was a bond of personalities. Somehow, his action seemed justified. However, he soon became aware of a pair of eyes gazing him. Debashish was in a world of his own, but knew that he couldn't be satisfied by a single one. He had just lit his first, but knew that it wouldn't be sufficient. However, amidst his reverie, he felt a sharp gaze pointed at him and the man behind him.

Both of them looked at the lady seated across them. She had a contemplative look in her eyes as she was glancing at the men. Something about her face made the men suddenly aware of what they were doing.

Shubhonker was used to stares, but this one was different, he didn't know why. He felt contempt against people who judged against people who smoked. They could never know how it saved him from the agony; the pain life has always been, he thought. He remembered the time when he began smoking. All of his friends did, and it felt soothing. It felt great to be under the influence of something so powerful. It provided salvation from pain. It was the only thing left in his life. He had progressed to two packets a day, smoking whenever he felt like: under stress, without stress, with friends, alone.... But somehow, today, the feeling of remorse got better of the usual comfort he found in smoking.

Debashish couldn't help but feel a certain twinge of pity. He knew that what he was doing was supposed to make him feel better, but it didn't now. He knew smoking made him appear stronger, like a man of convictions, a man who nobody can mess with. But he felt this to be a mere pretense today more than anything else. He felt that he was weaker than most people; that he had no convictions. He felt a huge blank in his life, felt a need for friends, for someone who could understand him.

Both men looked at each other and then at the woman once again, not knowing what to feel: hatred or gratitude, anger or respect, pain or hope.

The woman looked at the men once again, and feeling comfortable enough, drew a Beedi from her purse, lit it and began puffing.

P.S. Based on a real-life story. do comment if u lik it...