Khumaar

Koi kalma kehta hai Koi kufr bakta hai is khumaar par
Sajde karta hai to koi tauba karta hai is khumar par.

Bhoola doonga use yeh kehta hai, fir bhool jaata hai,
Yeh dekh dekh kar ab hasi aati hai hume beemar par.

Jis shama ko feekaa kar rahi hai aap mohtarma,
Dekha karte the use hum roz pashchim ki deewar par.

Hum to bachna chahte hai kuchh aisa vaisa karne se,
Par Le aaye hai ishq uska hume baar baar kagaar par

Maikhaane jaana band kar diya hai humne aajkal ‘ghafil’
Jamti hai mehfil shaboroz ab dilfarosh ki mazaar par.

Why you should be careful with names ending in ‘a’

Kishor Singh, my brother from another mother (Kalli jagatmata) proposed a girl, let’s call her Sumitra.
Now the thing is that when Kishor was in IIT Kanpur (we were wingmates), it was widely believed/purported and indiscriminately spread by yours truly that Kishor Singh was GAY with a capital G. So the conversation below is somewhat obvious:

Kishor: I proposed Sumitra
Me: He is in NTPC?
Kishor: She dude she
Me: She’s a she-dude?
Kishor: She is a girl
Me: No way, you’re gay!
Kishor: Not any more
Me: Dude you sure this Sumitra is Sumitraaaa?
Kishor: I am pretty sure.
Me: Last time you were this sure, you opted for a BTP guide who turned out to be a guy.

And so I will tell you the BTP story. Professor Saumya (changed to escape disciplinary probation) is a faculty in IIT Kanpur’s Civil Department. In his fourth year, Kishor Singh had to opt for a guide for his BTech project. He applied the usual algorithm of opening the department’s webpage; browsing the faculty list; eliminating all faculty members reputed to kick your ass; select from left over.

His eyes fell on the name Dr. Saumya and promptly, after years of fantasizing for a lady teacher he sent the mail:

Dear Madam,

I am Kishor Singh, blah blah bleat bleat ollllaa lala hoo et cetera. it would be really great if I can do it with you.

Reply:

Dear Kishor,
It is nice to know that you are interested. Blah Blah yuck yuck taka tak bloo gloo et cetera. You can do it with me.

Regards,

Saumya

–

A meeting was arranged and Kishor Singh happily went to the office. After all, after yearning through his entire childhood, teenage and few years thereafter, he finally had a lady teacher. So he went to the Office and entered. Now faculty offices are actually their labs too so Kishor Singh found a guy working on a code in a corner. Not able to find the Professor Kishor Singh went to this guy and:

Kishor (tapping him on the shoulder): Yaar madam kaha hai?
Corner Guy (looks up): Kaunsi Madam?
K: Kaunsi madam kya kaunsi madam? Unke office me aap work kar rahe hai…kaunsi Madam!
CG:Mr. this is my office. I work here.
K: Dude even the sweeper of the office says the same thing. Doesn’t make it his office. Please do not waste my time. I do not want to miss my appointment.
CG: Your appointment? You are Kishor?
K: How do you know?
CG: I am Saumya.
K: What! [the color got drained from his face] I am sorry Sir. I thought you were a…
CG/P: Happens all the time. My wife also got confused the first time. My friend got married because he confused a girl named Saumya to be me. Don’t worry.
K:I am truly sorry sir. My behavior…
P: Let’s discuss your project over Tea.
K [cursing his fate after missing yet another oppotunity for a lady teacher] Ah…eh…sure sir.

And this is how he ended up with a dude for a guide.

A Love letter

I met a long time friend after a long time. We talked about the days and shared developments when the discussion invariably turned to the girls. At the time we were together he had an enormous crush on a girl. But it never went beyond yearning for the girl. She knew him but she never felt the way he felt. He attempted and he got friendly replies which were more a formality and were so cold you could use them to counter the Kanpur summers. Then we went our ways and we were in touch on and off. He continued to yearn about her and before this meeting I had heard that he had run into some trouble with her. So when we started discussing girls, I asked him about everything that had transpired. He told me. I am documenting here (with due permission) the last part of our conversation:

Arv: So what’s the status now?
Sha: Well I haven’t been in touch with her for last three years. She went to some company and anyway I was so upset I could never connect to her even in FOSLA (Frustrated One Sided Lovers’ Association – something we founded together) style.
Arv: Hmm
Sha: She did mail me a few days back when i was at home.
Arv: Oh! What did she say?

–

Dear Sha,
I hope you remember me. I am K, we used to go to college together. I am feeling very awkward as I am writing this mail especially because of what had happened the last time we met. I have a feeling that it was not something someone could forget so I would not recount that. Please don’t get me wrong. The purpose of this mail is not to make you go through the entire phase again. It is just that I have been in some situations lately which reminded me of what had happened and how sorry I am for what had transpired. I think destiny has a way of getting back at us. I realize that now. I am mailing to request you to please meet me. I know you are at home right now. I am also in town. I know it will be difficult for you but I urge you to take some time out.

Sincerely,
K

–

Arv: Okay. Then?
Sha: I did not want to meet her at all but our mutual friend (let’s call het Neetika) managed to organize a totally unnecessary and unrequired reunion of sorts.
Arv: Hmm.
Sha: We exchanged pleasantries. Then she told me how sorry she was. I told her it was fine and that I had forgotten everything and I was in no mood to recount and how out of the line this meeting was. I was furious at Neetika for doing this to me. She kept saying sorry and just out of curiosity i asked her why after 5 years was she so intent on repentance.
Arv: And what did she say to that?
Sha: The obvious thing, almost taken out of those Bollywood movies from the 80s/90s. Some guy did something similar to her and that made her realize how wrong she was and stuff.
Arv: Hmm. Jacket!
Sha: Yeah Jacket (JKT: Jaise ko Taisa – we made a lot of such distorted acronyms)
Arv: Then.
Sha: Then, I didn’t know what to say and what she wanted. I asked her bluntly and she said she was sorry – again and that wanted to stay on touch, be a friend et cetera.
Arv: Yeah Yeah. What did you say?
Sha: I said that after what had happened her request was way out of line and I couldn’t do that. But she remained persistent. Plus I think she had the entire thing planned because Neetika didn’t have the manners to leave us alone. With her she had some edge. I don’t know some girl thing. So I just said that I will think about it.
Arv: Then?
Sha: Then what? I had a meeting that day so I left. I called Neetika later and blasted her. She obviously didn’t have any thing to say except how we both were her friends and she was genuinely sorry. I cooled down but you know I thouht Neetika had some sense and that she at least knew what I had gone through last time.
Arv: It was not on. I agree. I mean I know how much you respect or respected her and the way we all are related but this was crap.
Sha: yeah but anyway she just arranged the chance meeting. I was amazed at K more than that. I obviously did not want to meet her again or talk to her so I juts put an end to it.

–

K,

After that meeting which I consider outrageously mean and shameless on Neetika’s part for arranging it and on your part for asking for it in the first place, I spent a few moments thinking about what you said at the end and believe me what follows below is probably the most wasteful waste (repetition intended) of time I have ever had in writing something.

There was a time when I was crazy about you. A time when I would hand out Dominoes Pizza pamphlets just to talk to you, or beat up old friends because they made a bad joke about you, or feed some wiseass to get your mobile number, or ask people to support you at some crappy college activity, or make your lab reports, or send you anonymous presents, or stare at your photographs for hours at a stretch and put them on my desktop, or search for you the moment I logged in on GTalk, or attend classes because I would be able to get a chance to see you, or climb walls in Carnivals to impress you or do something crazy just to get your attention or bring a smile on your face. That time is gone. It is a thing of past. I am not crazy for you anymore. I do not waste my time searching your photos on Orkut or asking my friends about your birth date. My desktop has a To Do list and thinking about you is not on it, not even crossed out. You do not feature in my dreams as the regular attraction or distraction that you used to be five springs ago. I do not open chat windows only to close them again after wondering what to write or after writing and deleting some pleasant message hundred times. I do not think of texting you just to get a response from you or stay connected. In fact I have no intention of connecting with you. And it is not because you caused so much pain to me. It is not because you, so meticulously, destroyed me in front of people I knew, destroyed me in front of my own yearning eyes or killed countless seconds from my life by condemning my eyes to that pillow showcased on my bed, my heart to countless pieces and my head to complete mindlessness. It is not because you behaved like such a bitch and completely forgot that there were several better ways of putting me away instead of coldly shrugging me off and then crushing me. It is just because for all practical purposes you never happened. Because I have better things to do in life and better things to take care of then meatballs that belong to restaurant backyards and not my life.

Do not ask for forgiveness because you are not that great. I do not intend to grace your actions- past or present with an opinion, reply or forgiveness. I have wasted enough time on that. I am not ‘that’ guy any more. You lost me ages ago and I have no intention of being a ‘friend.’ I have enough friends who I am sure, would not go behind my back, unlike your friend Neetika, to shamelessly plant you back in my life. I do not need you. I do not want you. You do not exist. You are not even a ghost from the past. You are an unnecessary entity and I intend to keep it that way. Hence please do not bother me just because some guy made you realize what a bitch you were/are. Although you said you deserved it I think you did not deserve it. you deserve it a hundred time sover. Please destroy someone else’s life. There’s nothing left to destroy here. So do not try to mail me, phone me or meet me. You won’t be able to misuse my friends to ‘arrange’ any more meetings so don’t try. Go back and have a life. I can’t wish you good on that but I am not a SOB to wish you bad.

Sha.

–

Arv: You did something similar to what she did to you.
Sha: No, I just saved her from something worse I could have done.

IIT, IIT, IIT

This post is continuation of the incidents that happened on March 25.

After buying a mobile phone from Rave@Moti, me and Ashish proceeded to the Rawatpur crossing in order to board a tempo for IIT Kanpur. After standing there for 10 minutes and realizing that no tempo wala was willing to go to IIT Kanpur, I thought of an idea. You know the tempowallahs who shout Bada Chouraha, Parade, Swaroop Nagar, Yeh Nagar Woh Nagar et cetera. I thought that if they can shout to attract passengers, why can’t I shout to attarct tempowallahs. So:

Me: IIT, IIT, IIT, IT IT chalega koi IT IT IT chalega koi IIT IT. IIT Le jayega koi?
Ashish: Dood, what the fuck man?
Me: Are, let’s see what happens.

And I kept shouting.People who walked by us looked at me curiously. Some bystanders shook head and Ashish, well Ashish said:

Ashish (pointing at me): I am not with him.
Me: IIT IIT IIT
Ashish (pointing at me): He is not with me.

Some Kanpuriya beauty mistook me for a tempo conductor and came to me

(Beautiful Kanpuriya Girl) BKG: Tempo to hai nahi, kandhe par le jaoge kya.
Me (this came out INEVITABLY): Aap kahiye to god me utha ke le jayenge. Vaise me khud tempo dhoondh raha hoon.

BKG smiled and left. Ashish looked at me with disbelief. Suddenly a tempo wallah parked his tempo across the road. He waved and so I crossed the road to talk to him. No use! He wouldn’t go. So I came back and ashish was nowhere to be found. I looked around and then, a voice I heard, as if from a distance…

Ashish: IIT IIT IT, koi le jayega IT?

Why you should not let your sisters dress you up?

Hmm…

I am posting a lot of ‘Why you should not‘ stuff these days. But you know, this post is really worth it. Have a look and promise me you won’t allow your sisters to dabble with your wardrobe. Absolute horror. On the other hand, I do look like Satish Shah from Jaane bhi do yaaro.

Onion.

Further justification!

Never let you sisters dress you up.

Why you should (not) empty the bottle before going in the theater?

Delhi 6 is a good movie. I saw it on Friday and liked it. The whole Kala Bandar thing held the movie together. Anyway this post is not about Delhi 6 but about something which happened before we entered the theater.

We went to Rave@Moti to watch the 3:15 pm show. We were at Rave by 2:30 pm, four of us: Me, Maami, Muski and Marda (alliteration intended). Since there was time we ordered Pizza and took a table while checking out the girls. As it would happen, Ms. Shradhha at the Dominoes stall could not deliver the pizza timely so we just took the two coke bottles and asked her to shift the order till after the movie. By this time our chaat from Bombay Shivsagar Chaat Shop was in and so was my soup from the Chinese Food shop. By the time we gobbled up the chaat and I had my soup we had completed drinking out of one of the coke bottles while the second one was still three fourth full. Since it was already 3:10 we had to leave the food court and move to the theater upstairs. But we could not leave the bottle behind. Now as a rule no eatables are allowed inside the theater unless you buy them from shops inside the theater. So what would you do?

Marda: Let’s drink the entire coke quickly?
Me: No can do man.
Muski: I am full of chaat and soup.
Maami: Me too.
Me: I got an idea.
Muski: What?
Me: One of us could slip in the bottle inside the shirt.
Maami: Naah, too visible. And they frisk you anyway.
Me: Dude, I am fat and so are you, we could pass it on as tummy.
Marda: Last time I checked tummy used to be round not cylindrical.
Me: Okay! Slip it in the jeans.
Muski: What?

Marda nodded in disbelief.
Maami: Makes sense.
Muski: You are not seriously thinking about this?

Me and Maami looked at each other with the usual ‘Let’s do it’ look while Marda sank into his usual ‘Can’t believe you’ stares.

Muski: Doooood! Your balls will freeze.
Maami: We will see.

And Maami slipped the bottle in – positioned right at the crotch. Marda was still in disbelief while Muski was grinning devilishly hoping that Maami’s balls will freeze and turn to powder as if attacked by Liquid Nitrogen. We proceeded to the theater entrance. Marda passed after frisking and so did Muski. I went to the guard who was frisking and just as he started his process (which is way too gay man) I started laughing as if he were tickling me. The lady guard standing with him started looking at me and passed a quick smile and turned back to laugh.

I passed through the security and finally Maami came forth. At first the guard frisked him in the usual manner. When he and the lady guard both noticed the bulge. The lady guard said something in his ear to the effect: “Kya hai woh?”

So what should the guard do? 

Guard: Bhaisahab, kya chhupa rakha hai aapne waha?
Maami: Kya chhupa ho sakta hai waha?
Guard: Yeh to aap hi jaane?
Maami: Kyun aapko nahi pata kya?
Guard: Arey matlab…pata hai par kya hai waha?
Maami: Aapko pata hai to kyun pareshaan kar rah hai mujhe?

Guard takes up the responsibility and moves his hands towards the bulge.

Maami: Dood! What the hell? Kya kar rahe ho?
Guard: Check kar raha hoon.
Maami: Kya check kar rahe ho bhaiya?
Guard: Are Sir, yeh…woh…sir woh…kya hai waha?
Maami: Hudd hai…kya ho sakta hai waha?!
Guard: Par sir yeh aisa…
Maami: Aisa kaisa? Jaisa hai vaisa hai!
Guard: Sir kya daal rakha hai aapne waha?
Maami: Kaisa jaleel sawaal hai yeh!
Guard: Sir, batana hoga. Security issue hai.
Maami: Security ka matlab kahi bhi chhune lagenge kya aap? [to us] Kya Gay-pana hai yaar?!

Meanwhile the three of us and the lady guard are laughing.

Guard: Sir, me aapko andar nahi jaane de sakta.
Maami: Kyun? Kya kiya hai maine? Ab yeh aisa hai to meri kya galti hai?
Guard: Par Sir.
Maami: Itni takleef hai to me pant khol deta hoon.

By now I am rolling on the floor. Marda is shaking his head like telegraph machine in action and Muski is making expressions as if he has been hanged.

Guard: Theek hai. Kholiye pant aap.
Maami: Arey! Ajeeb besharam aadmi ho bhai. Ladke bahut pasand hai aapko?

The Lady Guard is laughing, blushing and is awestruck all at the same time. Only a woman can handle this multiplicity. Maami reaches for his pants when the Lady Guard, her left hand on her mouth and the right on the side to help a stitch, asked the guard to let go.

Guard: Arey par kaise?
Lady Guard: To aur kya? Nanga karvaoge unhe (and she giggles as if she half wanted to see Maami naked).

The guard shook his head and turned to Maami: Jaeye bhai sahab.

Maami: Arey? Kya ho gaya? Dekh lijiye. Ladke dekhne ka shauk hai aapko. [and he moved in triumphantly while still looking at the guard. The guard is still looking at the bulge. The lady guard isstill aching with laughter and I am still on the floor, in tears by now.]

Muski helped me up and the four of us, shocked at what we just pulled off, walked inside the theater.

Why you should not smoke with your nose.

[Onion Post Rating: R]

This is an incident from two weeks ago. At around 2:30 am me and three friends, let’s call them SMM, SD and ABA, were at ABA’s room and the smokers were smoking. As it would happen, experimentation started. Please note that LIQUOR was not involved at all.

SMM: Hmmm…I think I will smoke right through my nose.
ABA: Hee hee hee. Seems like a good idea.

And then SMM stuck the cigarette in his nose and took a deep breath after closing down the second nostril with his thumb. And…

SMM [smoke coming out his mouth and nose]: Aw shucks! Aww…aww. oh Aaawww.
SD: Having orgasms mayte (‘y’ intended).
SMM: Awwwwesome.

SD took the SAME cigarette and took a puff – with his mouth. Yuck!

Me: What the hell!!! He just put it in his nose.
SD: What the !@^%#!!! I completely forgot! Yuck.
SMM and ABA: Hee hee hee hee.
SD: Fuck!

After about a second or two…

SD: Hey can we smoke through our ears?
SMM: Hee hee hee.
ABA: Try it. Hee hee hee.

And SD stuck the cigarette in his ear.

ABA: He he he you fool.
SMM: He he he. Nothing. Last time I heard the wind pipe did not go up to the ear moron.
SD: Oh…so the wind pipe is involved?

I, ABA and SMM looked at SD in disbelief.

Me: Dood. Basic Biology. Human Anatomy.
SD: hee hee hee. Anal Tomy Hee hee hee.
Me: What the hell?!

Then SMM took the SAME cigarette from SD and took a puff.

Me: What is wrong with you guys? He just stuck it into his ear man.
SMM: Aww…fuck..Awww!
ABA: Hee hee hee. Hee hee hee.

SD: Only one thing left now.

Me and ABA understood what he was talking about.

Me: No…You are not doing that.
ABA: Oh do it do it please.

And SD dropped his pants but before he could get on with what he was thinking of doing I pounced on him.

Me: You sick bastard! What the hell man.
SMM: The windpipe doesn’t go up your arse SD.
SD: Oh Yeah! How do you fart then?
SMM: Hee hee hee. Pagal hi ho gaye kya? Where’s the cigarette anyway?
SD: The moron made me drop it.
ABA: Fuck! Where is it?
SMM [sniffing]: Whoa! What’s that burning smell?
Me: Dood, the whole room is up in smokes. You fucking chimneys [mock baby like voice] What ishh that bulning shmell. Schmucks!

SD: No really. This is not just tobacco.
ABA: Yeah. It’s like plastic or something.
Me: Yeah! Oh no…Oh no..no no no!
ABA: What the hell?! My book is burning!!

ABA’s brand new grand worth of Fluid Mechanics Book with plastic coated cover was on fire. He took SD’s pants and put it on the book as SMM tried to empty an entire Coca Cola bottle on the Book, the pant and ABA to put the fire off. The movement had ‘weaponized’ the coke and so instead of simply emptying on the book and others the cold-drink went fizz all over the room – in my eyes, on ABA’s laptop, on SD’s crotch and on the floor.

SD: I have been violated.
ABA: Shut up moron. My book is destroyed.
SMM: Hee hee hee. No coke left and the canteen is closed.
Me: Phewww. Let’s put the lights on.

And I took a step towards the switch. The coca cola, spilled on the floor did its part and I was on the floor with a resounding thud. As an after effect the laptop, on which we were planning to watch Punisher – 2, closed down and the room went completely dark.

ABA: What happened?
Me: Shit happened. This is what it is. Ho kya raha hai yaar yeh sab.
SMM: Wait. I will switch on the light. Where are you?
Me: Fuck! You are standing on my hand. Get off!
SMM: Eh! Sorry.
SD: hee hee hee. Masti aa rahi hia.

SMM searched for the switch board and in the process kicked something. Suddenly I felt as if my hair was wet.

Me: What the hell now? What is this stuff.

I stood up with effort pulling the small hair I have on my head when the light’s went on. I looked at the spillage and saw a bisleri bottle. I went to examine it meanwhile SD looked around for his pants.

SD: Oh no! My pants have a hole. ABA moron. You put out the fire with my pants.
ABA: Don’t shout for your 5 pence pant. That book was worth a grand peabrains.
SD: Shucks. How am I supposed to go to my room now.
SMM: In undies. Hee hee hee. This is fun!

I sniffed the bottle and my hair and life was sucked out of me.

Me: What the fuck man! What the hell! Sickos. Fuck.
ABA: What!
Me: Dood. You pee in Bisleri bottles!!! What the hell.
SMM: Yuck! [apparently he was standing on the spilled liquid]
SD: Oh..this gets better and better.
Me: Shut up. ABA dood. You are sick. The toilet is five steps outside your room man. Fuck. I will have to take a bath. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this. Fuck. Arse.
SMM: Hee hee hee
SD: Hee hee hee
ABA: eh..hee hee hee. What can I say bro? Hee hee hee.

Smoke coming out of every conceivable hole in my body, I stomped out of the room.

End of.
Onion!

PS: Yeah I know that the actual spelling is ‘dude’.

Why you should not profess love after saying it’s all about sex.

[This is not supposed to be funny and hence it isn't.]

Sid and Shef are walking down a road at night discussing love. The discussion was started by Sid who wanted to drive it towards their own relationship thereby expressing his feelings towards her but it becomes a bit too intellectual and…

Shef: So you mean love is just a rationalization?!!
Sid: Yeah I mean…basically…yeah. A rationalization of our urges which when uncontrolled become obsessions. A balanced chemical reaction inside the brain.
Shef: Your viewpoint is so…what’s the word…mundane.
Sid: Yeah, but it is a viewpoint and stand by it. It all boils down to sex.
Shef [shocked now]: Sex? I can’t believe you think that this is the way it is. [Shef is definitely upset].
Sid: Hey, I don’t mean to upset you. It is juts my opinion.
Shef: It is complete bullshit. So when I say I love my father what the hell does that mean wiseass?
Sid [dumbfounded]: Uh.oh! Ummm…I think I..
Shef [enraged further]: Come to think of it, what does it mean when you say you love your father?
Sid [totally confused]: Ummm…No I think that’s the way it is when it si about a boy and a girl.
Shef: Oh yeah! So what about brothers and sisters?

Sid: No I mean boys and girls as in… [Shef cuts in between]
Shef: You are sick! [Sid completes his sentence in slightly lower voice and Shef does not hear it]:…you and me.

Shef: And what when someone says they love their dog?
Sid: Hey…cool…cool…we will talk about this later. Let’s drop this for now.
Shef: I don’t want to discuss this with you at all. You might be smart and all but you are wrong about this.
Sid: Look cool down okay. Sorry if I offended you.Well okay! I guess it is time to go.
Shef [Cold]: Bye.

–

Sid thinks overnight, about Shef and their relation and all. He strolls down to his friend Adi’s room and expresses everything. Adi urges him to talk to her and so next day he goes and meets her in the lecture Hall complex after the class finishes. The faculty members and students are still around.

Sid: Hey! How are you?
Shef [coldly]: Fine.
Sid: Look I wanted to tell you something.
Shef: What?
Sid: I love you.
Shef [shouting furiously]: What!? Meaning you want to have sex with me!!

The crowd of students and faculty members stops and starts looking towards the two. There is pin drop silence as if the lecture hall complex was a cemetery.

Sid looks around, embarrassed and tries to smile as a few friends giggle. Shef realizes that she was a bit too loud. She looks around and then runs away. Sid runs after her.

They never talk again [until I get more stories that is].

Lesson: Never propose her after saying love’s all about sex.

Onion.

Vimalnama

I work at the Students’ Placement Office of IIT Kanpur as a Student Associate. A lot of other friends work there along with me. This is a small incident from the life of one of them: Prateek Vimal – the Overall Internship Coordinator. His post never had the word overall. He was just an Internship Coordinator until one day when he let slip his emotions after facing an HR. Since then he has been over all the females that have been to the Office and hence he is now ‘Over all’ Internship Coordinator (OIC). The incident:

//Action

Vimal is in the office with few others when the phone rings. Vimal jumps and takes the receiver… there’s a girl on the other end. Let’s call her MM. Vimal talks to her. She needs some help with applications et cetera. Vimal helps her out (or so he told everyone).

Later in the evening, another Student Associate, Anusha, walks in:

Vimal : (Bihar all over or overall) Hi, kaaaaaisi hain aap!
Anusha: Hi! I am fine. Kya chal raha hai?
Vimal: Aaj aapki batch ki ek bandi ki help ki maine.
Anusha: Oh! Sahi…good
Vimal: Bata dijiyega unhe…maine madad ki thi.
Anusha: :O
Vimal:
Anusha: Samjhi nahi
Vimal: Bahut nasamajh hai aap.
Anusha: huh!

Later, everyone else walks in. Vimal announces his feat to everyone.

Vimal: Aaj maine inke (points at Anusha) batch ki ek bandi ki madad ki.
Chacha-Jadoo-Gangu: Toh?
Vimal: To kya! Madad ki maine. (To Anusha) Bata dijiyega unhe ki maine ki thi.
Anusha: :O Kitni baar bolega? Bata doongi.
Vimal: Arey unhe pata chalna chahiye na ki kaun tha.
Anusha: Theek hai baba.

Later, ANusha is ready to leave the office:

Anusha: I will take leave now.
Vimal: Kyun? Kahaaaan jaa rahi hai aap?
Anusha: It’s my friend’s birthday.
Vimal: Bhoo ij this phrend?
Anusha: Eh… (Everyone’s looking at her now)…MM
Vimal: Unhe bata dena aap!
Everyone: Hey Bhagwan!

//Cut

//Scene 2 – Action:

A few days later MM walks in the office for an interview. Vimal is in his seat when she passes by and then…

Vimal (jumping up from the seat): Arey…suniye!
MM (shocked): Huh! Haan…
Vimal: You had called SPO earlier.
MM: Yes
Vimal: I had helped you
MM: Okay (leaves for the interview)
Vimal (scratching his head): Arey…koi response hi nahi! Kya bakwaas hai.

Everyone else:

//Cut

Aage hai…

Onion

Cookie Jar Chronicle

This happened today after Tomato Onion uttapam, Nawabi Combo of Dal Tadka, mixed Veg, Raita, Gulaab Jamun, Rumaali Roti,Biryani plus Bhel and Papari Chaat. Read on.

–

“So tell me the entire story. How is it that your mother knows?” asked Sid

“I told her. I thought I should tell her. She is about the only friend I have – and given the fact that she was once a girl helps. R=G dude. It’s C K Prahlad all over.” said Rotlu

“Yeah yeah. Get over him. He is teaching at Ross and you are stuck here in the Kanpur moss.” So much for rap.

Rotlu told Sid the two stories. “So these are the two. The ones who got away.”

“Dude I don’t get the being committed idea. I mean we are what, not more than 24 years old!
And there is whole world out there waiting for us and we go and get committed.” said Sid.

“I agree. I mean not in a sour grapes way but yes I agree in general. All I wanted to tell the Capital girl was that – Ya know, in soccer they have goalposts and goalkeepers stand there protecting them, but my lady, goals happen even then. Cheers! – This is what I wanted to tell her. But then I thought I should leave things the way they are.”

“Anyway how does your mother know about the other girl?” asked Sid

“I told you that I told her. Mom asked me – What will you talk to her? – I said – This is where you come in. What did Pa talk to you about?”

“He he. What did she say?”

“She said – Mr. Betulaal that stays between Pa and Ma. Churn up your own conversation. Let’s see what you come up with. And as I told you, the girl spent the time listening to my drone and was finally escorted back to the Hostel Gate. But there were times in the conversation when I think she was almost interested. Like the time when she was listening to me and was dropping all the food on her shawl or when she was playing with the shawl. And that was beautiful. The way she did that.”

“Hmm. So your mother knows.” said Sid

“Yeah. She knows more. She said – Are there further plans on this. So I am taken unawares. But it’s cool since Ma and Pa didn’t have an arranged marriage. I said – When there will be plans, you will be the co-conspirator.” Rotlu said

“He he. Good one. And you say she saw the pictures.” continued Sid

“Yeah. I was showing her the pictures from the trip to the mountains and beside that folder was a folder named Abi. So she asked me – What’s up with Abi? Normally I wouldn’t allow an intrusion. But her tone was as if she knew the whole thing and was trying to pull my leg. So I knew the territory was cool. She looked at her photo and nodded – sort of approved the photo. I told her- Ma I told Abi that I liked her. And she said – Hmmm, Ahaa, Ahaa – again, leg pulling.”

“Cool. It’s great man. You can talk about this with your mom. Cool mom.”

“Sid, the way I see it, I am still that kid from kindergarten and this girl is my present and every time she comes gift-wrapped I just run to my mom just to say that – Look Ma! See what I got. Isn’t she wonderful? – And Ma understands that. I will remain a kid. I don’t want to grow up.”

“Wow. I am like that too but it is just that I can’t share stuff like that as freely as you do. Anyway what happened on the walk with the firang?” asked Sid.

“Walk started with both of us cursing the President but after two years in Governance I couldn’t take anymore of that so we shifted to childhood. She told me about a locket fetish, wherein she would wear lots of lockets and then swing them around so that they made noise. Dude – when she did the swinging action her hand moved in such a feminine manner, I melted. Vaporized more like. And she moves her palms when she talks and elaborates on something – in the most feminine manner. Every inch of her is a girl if you see what I mean. And throughout the walk and everything before that I would either be open mouthed, unable to utter a word or would talk non stop in a gibberish manner. I lose complete control. And that has made me respect girls. They have so much power over us. Some know that and use the power, some know and don’t use and some don’t know and still use it. She is the second kind of girl. At least that’s the image I have of her.”

Rotlu stared at the blank wall but was clearly seeing beyond it when Sid suddenly said: ” Ultimately you fall in love with yourself.”

“What?” Rotlu was confused.

“It’s like you have not seen your own back and when you see it in a mirror, you realize what you didn’t know that you had and then you just fall for it. So girl you like completes you in your perception and that creates the spiral down which you get flushed.” Sid said this, with a serene smile, as if he was on the spiral’s joy ride.

‘Wow. That is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard. She completes the whole thing. Great! Was this spontaneous or you have a gospel hidden somewhere?”

“This my friend is the result of the power they have on us – spontaneous.” Sid said.

Minutes later, Rotlu picked up the last cookie from the cookie jar, picked up his book and left Sid’s room, still thinking about the firang-to-be. Meanwhile the capital girl slept in her bed.

–

Don’t worry. This is just a mouth-to-mouth for my blog. It’s good to be back.

Onion

Electric Overdose

I was in a dream till now,
And woke up with jolt,
Due to her several thousand volt.
Saw her at the joint,
She took me to the point,
Where I almost,
Died,
Of an electric overdose.

She stared at me,
It was there I swear,
Smile of a lipless robot.
Metallic heart, metallic thought.
And with the passion of a sun-hot furnace
My spirits rose,
Sparked,
Off an electric overdose.

And now she’s gone,
And every moment I stay rooted,
As if I am electrocuted.
I wake up with a jolt,
Due to her several thousand volt.
Tell me have you ever had,
a case this bad,
Of an electric overdose?

–
Halfway through writing this poem, I realized that it describes my encounter with a girl I know. Sometimes subconsciously the thoughts come out as words – pouring in on the canvas due to an electric overdose

Bitchmeter

So Sid and Shef have graduated and they meet after six years at a small reunion meet. Sample conversation:

Shef: So what have you been up to?
Sid: Nothing much. I am a salesman. Fancy becoming one after four years at IIT.
Shef: What do you mean salesman?
Sid: I make and take, bake and sale companies. I am a salesman.
Shef: And how many have you sold salesman?
Sid: Four. I was fired from the fifth one.
Shef: Huh!
Sid: Anyway what have you been doing?
Shef: Oh me! I pursued graduate school. Then came back and joined as faculty here.

Sid: Oh great! See we did tell you that you will do PhD one day. I was wondering how come you look so beautiful. The ‘matki’ syndrome is still around it seems.
Shef: Yeah Yeah whatever!
Sid: So how many people did you fail in your last course?
Shef: Huh! Why would you ask that?
Sid: Just to gauge the bitchiness. Make sure it’s still there.

Tee Hee Hee

SPAMayhem

I was checking my GMail when my eyes went to the number of spam mails I had: 1093! GMail deletes any spam mails if they have been in the spam-box for over thirty days. So these mails were those received less than thirty days ago. Anyway, I decided to read some of the mails and here’s the scoop. Out of the 150 mails I went through (I didn’t have the heart to go on after that), about 70% wanted to increase my potency, rectify my woes in bed, make me last longer there, enlarge where it matters, make my ‘da da’ thicker without pumps and jumps or impress my non-existent girlfriend with tree-trunk for a penis. This other guy was selling viagara for free. Can you even call it selling then? And what if these things really work? I mean, for the sake of all the tailors in the world, what the bloody hell would happen if someone gulps down all the stuff in one go! I can only wonder!I can only hope that chaachi brings in some experience when he talks back from the Sin City

So ‘long’

Onion

A few samples:

1.

SENDER: Justin Evans
SUB: No Pumps! No surgery! No exercises!

Be the stud in 2008, and achieve all your dreams of super size!
Increase both your thickness and length within a few short weeks – women simply love it when you have a large manhood.
http://backfeel.com/

What does he mean ‘your thickness.’ With a 42 waistline I am thick enough I didn’t know being fat was a turn on for women. Cool!

–

2.

SENDER: Gina
SUB:It’s Gina

Hi
It`s gina again. Will you ever contact me?
I made those nude pictures especially for you and I wont write to you again!
If you wanna see them just drop me a line at: gina49@hugdr.info

This chick took all her photoshop lessons just so that she could do nudes for dudes! Why go through trouble of asking. Just send them already. BItch!

–

3.

SENDER: Lon Sanford

SUB: Last Longer in bed

“Ever since I started on your herbal supplement, Sharon says sex is so much more pleasurable for her, and she comes much more easily”. David, Florida, USA
Size DOES matter, and unfortunately, many traditional methods to increase size simply DON’T work, and are very inconvenient.
http://litestem.com/

I last long in bed anyway. At home I last no less than 12 hours. They have to beat me up with sticks to wake me up. So there!

–

4.

SENDER: Pam M. Britt

SUB: Do you want to enlarge you da da?!

Dear a.r.vijayabaskar@gmail.com (It’s not even my email address!)
http://geapkeel.com
Do you want enlarge your da da upto 4 inches?
Amazing, PERMANENT RESULTS that will last.

? Gain 3+ Inches In Length.
? Increase Your P3nls Width (Girth) By up\to 20%.
http://geapkeel.com

Thanks
Jennifer Anniston

Da da? What the fuck is da da?

–

What you shouldn’t do while tuning a guitar!

1. Don’t pick your nose.
2. And definitely do NOT think about her.

The G string (:P) of my guitar broke/snapped as a result of over tightening. I don’t have a spare nor do I have money to go buy one. So basically I am one music-less guy right now. Anyway, here’s my toast to the fingers’ itch. May you live on forever. And to ‘G‘, rest in peace.
Amen.

Aapni prochondo mahan Debi!

Statutory Warning: This post is a WOOF!

There are those days when your friend feels off and you try to cheer him or her up. So you would say kind words, reassure them that they will succeed, tell them how you believe in them and that they are your best friend. And when everything fails you might suggest a small outing. It so happened that my friend and bangla mentor Manjish was having a rough day. So I tried to cheer him up and as a final resort we decided to go to Rave Moti and fool around. And fool around we did:

After roaming around here and there in the big mall we finally set down to eat. The eatery at Rave Moti has several shops with a huge floor space meant only for sitting down on chairs and filling up your belly. Several people were eating there. We sat down and started filling up when behind Manjish I saw this smoking hot babe eating noodles. I pointed out to Manjish.

“Where?”
“Behind you, you processor ass!”

This girl was sitting, as it would happen, with sadde Sardarji. Why is it that surds end up with all the hot girls? Anyway, since I am learning bangla these days I asked Manjish to teach me to say:

You are looking very beautiful.

“It’s harmless dude. Tell me how do I say that in bangla.”
“But why now?”
“Look I know I am not going to that girl and saying this in any language comprehensible to her in front of sadde daarji. One wrong step and I die in hell.”
“Buy why do you need to tell her?”
“Beauty should be appreciated.”
“Dude, I am in no mood of getting killed today.”
“Don’t worry. I can pull this off in bangla. They won’t know a thing. They will think I am this lunatic mumbling stuff out loud.”
“Man, I will tell you the translation but promise me you won’t make a step till I am at a safe distance.”
“Okay.”

So armed with this new knowledge I make my move. I move past the girl and speak out loud:

“Tumi khoob bhalo lagcho.“

I take a few steps forward, smiling in triumph when:

“Kee?”

What the hell? I turn around and find myself face to face with the girl.

“Uh-oh. “
“Ki bolchen? Kake bolchen? Kaino bolchen? Aapni ke? “

The Chick turned out to be bengali! What were the odds of those? And what she said translates to:

What are you saying? Who are you talking to? Why are you talking? Who the hell are you?

There are times when you want to vanish in thin air, or want the lightening to strike you so that it all ends. It was one of those times. But it seems that I am made for such moments. Because as I explained the entire thing to her, I couldn’t help but notice her to be smiling slightly. Meanwhile pappeji who hailed from the Just friend lounge couldn’t make out what just happened.

“Hey I meant well. Was just a joke. No, I mean you ARE beautiful but this was a joke.”
“It’s fine. We are cool.”
“He he he. Fine. So how about we eat ice creams?”
“Don’t push it smart ass.”

Bullet exit! EOF

PS: Another… hic… fictini here dude! Hicc… Thanks!

Skateboard Chronicles – 1

There was a boy who weighed 91 kilo. Enter JEE results and he went to IITK. He was told this : “You walk in as a boy, you walk out as a man.” But for him the story turned out to be different. He walked in as an elephant and is now a chopstick. For him it was the Weight of 69 ( 71 actually ).

Now this boy thought of getting cool. Cool as in kept-in-Kelvinator-the-coolest-one Kewl. So he got a skateboard on his 19th birthday. He brought it to the campus with him and one fine morning he decided to try the skateboard. The skateboard was taken to the temple at MT. The pundit put holy symbols and water on skateboard and the boy’s forehead. Nariyal badhara gaya. And with the usual Rs. 5 daan the ritual ended. The boy took the skateboard to the road beside the airstrip and went on his skating spree.

For about an hour he tried and tried but the skateboard refused to move. It was so unmoving that for once I wanted to name this post : The little skateboard that wouldn’t. Then somehow a new way striked the boy’s mind. He restarted the attempt and for about a split second the strategy seemed to work. The board moved and so did the boy but it was only that the board moved sans the boy who instead fell down and rolled on the road; better than the board. Our kewl dude stood up with strained wrist and bruised palm. But the dude had the solution. He took out iodex spray from the side pocket, applied it and started again. What determination!!

The boy took a breather, had some pushups and jumps and retrieved the board from the grassy vicinity where some sonovabitch snake was trying to use it. The second attempt began and…ended almost at the same time. The skateboard remained where it was and the boy was thrown backward. The rest as they say is history and I will take the troubles to tell you about that later.

silly rhymes,

sk8erboy

PS: This one first appeared here.

Oh no!

Dear Diary

It’s 2:15 in the morning and she happens to be online on gtalk with lights blazing green. So I think of buzzing.

“Awake?”
“Fancy a walk?’ et cetera.

I type in ‘awake?’ and then start thinking about it. I think for about a minute about pressing the enter key but something tells me I shouldn’t. So I get back to writing the Proposal for a new idea. Then after a few minutes I again see the green dot. Should I buzz? Ask her for a walk? Tell her what I think? So I type in ‘awake?’ again and am just about to press the enter button when suddenly a friend buzzes me sending some files that I needed. I thank him and curse him and get back to pressing enter. Something tells me I shouldn’t. I press escape instead.

Around 2:30 I think about it again. Three times in last 15 minutes. It’s going the old way again, something I fear. Something I thought would never happen again. I click on the name in the list. I think about brushing my teeth. Had a lot of onions in dinner. And anyway, I brush my teeth at night nowadays (but that should have been done at around 11). I would buzz her after I brush my teeth, I think. It’s foolish I know. At this point she might as well go offline any moment. But as if that forbidding voice inside me took me to the sink in the bathroom, I start brushing. I come back at around 2:40 am. I type in ‘awake?’ and am about to press enter. That voice inside my head grows stronger and so does the urge to talk to her. My battle continues when suddenly…she goes idle!

It’s not good to buzz a girl so late at night when she might have retired to bed already. I think. And I get back to that proposal I was writing.

MORAL: Don’t wait. Just do it if you think you are right. The voices in head are bullshit. It’s the voice of the heart which counts.

Yours,

Sid

PS: Just a minute after this post, she went green again.

About a girl

Dear diary,

I met her today and I feel like a very different person. It’s amazing how mere thought of a girl can change a guy. I know she won’t be around my room but I am cleaning it, just because I want to feel good before meeting her, in my mind and my heart. I throw away the waste from my room, change the bed sheet and sweep the floor with the long forgotten broom retrieved from below the bed. The way a girl can change you, the enormous power that she has on you, sometimes even without her knowing it, is something that has made me respect girls. They are the most amazing creation of nature.

When we meet she asks me about the favorite moment in life and I try to remember the favorite moment. I muster all the memories – to no avail. In her presence my past became a blank slate. It was as if there was no past. Only this moment existed. What else can I answer? It was this moment. So I am with her and the past doesn’t matter, I can’t think of the future and all that is there is the moment itself and the gleam of her face.

But she becomes uneasy, may be a bit bored and I become conscious of that. And I feel guilty. May be I am not that kind of a guy who can make small talk or something that a girl might like, may be because I haven’t done it before or may be because she is around. I don’t know what to talk to her because I would think of something and words will come and then I would look at her and forget them. Probably silence is good. Or I would blurt something out without thinking because I can’t think in her presence. All I can do is look at her and be amazed.

She disarms me, completely. Given a chance, I would like to make her happy, worry about her and care for her. I would like to do all this, forever.

Yours,
Sid

Life moves on…

It’s that day again. Two years ago today at roughly the time of this post a sweeper in the faculty building of IIT Kanpur saw the end of a dream. My friend Swapnil had died. We had an exam that day. I remember it, Chemistry (CHM201). He never came to give that exam. He simply left us.

After his death, there were discussions. Why did he do it? Why students do this? What should be done to curb this? Was it even a suicide? And the like. That however didn’t matter much because neither did anything happen and nor did it do (not that it was possible) to Swapnil. Media however had a fields day: another way to have a go on the IIT system – how it sucked and was inappropriate and all.

I had imagined today that day. How we will all move on and forget him…a closed chapter in our lives or may be an omitted one. That I suppose is the way of the world. We all will graduate, pass out, live our lives and then wither. He however will always be young bikka, always in the second year. How much do I hate him!!

It didn’t sink in somehow at that time that he will not be there to return home and enjoy the day with his family and then come back here to miss them. To be the part of jokes, classes and things. To accompany me on Pushpak Express. To give me notes and information about lectures. To pester me with doubts. To take my lab-reports. To answer those scraps on Orkut. To accept that testimonial I wrote for him…to make more out of the moments together. He robbed us of himself.

But now I see it, it doesn’t matter much to most of the people. His parents, yes; other family members, may be, but others…well most of us are happy today that end-sems have ended and worried that placements are coming. We are busy playing games on computers, watching movies and TV shows, playing cricket, celebrating achievements, having treats in restaurants, roaming around happily or preparing for the life which is yet to come.

After his death, at a Hall function, the Hall President of Hostel Two (Satti at that time) requested DOSA to light an Agarbatti at a hand made portrait of Bikka. This was our idea of remembering him and praying for him. DOSA did that but later he said very angrily that he wasn’t ready for this and he or the Wardens, I don’t know, said that the act was done as if Bikka were a Martyr and were furious about it.

He was a weak person for those we believed he committed suicide. For us he was just a friend whom we used to tease whenever we got a chance and he would just smile at that…always. He wasn’t a Martyr. Why do you need to be a martyr to be remembered?

I just buzzed a few friends, common or otherwise, about the fact that he died today and the replies were:

1. Not the date though. Chalo Chalein MT.

[On saying that this was the date:] Yaad nahi thi mujhe. Hmm…I really don’t know what to say. I hope he finds peace. Chalo MT chalein. Ho aaye kya?

2. Hmm [and then fifteen minutes later he buzzes again and:] Indian, Indian, what did you die for? Indian says, nothing at all.

[I ask him what the hell he means. He says:] Nothin’…the futility of death…of someone ‘they’ don’t care.

[I ask him who are 'they' and he says:] Anyone…the society maybe…the authorities in this case. How long has it been?

[I remind him that it's been two years.] Two years? Okay…

3. Ohh! Any thing happening? Kuchh ho raha hai ? [He means something to remember him. And on further chat:] Kaun yaad rakhta hia yaar?

[I say then that life moves on et cetera, he agrees and...]

Khair, sone jaa raha hia kya? Lakshya dekhni ho to aaja.

4. Is it a question or reminder? Saw it on your status…to yaad aaya [I had put it on my status: Life moves on...but still...miss you Swapnil ]

[He wants a book: What do you care what other people think? by Richard Feynman and so just after the above:] Book mili? [I tell him no, so:]

5. Haan yaar. I saw your status message… was just thinking about it.

[I tell him that I couldn't help but buzz and he says:]

Haan yaar. I am sorry, I was late to respond. I was in toilet, but thinking about him.

[And with this guy I had a chat for half an hour in which we discussed a case of attempted suicide in our batch and then discussed medical complications with a girl in our batch and the fact that the former had actually sent an SMS to latter before the attempt.]

6. Kya be placement chal rahi hai and tu aisi khabar suna raha hai.

[I tell him that it's no more a khabar. He says:] I mean Yaadein. [ I apologise and close the chat window]

7. Aise yaad nahi tha, but now I do.

[Then he sends me his latest story about his two crushes and:] You got to read it now and feedback chahiye fir. Though I know you will enjoy reading it kyunki tujhe dono ke baare mein sab pata hai.

[He puts a smiley. I start reading the story transferred via Google Talk. It has an Emily Dickinson poem to start with. I read her name: Emily Dick-in-son...and so I am already enjoying reading it.]

Life moves on, that’s why it is called life. It’s dynamic, ever changing. It has no place for the dead or the static. It flows and takes things in the direction it wants. The static things, the rocks in the way, they just get eroded – memories fade away. And there is no escaping this fact. There’s no life without accepting this. So I guess the people above, they are doing the right thing. Bikka is a person of the past. I am not saying that one should remember him always and be sad all the time. But somehow, still, in my heart, I feel bad. Should we forget someone this soon? Should we move on? What should we do? Or do we even need to do something, anything? And I feel as if I am writing this post and kept that status message just to show that I remembered him when I was pouring nicotine in my burnt out body at MT and was looking back at my life. Fuck!

Light was brighter and the flowers more fragrant when you were around Bikka. This was what I had written then, this is what I am writing today too. Rest in peace. Amen!

Arvind.

PS: After posting here, I buzzed Kavi and had this chat. I am not saying it cleared my mind but Kavi did say something that ringed a bell…

_________________

Arvind: Bikka died today

remember?

Sent at 8:45 AM on Friday

Kaviraj: ohh

dont remember

and that’s bad

we all shud remember

Arvind: haan shayad

pata nahi

life has moved on

Kaviraj: oh yaar

Arvind: I am confused

I am feleing [read feeling] bad and confused

nashta kar liya?

Kaviraj: matlab…kuchh karna chahiye shayad

haan

kar liya

Arvind: k

Kaviraj: sun

aaj hi hai na

??

Arvind: haan man

Sent at 8:49 AM on Friday

Kaviraj: at least we can put some status mssg

Arvind: yaar

maine lagaya tha

but

Kaviraj: or we all shud put the same

Arvind: fir laga jaise me show off kar raha hoon

bahut bura laga

that he was our friend

Kaviraj: na na

Arvind: and that he died

Kaviraj: thode time ke liye to lagana hi chahiye

Arvind: it si somethig [read is something] for us and us alone

but then

I dunno man

I am confused

may be as solidarity yes

but I will not ask anyone else to do so

just this: Bikke…rest in peace?

or what

i dunno

Kaviraj: dont be confused….it’s not good to forget someone so soon…

Arvind: yeah man

was just writing this on my blog

couldn’t help

Kaviraj: hmm

Arvind: you should read what replies I got from some of the people I told this about

but they have moved on

can’t blame them

Kaviraj: if i were dead and i was watching you all….i’d like you all to remember me once on this day

Arvind:

so what do we put?

Sent at 8:52 AM on Friday

Kaviraj: you are good at that part

i’ll copy it

Sent at 8:54 AM on Friday

Arvind: le

yahi samajh aaya

yahi pehle bhi likha tha

Kaviraj: ok

sahi hai

Arvind: chal yaar

so raha me

Kaviraj: ok

Arvind: man dukh gaya

bye

Kaviraj: sleep tight

Sent at 9:03 AM on Friday

Kaviraj: wet dreams

Arvind:

yeah
_________________

Life moves on…

Kanpur mera sasuraal!

This one happened during the vacations. I was talking to my gran and sisters over the phone. After I had talked to my sisters, the phone was handed over to my grandmother. Now you have to understand that she is obsessed with the four of us: two sisters and two brothers. While she sees or at least talks to the three of these four regularly, I am the one who is left out because I am at college and am supposed to be studying [which I occasionally do] and so I am not to be disturbed. So when I come home and talk to her over phone she pours in all the good words in a single go. Anyway I will describe the entire conversation here.

Me: Pranam Naaniji
Gran: Khoob khush rah, Khoob sukhi rah, Khoob Unnati kar, Din dogni raat chaugooni Unnati kar, Tu kaisa hai, kab aaya, Teri yaad aa hi rahi thi… [and then...it came...out of the blue]

Raaja bano to hume jaana na bhool…jhoole me jhool lalaa jhoole me jhool [Yep gran, IIT is doing this to me],
chanda sa mukhda gende [Hindi name for a flower which I am not. Not to be mistaken with Hindi name for Rhinoceros which I am] ka phool [Chanda sa stuff applies more to my tummy now, shape-wise that is, thanks to Hall 1 canteen].

[...and even more randomly now]

Dhan tatri bhai dhan tatri, Naana ki dadhi moonchh kaun katri

And several more blessings and malwi two liners later…

Me: Me mast hoon ekdum, kal raat me aaya. Aap kaisi ho?
Gran: Arey apan bhi mast hai ekdum. Dekh to tona [now that is my nickname] aajkal me bhi kavita likh rahi hoon [Maaaa...this goes in the family, trust me...and she starts]

Naak chapti rang kala ya khuda tene [read tooney] kya kar dala.
Me: Hey bhagwan…Yeh aapne kiske liye likhi hai.
Gran: Soch soch [and she starts giggling like a twelve year old girl which she was about 60 years ago].
Me: He he he…unko bataya aapne…chidhe nahi woh?
Gran: Maine pehle hey bhagwan likha tha. Unhone Ya khuda karvaya [My Grandad rocks at Urdu and other stuff]
Me: Waah naani waah. Chaap [IITK lingo. Couldn't help it then] diya aapne.
Gran[Amitabh learned this from her]: Haayein?
Me: Eee… Kuchh nahi.
Gran/Me: [censored because in this part she asks me about my studies. So just when I thought she is in her twelve year old girl role, she becomes the strict teacher which she was for over 50 years]

[And after a few moments...]

Gran: Tu aa jaa re ek-do din ke liye Indore. Tere ko dekhna hai mujhe. Tu aayega phir apan mil ke gayenge [Yo man! She's back] Dhanne dhanne re Ingrez thari… [and both of us start laughing and then she started on the part that sort of...amused me I would say]

Dekh aa ja phir tu sasuraal vapas chala jayega…

Me[could have given the chhora ganga kinaare waala a run for his paan] Haayein??
Gran: Arey Kanpur tera sasuraal hai na. [He he he]
Me: Naani…he he he…kya aap bhi

[All right. I am uncomfortable here. Why? There is a girl in my batch and department who is from Kanpur. Rest is obvious. Gran obviously doesn't know this though. Vaise us bandi ko bhi junta Naani hi bulaati hai ]
Gran: Chaap diya naa…
Me: Haayein??! [What the hell! She's gone crazy]
And then after promising her that I would come sometime soon…we called it a day. By the way, that Sasuraal thing rocks man

Yours Truly

Bachaoo…

For a long time now, my ambience has been infected by girls of a particular name:Neha. I have seen several Nehas and am fed up now because of one reason or the other. come on girls you can have other names. Anyway there is a friend of mine:Nikhil. This guy fell for a girl [who else] Neha. And whenever he talks to me, he keeps Nehifying me because he knows how much I ‘love‘ Nehas [:(]. For example if he wants to say: Sahi hai yaar, he would say: sEhi hai yaar. Or: Nahi hai yaar will get replaced by nEhi hai yaar. And similarly several other nehified phrases. This happens almost every time we chat. However THE blow came today and the chat has been put up below with minor modifications:

Nikhil: Mere bhai ki shadi ho rEhi hai
Me: Arey sahi. [Fearing impending doom] Please…please…bhabhi ka naam Neha nahi hai. Please yeh bol de.
Nikhil: [:)]
Me [dying?]: Kya? Oh no!
Nikhil: [:P]
Me: Teri…[abusive language]
Nikhil [with sadistic pleasure]: hahahahhaa
Me[Pleading]: Unhe bol naam change kare.
Nikhil: hahahahahha
Me: Abe ravan ke baap.
Nikhil[really now, like Ravan]: hahahhahaha
Me[fearing the worst]: Kya naam hai bhaabhi ka sahi bata.
Nikhil: sEhi me be…Neha
Me: boo hoo hoo
Nikhil: Second name is Kothari.
Me [I hadn't given attention to second name thing]: Kab peechha chhootega mera Neha-o se
Nikhil: Neha Kothari
Me[ Nearing a heart attack]: Kya??!! Kya ?? Arey [abusive language]…

God can be cruel [:P]…
Yours truly.

Bhains ki taang!

En route Bhopal:

I was returning to Bhopal after doing my internship at Indore. I was in a sleeper coach bus and the road was so bad that no one could sleep in that sleeper coach except for this one guy who was on the same seat as mine. He was soundly sleeping (or so I guess) while we all were rolling here and there like football in a field because the road was so bad. It was so bad that instead of Highway it could as well have been called as Khaaiway. So anyway, this guy is sleeping and my head is lolling arbitrarily and then suddenly – a bump on the road and my leg goes and hits the guy in the stomach. He sits up almost instantly as the color drains off my face and says loudly: “Bhains ki taang!” (Buffalo’s leg).

I look at him with an innocent face and say, “Nahi Sir…meri hai ” (No Sir, it’s mine.)

The guy tried to give a faint smile and went back to sleep and I went back to rolling and falling here and there.

Prologue – The Ocean’s call

The beach is a beautiful place. I often go there just before sunset and watch the sun going down in the ocean. I watch the waves rising and falling down crashing on rocks that lie albeit removed from the beach. I watch the people enjoying the ocean, roaming around as milling crowd or sometimes alone. They lie in the sun, enjoying the warmth or go near the waves for ocean’s cool feel with the wind touching their faces. They talk, shout, sing, play, run, laugh and cry. And I watch them. I see young boys and girls making sand castles, their joy when the castle is built and the tears when the ocean takes back what it gives to the shore. I see several people going into the ocean, riding the waves and the idea seems ludicrous.  

Every time I go there, the ocean beckons me. It calls me. But I never dive in. Some say that a person should take the plunge at least once while the others tell me not to go. They are afraid of the ocean and they haven’t taken a plunge. I am confused. Should I go in? Something holds me back. The fear of drowning, the thought of people waiting back home for me or is it just that the fear of other people has pervaded me?  I don’t know and I just stand on the beach. I let the waves wash my feet as I see the sun moving towards the horizon. I like that touch and from that I imagine what treasures the ocean has. And I contemplate what it means to take a plunge. But I never dive in and I don’t know what it’s like to ride the waves, to be free as the wind. I don’t know, what it is…to be. 

 But the ocean has never stopped from trying to convince me.  It’s as if it knows that someday I would shed the fear and embrace the waves. In that hope, it keeps giving the call. Only I haven’t answered as of yet. Something holds me back. But soon the sun will go down the horizon. The tide will recede and the ocean would be too far out. Should I dive in? What if I drown and those waiting for me never find out? But what if I come back with shells and pearls? I will never know that until I take my chances. Should I take my chances?

–

Inspired by Sabya. He does the same in lesser words and a better way.

Snippets

-Why do you want to meet her?-

 

Rohan: Why do you want to meet her?

Me: Why do I want to meet Kanika or Anshul?

Rohan: Kanika is your sister and Anshul is your friend while she is neither your sister, nor a friend.

Me: Hmm…I suppose that’s the thing.  I don’t know who she is. May be I want to know that. That’s why I want to meet her.

 

-Big, bad world.-

Me: The world is a bad place. Isn’t it Rohan?

My tone had a clear tone of sarcasm but Rohan missed it.

Rohan: Yeah. The world is a big bad place.

Me: And you think that every morning when you wake up.

This time I couldn’t help the smirk on my face but Rohan was looking elsewhere. What he said had a deep impact on me.

Rohan: Every morning when I wake up I think that I have many problems…but I am not troubled by them. 

 

In the legs of a legend

I have always thought that going through all the lectures is a feat by itself and I deeply respect those who achieve it. In the first semester there used to be a kind of enthusiasm about attending lectures. For MTH 101 we used to line up at L1 gate. There used to be a Theory of Machines class for Mechanical Engineering students of the Y2 batch in L1 before the MTH 101. Professor Shunmugraj used to take MTH 101 for Section A but his style of teaching and the never fading mustached smile on his face attracted the students of Section B as well so much so that the L1 used to be packed to its capacity with junta filling the floors as well as the teachers’ chair. Hence the junta used to lineup at the L1 gate so as to get in as early as possible and the rest their posteriors on the chairs before anyone else could. During one of these line-up drills yours truly was nearest to the gate and some devil of a batch mate pushed the line and before I could realize what was going on, I was on the floor, out flat and in the legs of Professor Mallik who was taking the Theory of Machines class. He took me by the collar and as I stood up, I did something which was to turn the next ten minutes into a full-fledged nightmare: I grinned! That simple toothy smile was enough to enrage Mallik Sir. You can think of what must have followed. To the best of my memory, it proceeded as below:                   

ME: [grinning] Ehh…

MALLLIK SIR: [enraged] You are laughing! You are laughing! How dare you laugh after doing this. You disturbed my class and you are laughing. 

He pushed me in front of the class. Everybody was looking at me. If it had been some other place and some other time, everybody would have found this funny but with Mallik Sir teaching, things always become a bit different. So here I was, a fat boy in his first semester scared out of his wits with his seniors and a very senior professor giving him murderous looks. I didn’t know what to do or to speak. But Mallik Sir knew: 

MALLIK SIR: [to his class, pointing at me] Look at him! I don’t know what has happened to the students these days. [To me now] You don’t deserve to be in this place. Are you listening? You don’t deserve to be in this place. Grinning after doing mischief. 

I could as well have been in hell. But I don’t blame him. After having been to his classes for two courses now I now realise the reason for his anger. He must have thought that me or me and some of my ‘similar’ mates had pulled off this act thus disturbing the whole study environment to create which he takes so much pains.  

I was standing there sweating all over when he directed me to a seat lying vacant in the front row and he went back to teaching. The period bell, which rang the moment he turned away from me couldn’t have been more welcome.  My friends, who had been standing outside cosily all this while came in as the Y2 junta went away. They all looked at me as if I were a museum artifact on display what with my sweaty forehead and shivering body. I will never forget those ten minutes. However my ordeals with Mallik Sir were far from over. In some other post I will describe two more incidents which involve me and Sir. Bye.

How to dress up a guy in ten minutes…

During one of the TA101 Drawing sessions in my first semester I came face to face with Professor C.V.R. Murthy. I was entering the drawing hall when I ran into him. Having missed all the morning classes, I barely managed to wake up and rush in for the lab. Naturally, I was in the superman attire composed of a loose T, equally miserable payjama-type baggy pants and the ususal Hawai Chappal. Now close your eyes for a minute and imagine a usual IITK guy strolling aroung MT or any of the Halls ( leave GH and Hall 6 though ). Obviously this was no way to enter the academic area but I did that fearing that I would be late for the session. So I climb up the stairs leading to the drawing hall in my great party-wear, stinking all over like a skunk due to sweat and panting like a mad bull. Professor Murthy, who was just near the door of the Hall stopped me as I entered the Hall. Behind him the entire batch of his section had just started to draw stuff.  

CVRM: [looking at me from top to bottom and back to top again] Arey arey kahan ja rahe ho? As he addressed me, his entire section left the drawings and started to look at me. 

ME:[puzzled] Sir I am going in for the drawing session.

CVRM:[looking at me as if he will have me for good now] What! You came here for TA101 lab! Are you a student?!

ME:[certainly going nuts now; the entire class is now looking at me] Yes sir I am a student.

CVRM:[he has me now] What the hell! You are a student? You look like a worker here. Are you sure you are a student?

ME:[frustrated and feeling insulted; shucks!!! Some of the class came forward for a better look as if I were a medical specimen about to be dissected] Yes sir, I am a student.

CVRM:[in a pacifying tone] Beta look at yourself. What kind of clothes you have put on? This T-shirt and payjama…this chappal…this is no way to dress up for a lecture or a lab. Don’t you have other clothes?

ME:[ashamed of myself now] No sir. I mean yes sir. I mean I gave them to the washerman sir. When you are in living hell, you can’t even come up with a good excuse. On listening this he looked ominous. He was having a fields day anyway. 

CVRM:[trying to look amazed but instead he looks sarcastic which he actually is right now] Are you telling me that you gave all your clothes to the washerman and none of them were left?

ME:[In the middle of nowhere now] Sir I gave most of them.

CVRM: And you gave your shoes as well to him I suppose?

ME:[wishing that the whole hall collapsed at the very moment] No sir.

CVRM: So why these chappals? You are a grown up now. No one is going to dress you up here. You have to take care of yourself. I am allowing you this time. Next time come properly dressed or do not come at all.

ME:[just about to collapse myself] Yes sir. Sorry sir. 

What an ordeal! I was so ashamed. I felt humiliated in front of the entire class with there eyes boring into me. I was angry but I thought about this later and I realised that Professor Murthy was entirely correct. Next week, I dressed up properly, reached the lab on time and went straight to Professor Murthy. He looked at me from top to bottom and smiled in approval. I returned the smile and went to my desk, happy.

It is really necessary to dressup properly for the daily freak outs like lectures and labs and for any other occasion outside the informalities of your room. I always remember this incident before dressing up for things like PPTs or Presentations. I will never forget it.

Of surprise quizzes and cool professors

My friend Rajil was at SAC, sitting in a corner, relaxing after directing a particularly heavy practice session for his Department’s Freshers’ Party. Earlier that day he had had a surprise quiz which being a surprise quiz (a surprise for him alone as it turned out later) landed him with another of those now usual ziphers. The heat of the day and the frustration of doing bad on a quiz were driving him nuts. One of his other friends came to him and they started talking. He asked Rajil as to why he was so frustrated so Rajil told him the surprise quiz thing. The only problem was that it was not all so straight. Rajil added as many praises for the blood relations of the Professor concerned as possible to vent out my frustration. The point was: How could he take a surprise quiz when it was not told in the beginning of the course that there would be surprise quizzes ( may be that was the surprise element )? As he was speaking and making obscene gestures, he felt a soft pat on his shoulder. Rajil looked at his friend who was dumbstruck. Then Rajil looked behind and suddenly knew what it meant to be dead: 

MAN AT THE BACK: [he is the professor actually] Nahi yaar. Dekho beta maine pichhli class me bataya tha quiz ke baare me. Surprise quiz nahi thi yaar woh. 

What could Rajil have said! He had lost all sense. The professor was speaking direct to him after having heard all that Rajil was speaking about him. What were the odds for this to happen? I would have wanted to vainsh in thin air if it had happened to me. But as it turned out, Professor neatly ignored what had been said and moved on. Rajil was relieved and still wonders about one thing and it is this: Why, of all the department’s several faculty members, did he have to come to SAC to look at the preparations? 

Of prime movers and Bhagvad Geeta

This incident happened to one of my friends during one of the Introduction to Profession lectures. Now my friend has the ability to sleep anywhere, anytime and in any position. He has been known to sleep while standing during demonstrations in TA201 lab. Some people say that he was found sleeping while urinating in one of the toilets of Library. He was found sleep walking towards GH recently (for obvious reasons). So sleeping in lectures is a very minor feat for my friend. It so happened that the lecture was being taken by Professor B.P. Pundir who was very strict regarding sleeping in classes. I was sitting next to my friend and I had to nudge him in the ribs every now and then to wake him up so that the Professor did not notice him sleeping in the lecture. Professor Pundir was discussing Prime Movers and so, just to know whether we knew anything about them he asked us as to what a Prime Mover is? His eyes scanned the entire classroom so I nudged my friend in the ribs. He woke up with a start and saw the slide on the screen titled: “What is prime mover?” So without thinking twice, my friend spoke: 

BHATT: Sir God is the prime mover. 

The whole class and Professor Pundir looked at him. I couldn’t make head or tail of what my friend had suddenly proclaimed. The entire class went abuzz with murmurs. Professor Pundir however went berserk.

PROF:[Indignantly] What!! What are you saying? 

BHATT:[without realising that the Professor is angry, he went on to explain what he had just said] Sir for example when our bike breaks down, we pray to God to make it good again. And then it gets repaired. 

I was certain by now that my friend was out of his senses. He was sleeping anyway. Half the class was laughing at what appeared to them a funny and silly explanation. Not Professor Pundir. He was angry beyond anyone I had seen before. 

PROF:[exploding] What the hell!!! Keep this philosophical BS out of my class! I am amazed as to how can young people like you utter acompletely non-sensical thing like this. I don’t know where you people are going.  

BHATT:[realising the gravity of the situation now and as fresh as a flower after rain showers] But Sir…

PROF:[as before] You talk about God. Do you know what the Geeta says? Before he could start lecturing on Bhagvad Geeta, my friend cut in: 

BHATT:[Sri Krishna couldn’t have put it in a better tone]

???????? ??????????? ?? ????? ??????
?? ???????????????? ?? ?? ????s????????????? 

PROF:[amazed and angry at the same time] You know it. Even then…Work is everything young man. Karma is everything. Forget relying on God. You have to do everything yourself. [although that’s not the meaning of the shloka]

BHATT:[his face like a dead flower now] Sorry Sir. 

The class was dumbfounded. They couldn’t believe what had just happened. But it had happened all the same. We discussed it for the rest of the week, jibing at my friend while he made it a point to not to sleep through Introduction to Profession lectures. But overall he hasn’t changed much. It’s been three years now and he snores happily whenever he feels like taking a nice old nap. It’s just that waking up from sleep and not sleep itself can prove disastrous sometimes. This was one of those times.

The next great adventure

He was ancient and very weak. But he suddenly woke up from his sleep, got up from the bed and began walking with his spine bent as usual, the walking stick in his hand. He came to the middle of his room at my village home and then suddenly the walking stick fell from his hand and vanished, he stood tall, the bent in his spine no longer there. His white dhoti was shining and there was a radiance on his face. I felt uneasy with the vision. Suddenly the room vanished from view and as I was seeing a chariot driven by horses. I saw the charioteer release the horses and I knew no more.
______________________________________________________________________
‘What sort of adventures?” asked my friend from Delhi when I told her that life was going good and that I was having adventures, almost daily. Just the day after my grandfather too had an adventure. He died.

I woke up in the morning and went to the Hall of my home at Bhopal.

My mother was crying, sitting at the edge of the deewan. My father, however, looked calm and composed. He gave me the news. It was as if I already knew. I didn’t cry because somewhere in my heart I felt that he needed it. We left for the village immediately.

My uncle and brother were sitting near him preventing flies from sitting on him. As I climbed up the stairs, my grandmother started crying. My uncle was crying silently as was my brother. My mother started crying again and my father, who hadn’t shed a single tear by then, melted. ‘Dono bhai subah subah hume doodh bana ke dete the,‘ he had remarked about Grandfather and his brother when we were cruising along in the car.

I noticed that my grandfather was not looking any different from what he looked like when I had talked to him just three days before his death. Only difference was that he was not coughing or struggling hard to make himself understood. There was a big clot near his left eye due to him meeting the deep just before he measured it.

I noticed that I was not crying. I don’t know why but I didn’t cry during my entire stay at the village. Others cried, even my younger brother, but I didn’t. If you are thinking that this is a sign of strength then let me correct you. It isn’t. I didn’t cry and it suffocated me. Something wanted to come out of me but it’s still in there even as I write this post.

His last rites were performed. I was amazed at the number of things Hindus have to do when a person dies. His clothes were changed after the body was bathed, symbolically though. Heads of my father, uncle, brother and me were shaven. Then at the scheduled time he was put on the arthi and taken to the village shamshaan. The chita was made and he was put on it. More logs were put on him and then began the last yagya of his life. Yes the last rites are a form of yagya. Although no mantras were chanted but the Gayatri system of rites suggests last rite mantras as well. Kapal kriya was done. It resembles the poornahuti to the yagya. We stood there for a long time. It was raining but the chitasthala had a tin shade. People were crying, me too, but only due to the smoke that was going in the eyes and working as irritant. Or was it just me thinking that it was smoke?

The next day we went to collect ashes and bones in a sack which was to be taken to Sangam later. The sack now had a man once living. Some other rites were performed. Then we came back home. We had Uthavana on the third day. We went to the village temple. I thought about why Hindus do or have to do these rites and social gatherings, mrityubhoj et cetera. I saw that my father and his brothers were busy in managing things. Even my little brother was busy looking at the people who had gathered. The females were busy preparing the food. I got my answer. The ancients really were wise. It gives the grieving family a psychological freedom from grief. It gives them something to live for. It might be taxing economically these days but it nevertheless succeeds in its actual purpose. I felt my head bow in honor of the ancients.

Life is mortal. I am not telling a new thing but at times such as this, this truth strikes big. My grandfather probably never realised this. Till the end of his days he was worried about my sister’s marriage, about grandmother’s health, about my uncle’s work and about other things. He was a perfect family man. This is why he was burnt and not buried. Very few people know that in Hindu tradition only family men are burnt. The sanyasis are buried.

That day I sat in the hall of the village home. The room where he spent most of his time in his last days. In the very last days all his daily chores were done in this room. The room had a vacant spot now. His bed had been removed and a dari was put there where my grandmother was sitting. She would cry everytime a visitor came: a conditioned response I thought. But I didn’t cry.

It rained all evening. The village dog was crying but I didn’t cry for the man. I didn’t cry for the man who had distributed home made sweets and kheer to the whole village when I was born about nineteen years ago.

I gave her a letter

Another letter, this time written by me to my friend Kittu. I and Kittu were good friends. We had gone to some school for a competition. They had some beautiful paintings on display and she asked me, while looking at some of those paintings, ”What do these paintings mean?” I did not answer at that time but later I gave this to her:

_______________________________________________________________________

Life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved. Same is with a painting. A painting must be lived and not merely be understood. This is because only a monotonous, dead thing can be understood and not lived. This is not the case with painting. A painting is colorful ( as life is ) and is unquoatable, unsaid, unrevealed. A painting is not just a fiddle of colors. As I said above, it is colorful and this means it has many insights just like life has. Different people see different patterns in the same painting and hence interpret it differently. It is very similar to what they do to life. Different people live life differently.
The meaning of a painting lies in the eyes of the beholder. It is not absolute and hence in the absence of an observer, its meaning nullifies ( quite solipsistic ). I mean to say, the painting has a meaning because the observer has attached a meaning to it.Of course, a painting preserves in itself, the sole expression of its painter but once it has been painted, it no longer belongs to the painter but to the heart which is common to all. From here onwards, the painter himself is an observer.

A true painter never paints to make people understand but he paints just to express himself. It is the abstract feeling of his mind, soul, heart which find expression in a painting. Abstractness seldom finds expression. But whenever it finds expression in the very domain of seldomness, it is difficult to appreciate, understand and overall to live it. Paintings which simplify this are ‘good’. This is why ‘good’ paintings are rare, why caricatures are widespread compared to paintings and why there are more cartoonists than painters.

The feelings of painter are the patterns and the colors that we see on the canvas.As the painting preserves the originality and genuinity of expression filled in it by its painter, one way to understand a painting is to keep yourself in place of the painter. Painting then becomes the feeling that the painter wanted his soul to understand or to be more precise, live. So next time you see a painting do not just try to understand it, but live it, with you as the painter.

We are all paintings, hanging on the walls of life with nails of obligations. Whatever that may be, these paintings made by the master painter are all good and beautiful, you being the best of them.

_______________________________________________________________________
I made this reply to her in the form of a letter that I gave her when we got out of the school bus at our bus stop ( we had the same bus stop ). She took it and promised to read. Few days later I asked her the fair copy of this piece back and she said NO because it had been added by her to her collection of writings. This was the first and the last letter I ever wrote to her. After that we went different paths and it has been a long time since I last met her.

He gave me a letter

Hi,

I don’t know what I will be writing or may be I know, I am not sure. But I am sure you will probably understand what I want to say. When I will hand on this letter to you, you will remember that once I said that I wanted to say something. Then you will remember a lot many things.

I have done things that do not make me feel very nice about me. May be, I won’t be able to act in the best manner possible but what I can do is do what I can because I want it so. You have been one of the best persons I met so far in my life, a good friend. Things happened, things changed. I will like to a poem here… or let it be. I have been trying to change things again, probably they were. Then I just wanted to see it happening and not say a word. I expected you to understand without me saying anything.

This was all I wanted to say to you in person but couldn’t, I don’t know why. It just delayed the things. Well, this is it. Nothing more to say. I will watch things happening.

You are a very good person, I know that. Wishing you Best of luck.

abs. 07/02/06

Best of Luck.

_______________________________________________________________________

He gave me this letter and he left. We used to be together but we parted. He went with someone else and I never knew the reason. Neither did he tell me about where I was wrong, what was my fault or things like that. But then he gave me this letter one day. We could have been better. We could have had great time together but it didn’t happen. I still do not understand the “why” thing in the whole event but it is no longer significant. We are on different trails…trails which will never intersect from whatever we know now.

The XY factor

 

Somebody once said “Mechies are destined to be gay.” Looking at the state of affairs at IITs I certainly believed it ( note that I don’t follow it so you can be sure that I am no fairy ). In the IIT system, the light ( I mean a girl ) first came to the department in 1981 ( they ran news articles in the papers with pictures of the brave lady) . It was thought that the perspective might change after the guts the first lady showed however it hasn’t changed much. Looking at the batches at IITK, one is bound to be gay! The batchwise NMC ( None Male Count and this is a term coined by this humble blogger ) for recent batches goes thus:

Y1 : 3
Y2 : 0*
Y3 : 1
Y4 : 2
Y5 : 0*( I think some girls in the Y2 batch got their branch changed to Mech. Monomita Di?? Someone from IITK, plz correct me on this.)

 

However, this november came with another ray of hope. The IITK chapter of AME ( Association of Mechanical Engineers ) publishes its monthly newsletter by the name AMEN ( AME Newsletter ). I was sleeping in my room when somebody slipped in this shitpage. I woke up and picked it up. The front contained the usual bullshit about a Prof winning some schol. There was this interview with the Director of CMMACS ( Communion of Mathematical Mads And Cynical Stupids was what I thought to be the full name but it turned out to be Center for Mathematical Modeling And Computer Simulation ) about research scenario in India and things like that. Bored, I was about to show it the dustbin when luckily I turned the page and saw this :

 

 

 

SPEAK OUT

TA201 is the machining and manufacturing course being offered to students in their 3rd semester. The course is different from rest in respect that it involves practical application along with bookish knowledge. The major onus of the projects lies on the students themselves, giving them a brush to deal with machines to manufacture the various components. Innovation met with time and ability constraint is a trying situation indeed. So what we are left with is redundancy, the old ideas being modified a bit. In the end students have gone for the time tested ideas. Nevertheless, the students are working enthusiastically on the project. But can the project be truly called as an ‘innovation’? The answer to this question lies in the hands of time.

Seeing from our perspective, the labs are quite interesting and exciting, despite an apprehension arisen after the frequent questioning,“How would you (being girls) manage in the labs?” As for now it looks more of skill than mere brawn work. It’s a myth that girls find it difficult working in TA labs. We have no less interest or enthusiasm than our peers.

( Isha Ghai & Surbhi Goel )

Although the sex ratio is lopsided in all the departments, the Department Of Mechanical Engineering seems to be specializing in repelling girls. With almost all of the Mechies being XY chromosomed, most of us poor guys spend hours and hours worth of classes without seeing a single woman our age. Profs are all we get in those hours of mental slumber. May be, some girl out there reads this, gets inspired ( or conspired ) by Isha and Surbhi and decides to be brave. Do us some good buddie. Mech’s cool. Talk about swindlers, here’s one!!

PS: Why am I posting so late? Afterall, this newsletter came out in November. Well it was lost in the tonnes of pages dumped in my room. Today I was looking for some waste paper to make paper aeroplanes and luckily fished out this. Worth a post, that newsletter.

Principal Madam is calling

I was then in 11th standard. This is the level when an Indian science student starts preparing for competitive exams. Well I and many others had taken the job and we used to skip school to study an extra bit ( might sound awkward but it did help ). I attended school when I was bored and wanted some fun ( and I felt bored quite often ) or when we had labs or when there were exams or quizzes. Do not get a wrong impression of the school. Most of us had been there for over eight years and were giving consistent results so over teachers had full faith on us and thus allowed this independence. However, I was not proud of this situation but this situation is common for lakhs of students who go for competitives.

The occasional presence policy had made me and my friends over mischievous. We wanted to get maximum fun from the school time. Also, there were girls to tease and impress and we got the time for it only at school. School girls are good looking you see, or I should say this and the college period that follows is the time when most of the girls look good ( that by the way was the definition of youth given by a famous Indian Urdu poet ). My policy to that was, make them laugh or do something that will make them think about me when they go home. I was greatly helped in this by the post that I held : I was the VICE HEAD BOY of school. In a way, I was responsible for the discipline in school but I myself did not have merest trace of discipline soyou can think of the way I feld my disciplinary responsibility. Dance was the punishment that I gave out to those who broke silly school rules. They enjoyed it and were thoroughly encouraged to ‘follow’ school rules.

Being an office bearer, juniors and my batchmates took my word seriously. And I abused this as you will see. My class was on the second floor.One day, I came back from lunch and the second bell had just gone. Everybody in the class was chattering. It was a free period and the rest of the floor was quiet. I got an idea and a grin flashed across my mind..what fun! I went inside the class and banged the door. The big, loud “baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanng” that I liked so much. The chattering stopped at once. All looked at the door, probably expecting a teacher but they saw me and one of them said, “Its only Arvind yaar”. “Its only Arvind yaar,”I mimicked in a mock baby voice and said,”You all were talking so loudly that the stairs carried away the noise you were making. Principal ma,am heard and she is calling all of you. Line up! I don’t know what she will do to me..huh..cann’t manage my own class.” I screwed my face and said this very seriously. The whole class was horror-stricken.Kalsi madam, our principal, was very strict.

I could see that they had been taken in because the line up had started. Someone, probably Kulwinder asked me,”Are you serious Arvind? This is a joke isn’t it?” There I saw what it meant to lose the color of face in horror and fear. Their expressions were perfect. I replied,”Its no joke.I am seious and if you have any doubts then wait here and ma’am herself will clear them along with you.” The doubts ended.I led the line halfway through the staircase. Everyone was dead as a lamb. I stopped at the only landing, turned back and looked at them.They held their faces in confusion.

“Why have you stopped now?”

I stepped back, nearer to the next flight and said, serious as ever,”Where are you all going? Be in the class.This is neither games period, nor the activity period.”

“What!!?? You said the principal called us.”

“When did I say so? Nobody has called you.And now please get back to the class or you will be.”

They looked as if they would kill me. Face expressions of a bull ready to rampage. Banging fists and heads and calling me names they went back to the class, cursing me. Its the friendship that we all had that forbid them complaining me though to forget about being fooled is not that easy. I went back to the class and after a few minutes of yelling, leg bombs and cursing, they digested the joke and we all were laughing our heart out. I skipped the school for a few days and got back to have a good laugh

Cracking of the scale

Here is an incident from my school days.

In those days, there used to be two bells in School which denoted the end of recess. First bell was a warning bell which meant that students should now pack-up lunch boxes and should start going to classes. The second bell was the recess end bell and it also marked the start of a void five to ten minutes session between recess and the sixth period. Now, my class teacher had told us ( the students ) to close the door after second bell so that those not in time stay outside till the teacher taking the sixth period came. I was one of the ( two ) monitors and took class teacher’s command to heart.

One day, while I, Rahul Sukhani and few others were in the class, the second bell went out and we closed the door. A few minutes later there was a knock on the class door.

“Who is it?”

“Its me, Nasreen. Open the door please.”

“No. The second bell has gone, now stand outside and get scolded.”

“It has not gone yet jackass. Open the door.”

“Nope.”

“Okay, we will see for this.”

And I thought that Nasreen went away. I was not afraid in the least because I was simply following class teacher’s orders.

Then came another knock:

“Who is there?”

“Vimal. Kholo be, kya kar rahe ho. The bell has not gone yet.”

But we had heard the bell so : “No.”

Vimal kept banging the door and he was not the only one. Several people were blocked. The outsiders kept yelling and banging the doors. I had a sudden feeling that robably those outside were right. Bell might not have gone off yet. But then I and the others determined. I, due to the monitor’s post and others, may be due to fun and sweet vengeance. Our determination faltered my sudden thought and we did not open the door.

” Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaang!!”

There was this mighty bang on the door that came crashing onto our ears amidst all the havoc that the outsiders were calling. There were loud shouts of ”Kholo..kholo..darwaza kholo varna kisi Teacher ko bula layenge” et cetera. But we were determined. I had my orders from the class teacher : the word of Moses. Those outside were now banging so hard that I thought that the door would break away and I had sudden vision of the door breaking and all the students falling in. Someone or something in me head grinned.

Away from this subconscious laughter, I realised that the hurricane outside the class had softened to few murmur like voices and there was now soft knocking on the door.

” Open the door. Quick! How dare you close it? Open it now!”

My heart sank. It was a teacher. We in the class looked at each others faces and understood each other plainly : we were goners.

“Open! Are you deaf!”

The knock this time was real hard. I felt like my pants would go off. I opened the door to my and my friends’ doom. Outside stood a teacher : Duggal Madam, our English teacher. Somebody ( probably Nasreen ) had called her. She was a towering lady, height rivaling Undertaker. The door just allowed her. Her face expression was reminiscent of a leopard ready to leap on its prey. I looked at her and then at her hand. She was holding a wooden scale thirty centimeters long. Behind her were the blocked students. At first they as dumbstruck as we were inside. Apparently they had not called her. The ‘bang’ had called her probably. But then I realised that all of them were actually grinning. “Now you will get it”, this was what their faces told me. Nasreen was actually laughing ( Later I learnt that she had called the teacher ).Our fate-to-be interested the outsiders so much that they didn’t even fill in. Anyway, Duggal Madam ordered – “Line up”.

“Why did you close the door?”

” Ma..am the..the c..class t..teacher told us to close the door after second bell.”

“The bell has not gone yet you fool!”

The outsiders said,” We told them that but they wouldn’t listen to us.”

” But madam we all heard it go.” All the people inside nodded.

“This means I am lying. Am I?” Suddenly the bell rang. It was the second bell. I felt my heart contort within me. How could we do such a mistake of all the things?? Meanwhile, Duggal madam went to one extreme of our line-up ( in front of the blackboard ).

” You will be punished for this mischief.”

“But ma’am we were carrying out the class teacher’s orders,” I said indignantly.

“I know. All class monitors have been given these orders. You should have double checked whether the bell had gone or not. And answer me,” she said looking at a particularly large round lump in my right pocket,” what were you doing in the class during the break?” Well, we had been playing cricket with tennis ball in the class. But I didn’t dare to tell her that or we all would then be facing the principle. Anyways she didn’t wait for the answer that I was trying to make up.

“Smack.” I felt my pants slide off. Vineet had been hit by the scale. He subsided, clutching his leg. “Smack..smack…smack.” I was dreading the scale. I was second last in the line at the right hand. Rahul was at the end. Ankur stood before me. “Smack.” She came to me and..”Smack”. I wanted to howl with pain but somehow contained it. There was a creaking noise somewhere when she had hit me. She now went to Rahul. I expected a ’smack’. She raised the scale …and…

”Craaaaack!”

The scale broke into two pieces and one of them flew straight out of the door. It was hard to contain the laughter. The look of bewilderment on her face was perfect. Rahul was smiling. All others in the line-up were having blown mouths, trying hard to stop laughing while those outside had drifted sideways, clutching their chests. She was dumbstruck, looking at ‘ what-was-left-of ‘ the scale. Then she looked at Rahul, amazed. But then, Rahul was certainly hard-built and fat. Not for nothing did we call him ‘elephant’.