fitsoffantasy

Trafficking in Pune

2009-04-26T14:40:00.011+05:30

Ask anyone what he despises most about Pune and the answer would be "Traffic"**.Without intending to sound vainglorious, I am proud of the fact that I have lived in quite a few cities in India. Which brings me to the most common vexing question. Is my dad an armyman? Unfortunately, he isn't. Fortunately, he doesn't work for a bank either. For that matter, none of my parents do.

Getting back to the point, Pune probably has a traffic which is worse than any other city. Personally, the list of things that I dislike (euphemism for hate) about Pune could become endless. However, traffic would definitely qualify for a podium finish. And for a change, roads are not the real problem. In defence of the Pune-ites, it can be said that the roads are definitely narrow in some parts of the town. There are speed breakers which would be best described as blink-and-you-miss and some road dividers that are barely visible. The entire logic of invisible-traffic-controllers seems to be founded on the "shock and awe" doctrine.

Residents of Pune belong to a peaceful race that lives in love and harmony. What gets their adrenaline pumping is the idea of driving on their own roads. For any proud Puneite, any Pune road is like his own backyard. She has her own set of traffic rules and abides by them religiously. When caught in a traffic jam, she is highly likely to mistake the accelerator for the brake and thereby ram her vehicle against the rear of another parked in front of her. This sets off a trigger reaction which actually helps clear the traffic. The casualties are the smaller two wheelers which mostly belong to the student community. Who cares about them anyway?
The two wheelers, on the other hand are no less enterprising. In Pune, you are considered cool if you can squeeze your bike in the space between 2 cars moving parallel on what ideally should have been a one-car-at-a-time road. Narrower the gap, higher is your coolness quotient.The narrowest of gaps have led some bikers to the OTs. Even as the doctors are amputating their legs, they would insist that

1. They still ride better than 90% of the Pune-ites (The scary thing is that they are RIGHT!)
2. There was only one car in front of them

Statistically incorrect it may be, but the fact is that 75% Pune-ites are better than average drivers . To further spice up things, Pune has recently been hit by a gang of girls who love to call themselves the biker-gang, as quoted by Pune Mirror. No, I am not making this up! What do they do? Flout the rules, flaunt your coolness!

The traffic lights in Pune also work according to their own whims and fancies. To the credit of the Puneite, she doesn't care two hoots about the traffic signal. For her, it’s always blaring green. She doesn’t know any Massa, any Schumacher or lately, any Vettel. For that matter, she would also love to ignore the local mamu (a traffic constable for the uninitiated). Which is where the lady luck betrays her.

The way the traffic constable operates in Pune is no less than the way a secret unit carries out some covert operations on the battlefield. He would be conspicuously missing from the traffic outposts he is supposed to be manning. Be forwarned. He would be lurking around in some corner waiting for you to commit an offence. And if you happen to be sporting a number plate that belongs to some other Indian state, you are doomed.

Mamu: Do you have an NOC (No Objection Certificate)?
She (the qunitessential Tam Brahm driving a santro with a TN number plate): Yes, here it is.
Mamu: License? PUC (Pollution Under Control? Vehicle Papers?
She: Yes, here they are!
Mamu: Voter ID card? Ration card? Employee ID? Medical Insurance Card? Passport? Marriage Certificate?
She: Scavenges through her Luis Vuitton and manages to fish out everything.
(Failure to produce even one single document calls for a heavy penalty as per Pune Traffic norms)
Mamu (exasperated) starts ranting in Marathi: … kutthes?... kartos? ….kutthes-kartos combined?

She:Abuses him in the filthiest of Tamil possible

Mamu(anger oozing out from evey pore of his face):… kutthes?... kartos? ….kutthes-kartos combined?

She: I am sorry. I don’t understand Marathi.
Mamu (with a victorious smile): Techincally speaking you have to shell out some 2000 bucks but we can settle it for 500.
The woman goes on to feign bankruptcy and the deal is finally settled at 300 bucks. The mamu then proceeds to give her a receipt printed on a paper which is the pinkiest pink imaginable. She is free to scoot away breaking all speed barriers before the next mamu intercepts her.

**Information Source: Pg 24 of Pune Mirror. The same page that carries "ask the sexpert" column. Period.
PS: For those who were tempted by the title of the post into reading this,my apologies :)
PPS: The stress on one particular gender is not at all coincidental. It has been done based on prior experience and some relevant research. However, it is open to argument.

Vasota - Done and Dusted!

2009-04-14T22:54:00.012+05:30

This is what the victory board perched atop Vasota proudly proclaims. Before commenting on the importance of the entire comment, let me translate it into english for the convenience of people who fumble with Hindi. "Not only is it very difficult to get to the top of the Vasota peak, it is nearly impossible. Only the toughest of the characters have managed to reach here and read this board (Shivaji included)".

Trekking in the summers won't make it to the list of the "100 most crazy ideas of the last decade" but still would finish pretty close.

For all those who are contemplating a trek to Vasota in the near future, the following digest should serve you handy.
Wake up very early in the morning - as soon as your flatmate wakes you up. If your flatmate oversleeps, then the two of you would do well to not interact for the next few days. If you are living alone, which is more because nobody wants to share an accomodation with you, forget about being a part of any such trekking expeditions. Try as much as you can, people will still find ways to somehow unintentionally forget you on the D day. The entire trek is fraught with dangers and challenges.

Challenge 1-Marathi: It's always a safe practice to have someone in the group who understands and converses well in the local dialect - Marathi. The peculiar thing about Maharashtra is the similarity between the names of places. Just to ensure that you are going to the right place, always remember to suffix the name of the place you intend to go to with the names of a few famous landmarks in and around that place. In case of Vasota, you should phrase your question somewhat like this "Which bus goes to Bamnoli? Base camp to Vasota? Vasota - trek. Vasota - tiger, squirrel, wild dogs etc etc". And finally, "Vasota - Shivaji!!". If this doesn't work, be sure that no such place exists on the map.
The Next Challenge: Finding the bus that can take you to the village of Bamnoli from Satara. By the time you reach Satara, you would have realised that Marathi is not afterall the dialect of the masses. It can be described as a mix between Cherokee, Edo, Faroese,Mari and the likes. All this means that you can now only converse in sign language.
Bus drivers, plying on these rural routes are gifted with a practical sense of humour. They will always drop you off at a strategic point which is purportedly 10 minutes away from the actual destination. However, an hour later, you are still walking and have lost half the group to heat stroke. The only way to avoid such a catastrophe is to take a private vehicle.
However, be forewarned. For the person sitting next to the driver will realise pretty soon that the gear always comes perilously close to the crotch each time the driver changes gears. So, take suitable precautions (fans of cricket will better appreciate).
Having succesfully negotiated the gears, you get down at Bamnoli and take a launch from Bamnoli to the base camp of Met Indavli - the gateway to Vasota.
Opportunity to travel by a launch is something that hardly any other trek affords. What took us totally by surprise was the presence of a watch tower along the reservoir coast. The intention is to help visitors spot the wild animals that come to the reservoir to quench their thirst. My analysis (based on experience) says that the closest that you can come to a wild animal would be a buffalo.

The First Frontier - Met Indavli: To the credit of the forest office, it must be said that the tents erected at Met Indavli are really huge and for the most part-comfortable. These mega tents can provide shelter to around 20 people at one go. Huge signboards alert you to the presence of Royal Bengal Tigers (No, I am not making this up!), leopards, jackals, bears and some other wild species. However, even spotting spotting a giant (just for nomenclature) squirrel is a luxury. I am somehow tempted to believe that all this is a part of some cheap publicity gimmick.
The Final Frontier:-Vasota: For the ones who are physically fit and fighting, the climb should take close to 1 hour.For those who are not, the climb takes another half an hour. To our credit, we completed the trek in a little over 2 hours. At the top there is a temple dedicated to Lord Shivaji. Then there are a few rocks here and there which once belonged to Shivaji. Ofcourse, there is an orange flag which was once held aloft by Shivaji. Technically speaking, the remnants of what were once the great Maratha forts do not really deserve to be called the ruins.They are the nothings. Everything is left to your imagination. Just when you marvel at the sight of a wall which definitely must have been Shivaji's fort, you are told that the wall had been erected only a few years back by the forest department. Hopes dashed, it's time for the been-there-done-that photo sessions. This provides you the opportunity to pose with the flag in all kinds of obscene poses, including the flag dance which is a modified version of the pole dance.
The descent is a cakewalk compared to the ascent. Steaming hot food awaits you at the base camp. For those who are religiously non -veg, nothing can get more vegetarian than this. Be prepared to swallow your egos and behave as if the food tastes like manna from heaven, for, that would form the sum and substance of the dinner conversation of the vegetarians.
Banish all grand plans of star gazing, sitting out under the stars in the open making pseudo intellectual
conversations, relating ghost stories and indulging in other kind of social activities You would be too dog tired at the end of it to do anything but hit the sheets .. err.. the dirty mattresses. Wake up very early next morning to watch the awe inspiring sunrise. [Pic Courtesy: Yours truly :)]

Straight from the horse's mouth

2009-01-24T10:49:00.008+05:30

Having somehow successfully completed what is rated by many as a difficult trek in the Sahayadris - Harishchandragadh, I believe I have arrived there. Plus, Harishchandragadh being a night trek, i think i have now become a true trekking veteran. So here is a compilation of a few do's and dont's which every novice and a not-so-novice trekker should take care of before embarking on a trek.

1. First and foremost: Ask yourself the question: Is it really worthwhile going all the way up a rocky mountain? To help you answer this question, there is a whole set of sub-questions:
a. Have you slept really well over the last week or so? You will be losing on some precious sleep during the trek. If you have already answered NO to this question, please ditch your trekking plans and instead go to a beach. Trust me, any beach, however shady/dirty it might be, Rocks!
b. Do you think you don't really need those exotic Reebok sneakers that you recently purchased at a flat 40% discount? Okay, so you are actually bored of them.? Go to the next question.
c. If you cannot make it to college/office tomorrow, will there be a good samaritan who will fill in for you? If your answer to this question is a YES, be sure (s)he is going to screw you up very soon.
d. Do you have a life insurance? Better get one soon!
e. Is there someone in your trekking group who is outrageously insisting that you have to come along on the trek? If YES, even a scatterbrained can smell something fishy.

If you are still intent on reading this post, here's the remainder of the advisory.
2. When the group is really large, it inadvertently always breaks up into smaller groups.
a.Do a headcount for each of the groups. Stick to the one with the highest number. Aliens, by virtue of being super-human and hyper-intelligent, swoop down on the smaller groups. The same doesn't necessarily hold true for the animals.
b. While walking in a file (remember the tracks are too narrow for you to walk alongside your best friend), avoid leading the file and also avoid being at the end . Aliens and animals alike, have a penchant for the first and the last. Any normal Hollywood/Bollywood flick should tell you why.

3. Always dramatise and overdo. Pretend to be in pain and act as if you are suffering a lot because of the arduous climb. Someone is bound to have pity on you and offer to carry your rucksack. Immediately offload. People change their minds relatively quick during a trek.
4. You will come across numerous short cuts which apparently cut down the time of ascent. However, bear in mind that people have fallen off crevices and lost their lives while navigating such short cuts.
5. Walk as fast as the slowest member in the group. (S)he is just being street smart and saving on some energy. The more vibrant and active members of the group are known to suffer from heat strokes and dehydration at the end of it.
6. Without intending to sound a chauvinist, the female race seems to have the sensible-trek-genes in abundance. They scout for the safest, no-thrills no-frills route. So, if possible, have atleast one female in the group. What it additionally does is, it raises the overall compassion-quotient of the entire group. This translates into frequent pitstops, loads of food and water break, by-passing of the difficult stretches of the climb and in some rare cases, leaving the trek unfinished. Which is actually good for everyone!
7. During a night trek, carry the most powerful torch possible. Snakes and insects are creepier than you can imagine. Insects, unlike animals, always have nefarious motives. The best way to deal with them is to stomp on them or bludgeon them to death with your torch. So, if you happen to be an entophile, better not go on a night trek.
8. The view from top is absolutely breath taking and awe inspiring. But that feeling is momentary. Once the novelty wears off, you can comprehend how difficult the descent is going to be for someone whose limbs refuse to move and whose energy has been totally sapped. People have been known to suffer from the NDEs (Near Death Experience for the uninitiated) after reaching the peaks. And some went into eternal meditation mode . Do you think its worth the risk?

My advisory doesn't end here. However if I have still not managed to dissuade you from embarking on some trek, then nothing else in this world can. So. MAY THE FORCES BE WITH YOU. Do leave behind a comment if you manage to come back alive and in one piece.

Ode to Poker

2008-12-08T00:03:00.005+05:30

It's often said that poetry is born out of a sudden spurt of genius. I confirm this to be true. A wholly different and debatable issue could be the quality of poetry produced as result of this sudden burst of 'talent' and 'creativity'. However, I would prefer leaving this issue of quality to the artsy people.
So, here's a hyperbolically exaggerated attempt at poetry; dedicated to that one totally entertaining long night of Poker which brought together seven dementedly bored people under the common umbrella of the crafty and bewitching game :-

The players climbed up the 'mighty' hill,
To test their strategies and skill;
The bugle was sounded at the sight of the moon,
The game wasn't ending anytime soon;

The greatest ever game of card,
Witnessed a battle fierce and hard;
Where every minute seemed like an hour,
Turned into a full fledged Poker war;
Decisions had to be made real quick,
The winner was taking limited risk;
For those who thought it was only ability,
Learnt Poker is more about Probability;

From seven, they were reduced to three,
The winner had them shrouded in total mystery;
And when everyone refused to believe,
He produced the ace up his sleeve;
Battle ended before they could have frowned,
Game over, the king had been crowned;
It was One against 'em All,
And he managed to stand tall;
In this very beautiful game of Poker,
He didn't turn out to be a choker;

Another day might well see a new start ,
Poker after all is Science mixed with art;
The battle was tough, the players all cracking,
A new day, A new winner in the making.

To fellow Poke(r)mons: You all rock! Better luck, next time :)

Baby's Day Out

2008-11-17T21:06:00.007+05:30

For all those who think that kids and babies are sweet, think again! Chance is that you never have had the misfortune of having a baby as a co-traveler. Till a couple of weeks back, i thought that babies and kids were the most adorable (not necessarily innocent) things on this earth. No More.
My perspective on kids and babies has changed and changed for the good. On a recent flight to Delhi from Bombay, i had the chance of sitting next to a mother and her baby who must have been a year old or so. The baby i mean. So there she enters the plane and fumbles through the entrance passage.All this while she somehow manages to hold onto her handbag with one hand and the necessary supplies for the baby in the other. The baby meanwhile very acrobatically manages to hold onto her mother's neck and still, as if by some magic, stops short of suffocating her mother to death. By the time the mother-baby pair manage to wriggle past other passengers and make it to the seat next to me, the mother has managed to drop a few of the items she was carrying and the baby is now almost hanging precariously from the mother's neck. It takes them another five minutes before they finally settle down thereby giving me a chance to go through the contents of a baby's basic-survival-kit. This ofcourse includes the milk bottle with milk dripping from all its sides, some white powdery material which i presume were cookies that have been battered by the baby, the quintessential diapers and a few other things with which i still cannot associate a proper name. Then there are the lego bricks which the baby seems to find more appetising than the bruised cookies; A small plastic zoo-set with plastic animals like the lion with the head missing, the elephant with an amputated leg, the camel without its hump and some other animals which had been distorted beyond recognition. My theory is that the baby will definitely grow upto be a hard core non vegetarian and somehow plastic tastes much better than farex. A few minutes into the flight and the baby decides its time to let her frustration out. To ensure that enough people take note of her frustration, she stands erect on her mother's lap and lets out a shriek that would even put Tarzan's call to shame. The mother, who seems well aware of the kid's tactic just gives me an embarassed smile but does nothing else. Once this ceremonial ritual has been completed the baby settles down into her mother's lap and gets back to her business of spilling the farex from the bottle all around in the name of drinking milk. The mother meanwhile keeps coming up with never-heard-of-before games like "Say hi to the uncle sitting next to you", "Try and sit on the lap of uncle sitting next to you", " Try and hit the uncle sitting next to you with lego bricks", "Spill some farex on the uncle's trousers" and several such variations of the game which the baby lapped up with renewed enthusiasm . In between, the baby would resort to a lot of scheming and trickery. Every time she seemed to be dozing off, i would heave a sigh of relief and the very next moment i would be hit with a barrage of lego bricks followed by the most cruel of giggles you can ever hear. The gentleman within me would immediately respond with a smile, pick up all the lego bricks and hand it back to the mother so that the kid could resume its business. In return for my kindness and my sportsman spirit, the mother would offer me a few of the battered cookies. Every 15 minutes, with clockwork regularity, the baby would start and cry for exactly 2 minutes and 27 seconds. After which, it would giggle loudly and make mocking faces at me for another 45 seconds. It would then get back to playing its cruel games.
I fervently kept praying for the flight to crash or burn out in mid air but my prayers went unanswered. The ordeal lasted exactly two hours and i could not thank my stars enough when we finally separated.

Hitchhiker's Guide to Cooking

2008-08-31T17:14:00.009+05:30

Fresh out of college life and trying to start living on your own, one is beset with a wide variety of problems and challenges. But every other challenge dwindles in front of the enormity posed by the challenge of cooking your own food. However easy it might sound, the reality is very different. So, for all newbies who are looking to enter into uncharted waters, here are a few tips (based on personal experience) which might stand them in the long run.
1. The most important thing to understand is that whosoever opined "Too many cooks spoil the broth" was an absolute genius.
2. The concept of learning does not hold true while cooking. You might have cooked an awesome curry yesterday. But if you try to replicate your feat , you might as well end up making a puke-inducing curry today. So, your learnings from yesterday don't really count.
3. Pressure can be a big detrimental factor. Ergo, you must know how to soak in the pressure caused by the high hopes people have from you. Promise only what you can deliver; never over-do
4. Always keep a mobile phone handy. You will need to call your mom every two minutes.
5. Knives and strippers ( i prefer calling them strippers rather than peelers) are more dangerous in real life than they actually seem. Unfortunately, they are indispensable.
6. Cooking is NOT in the genes. But, yes, if your mom is actually not so good a cook (no offence intended), then you better not try!
7. There is something called a safety-valve that comes with a pressure cooker. And btw, people have died in the past due to exploding pressure cookers.
8. When you go to shop for groceries, please remember to purchase burnol(an ointment applied to burns and scalds) as well.
9. Vegetable vendors are the smartest people around. Learn to keep them happy or you might end up eating potatoes that were meant for the municipality trucks.
10. Adding more salt than is necessary is blasphemous. A little less salt never killed anyone
11. N course meals (N=2,3,4,5...) sound very exciting and mouth watering. But that is where the excitement stops. A one course meal isn't all that bad.
12. Onions can be very harmful to your eyes. They go much beyond the spects
13. Exotic food tastes much better when eaten at a restaurant. So, why take risk?
14. Washing utensils doesn't come naturally. But, it can be learnt with practice. And, its also the safest option around. Becoming a pressure-cooker-washing-specialist can also earn you a lot of respect, awe and admiration.
14. Maintain a good relation with any one you can think of. This includes your newspaper-man, the security guard of your building, the nagging bai who does your household chores, your neighbour, your office colleague, your cab driver and anyone you can think of. Who knows; you might get a lunch/dinner invitation

Now, for those who are freshly starting out on their own in the city..err..town of Pune
1. Spencer's is a nice option to go shopping for your groceries as long as you aren't really looking to buy green vegetables.
2. No one really knows the source of water supplied in the taps at your home. Better be careful!
3. While in Pune, do what the Puneites do. Which is: sit and eat at any place you can think of. This also will save you the trouble of cooking.
4. Pune can be a really boring city if you run out of ideas(although this has got nothing to do with the cooking business)

I don't think a cooking guide of this sort can ever be complete. So, if you happen to read this, please feel free to add/append. All your suggestions are welcome. Also, if you gained anything out of it, please remember to call me home for dinner :)

'Sinha'gadh

2008-08-24T19:02:00.011+05:30

Sinhagadh is about 30 minutes drive from the city of Pune if you happen to travel by the same autorickshaw as we did. Besides being outrageously enterprising which meant driving at speeds in excess of 60 kmph on the very unmotorable roads of Pune, he also gave us frequent demonstrations of his ability to keep his vehicle airborne for several seconds at a go.As if this wasn't entertainment enough, he had turned on the music system which kept dishing out long-forgotten Bollywood numbers from the late 80s. So besides the driver himself, we had the melodius Kumar Sanu and Udit Narayan for company throughout the 30 minutes ordeal. By the time we reached the Sinhagadh base camp, we had been mentally wrecked.
Before embarking on this trek, we had consulted a few websites dedicated to trekking in the Sahayadris. And whosoever wrote that the climb should not take more than 45 minutes must have either been heavily doped or must have been totally out of his senses. Even if you discount me, there were still 9 others in my group who could not have made it in 45 minutes. To make matters worse, we decided to take the road less travelled. Consequently, we had to take frequent pit stops on our way to the peak. But this also provided us with the time to reflect on the journey and come up with theories to help people who decide to replicate our feat in future. For those with a financial bent of mind, there are small huts at different points along the ascent which sell nimbu-paani (the desi version of a lemonade). The cost of a glass of lemonade is inversely proportional to the height gained. The higher you get, the smaller is the amount of money you need to shell out for a glass. Second tip would be to never ask a local or someone from the NDA the time it would take to get to the top. For them its always a walk in the park. Plus the sarcastic squirm that comes for free with the reply will make the entire effort of coming all the way to the place an excercise in vain.
Once you have reached the top, the view is a spectacular. Its lush green all around and you can feel yourself walking in the clouds. To add to it, the small huts serving home cooked food. I am not a big foodie and i am not particulalry fond of Marathi food. But the marathi dish called jhunka bhakar (correct me if i am wrong) that we ate in one of the huts had a divine taste.

To go along with it was a red hot chatni which might have been fatal if consumed in moderate quantities. We lived on to tell the tale. And before i forget, we also had the pleasure to of tasting a Japanese desert called Okhabe which is made out of Soyabean and rice.The remnants of what once was Tantia Tope's fortress aren't particularly inviting because there is hardly anything left behind. The only consolation is the fact that you are seeing something that shall forever be a part of history text books.

On our return journey, our team was depleted of 4 members who backed out after the strain of getting to the top proved too much for them. This left us with just 6 people. We decided to take the safest route down. And this might sound chauvinist but we decided to follow a newly married couple (they atleast looked like one) in the hope that the lady would take the easiest route. Luckily, our hunch proved correct and we managed to stalk the couple successfully till the very end. Thereafter, the team was depleted of another four members who went off on their mobikes leaving behind me and a friend to fend for ourselves. The journey back from the basecamp to home was more excruciating than the trek itself. Besides having to change three rickshaws on our way, we had to put up with people who only spoke languages that were alien to us (read: marathi, konkani (i am guessing)). Somehow, we managed to use sign language to communicate with them where a slow nod of the head meant that we were ready to accept whatever price they quoted and a vigorous nod indicated that they should quote a price which is even higher. Any other gesture was taken as a sign of hostility. So we decided to go with the financially unviable but physically safe option of a slow nod of the head.

2 hours and 4 autorickshaws later: broken, bruised,tattered but in one piece; we reached our home safe but not sound.

Au Revoir

2008-06-17T20:58:00.001+05:30

This was one examination that shouldn't have ended. The final presentation brought down the curtains on the 5 most fruitful years of my life that i have spent at IIT. In a few days from now, i would be in some other part of the country putting up with the professional grind. And only i know how badly i will miss these days. 5 years of living in the same place, moving around with people whose company i have always craved for and attending lectures in the same building are memories that are now permanently etched somewhere.
Life at IIT may not really be what Chetan Bhagat has made it out to be. But it definitely is different. Inside the campus, there is a whole new world which is very different from the normal Bombay life. Any casual observer might be amazed at the difference in lifestyles. I am not getting into the merits and demerits of leading a different life. But living in IIT has taught me a few things which i fear i might have not learned outside.
I didn't clear the JEE in my first attempt and ended up joining a regional engineering college. But the very first day, i realised that my calling lies elsewhere. Straight out of school where i had a been the quintessential teacher's pet; i was thrown headlong into a world where things were very different. For someone who had grown up on gory tales about college ragging, the first day in the college couldn't have been worse. Some 'dirty' ragging combined with my heightened sense of insecurity meant that i fled from the college at the end of the first day itself. Never to look back. Got through JEE the next year and landed up at IIT Bombay. And life couldn't have been better. No ragging (call me what you may), no unique ways of greeting the seniors, a very healthy student-faculty interaction - i couldn't have possibly asked for more. The highly skewed sex ratio might have been the only minus.
The first two years were spent getting a firm foothold. Befriended plenty of people but had no strong peer group as such. Blame it on the fact that i have lived in so many places,the fact was that i never had a very strong friends circle; the kind you can feel you belong to.
Things started to look better from third year onwards. I developed a strong bonding with a few like minded guys in the department. And the ever elusive friends circle came into existence. I can't believe how much i have learned from them over a very short span of time. They taught me how to enjoy while still being at IIT- going out on treks and similar outings, or just a walk along marine drive when it poured or the advantages of putting up night outs or whiling away time at coffee shack a day before exams. These are pretty simple things which i started enjoying only in their company. Importantly, they regularly put up with my erratic behaviour or totally unnecessary sarcastic jibes either with a hearty laugh or giving it back in equal measure. Fact remains that i enjoyed and learnt so much from each one of them. The best part was having a group of individuals willing to lend an ear to each and every problem i faced. People i could always look upto. And i have never ever craved for a company more than i do now.
Then there were people in the hostel and wing who made life at IIT rather simple, specially by helping me out with acads. These were the people who ensured that i don't end up with backlogs at the end of the day. Frankly speaking, i owe my placement to them.
Not to forget, people from Bombay but not from within IIT. I simply don't have words to thank you people. Some who have been here in Bombay and have helped me with almost everything. Then there are people who have been living in places like Delhi , who made it a point to meet up whenever they landed in Bombay. Despite the fact that i was sometimes guilty of showing a lack of enthusiasm, they insisted on meeting up. And i am so glad they did.From helping me in figuring out the shortest route to Kala Ghoda from Powai to getting me medicines from places as far as Thane, these people have neved backed off from helping me. We have whiled away so many evenings discussing Kafka and Marquez and the sci-fis, debating if Nicholson is God and why and how life at IIT is different. It was an amazing experience interacting with people who showed me that life outside of IIT is equally beautiful and varied.
In a nutshell, IIT life might not be 'cool'. But then it was not for the coolness quotient that we slogged off our asses and burnt the midnight oil. It was the charm and aura of getting branded that made us go through all that rigour. IIT is the most amazing place to be. It deserves every bit of the respect and aura it commands. I am so proud to be associated with the institute and more importantly, with the people. Given a chance, i wouldn't want it any other way.

PS: I am right now going through a whole gamut of emotions. I would have wanted to present this in a much better way. But, even that would have not justified what i felt. I just want to dedicate this to all you guys who actually have ended up shaping my life in IIT. Goodbye, dear friends, you will be sorely missed. Reusing the oft used phrase, You can take me out of IIT but you cannot take the IIT out of me :)

Bad Hair Day

2008-06-12T19:46:00.001+05:30

I like to believe that i have an eye and an ear for the mundane. Before you start making snooty assumptions, this in no way is a virtue. It just helps you to while away your boredom at places where time passes very slowly, minute after slow minute . I have this habit many of you might also have. Getting a hair cut almost every fortnight, almost that is. For people who are perennially cash starved, a barber's shop is the equivalent of a spa salon or sauna bath. This explains my fetish for this fortnightly ritual.
A visit to a barber's shop can turn out to be a pretty boring ritual if you have to contend with a queue of people waiting for their turn. And this is what happened yesterday. A lesser mortal might have given up to return some other day. I decided to persist.
Before i describe what happened hence, i would like to paint a mental picture of the barber shop for your convenience. This shop happens to be the one of the very few in the vicinity of my college campus. Needless to say, poverty stricken students who cannot even afford a peep inside Jawed Habib's gay-but-plush salons, throng this shop in large numbers. The shop has three "rotating chairs" opposite a large mirror. For those who have to wait, there is a large table behind the chairs where five people can sit comfortably and eight people can just fit in when the queue is really large. There are three ceiling fans. Out of these three ceiling fans, one runs at full throttle while the other two groan atleast four times while completing even one rotation. There is a brown colored cupboard in one corner of the room which i presumed was used to store clothes. It was only yesterday that i discovered that it actually is a "television with sliding doors" straight from the 80s when Weston had a monopoly in India. I won't blame you if you haven't heard of Weston. When that television is switched on, you won't get a picture but the raster scan patterns are clearly discernible along with the kind of shrieking sounds that are so common to black and white war movies. Thankfully, there is a radio with a better audio quality. By the time you have successfully managed to figure out which song is being played, the song is already over and you move onto the challenge of cracking the next song. There is a whole assortment of magazines which can fit in the archives of any national museum. There is an issue of sportstar where Deep Dasgupta is rated as the best wicket keeper India has ever produced. Just for your information, he doesn't even figure in the Ranji Trophy squad of Bengal cricket team now. Then, there is this issue of Outlook where the writer goes gaga over Mamta Bannerjee. Mamta Bannerjee, who? Of course, there is an issue of filmstar from yesteryears featuring Mamta Kulkarni on the coverpage in some itsy bitsy costume. I did tell you i have an eye for the mundane.
My attention is distracted from the magazines to the cries of a little girl whose turn has come and who apparently doesn't want to get a hair cut. In an attempt to jump the queue, i volunteer to go ahead and take the girl's place and give the girl an apparently gratifying smile. Only to be silenced by her mother's mind-your-own-business-you-pervert look. Meanwhile, one of the barber is busy attending a call for the last 1o minutes leaving behind a host of harried customers who have already gotten down to the mother-sister level of abuse. Reluctantly, i also join in. The person next to me decides to read the same issue of sportstar that i am reading. So he almost climbs on me in an attempt to keep pace with me. Turning the issue upside down also doesn't help as he adjusts his head accordingly. Defeated, i offer him the issue. He very cordially turns down the offer only to resume reading it again the moment i get back to it. Frustrated, i put that vintage issue of sportstar back in the basket. I look up only to realise that another barber has also left the shop to attend an emergency phone call. This leaves us with only 1 barber and a queue of 7 people. The league of mother-sister gentlemen has already left the shop by now. Left behind are peaceful denizens like me who have enough time to spare. To add further twist to the tale, the only barber left behind seems to be a novice. He keeps fumbling with his instruments and each time he does that, the girl resumes her crying. Realising that i am the last person in the queue, my patience starts to wear thin. I politely ask the barber about the prospect of the return of his colleagues. The barber mumbles back something in Marathi and there is a huge chorus of laughter from everyone inside the shop. Laughter is cathartic. Even the girl stops crying and bursts into peals of laughter. My plea to translate it into Hindi draws another uproar of laughter followed by applauses from the more excited ones. Ego bruised, i get up and leave the shop. Having walked a few steps, i look back. There is even more laughter. And the two barbers are still busy on their phones.
Now, i know how the disgusting habib became The Jawed Habib. He values customer loyalty. The other barbers don't.

Flatter to deceive ?

2008-05-21T10:18:00.005+05:30

A recent trip to Prithvi theater was the realisation of a dream that i had cherished for quite some time. The occasion was the Bombay Motley Theater Fest and i was there with a friend to watch one of the plays that was being staged over there. I generally like theater but only when it comes for free. This was different because it had more to do with seeing the famed Prithvi theater once in a lifetime than anything else. I actually ended up shelling out the price of a ticket to watch the play aptly titled Ismat Apa Ke Naam. This was a 'story-telling' session rather than the enactment of the three stories by the famed and much loved, not to say controversial writer Ismat Chugtai.
The audience which had turned up to watch the play looked and behaved like one real giant joint family. Barring the two of us, every person seemed to know everyone else. Apart from the customary handshakes and the almost-bear-hugs (given the size of some of the people who were hugging each other), people greeted and acknowledged each other in ways which were hitherto unknown to me. So, while the others formed groups amongst themselves and very animatedly discussed drama and theater, we contented ourselves by criticising how small Prithvi theater is compared to our college auditorium. One thing that i have always noticed is that when you are a part of an elite gathering, you must-must-must discuss Che Guevara. I don't mind it much. But it becomes an issue when they want to ensure that the entire world standing around them gets to know that they know their two grains worth of the Ernesto. Another topic which is considered even more esoteric is Pablo Neruda and his ideas and the way he used to sleep diagonally across his bed etc. Ok, i made this bit up. But i swear people were actually discussing Che and Neruda. Not ones to be left out, we also got into animated discussions over Delhi Daredevils and Mumbai Indians. Needless to say, the looks that we got from the intelligentsia was of pure disdain and contempt.

I know this will make the puritans squirm . But, we were there in the hope of seeing an exdraordinary dramatic performance from the likes of Naseer Bhai ( Not Naseeruddin Shah, right?), Ratna Pathak Shah and Heeba Shah. Thus, it was a kind of a dampener when we realised that this actually is not a play but a "story telling" performance. There were going to be three different Chugtai's stories that would be narrated by three different people. The first rendition came from Heeba Shah who narrated the story "Chhui Mui" . About the performance: it was nice entertainment. I ended up being terribly impressed by the quality and clarity of Heeba Shah's diction.
The second story was called "Mughal Baccha". The story teller was Ratna Pathak Shah. For me, this was well and truly the performance of the day. Her style of narration was so captivating that you could actually feel the story unfolding before your eyes. The way she varied the pitch, tone and her style as she effortlessly moved on from being one character to another was mesmerising. Plus, the story itself had oodles of humour and wit. Also, i don't have any qualms in admitting that Ratna Shah was looking really beautiful. Having always seen her on the television, i never knew that she is so good looking in real life.
As for the last story, the less said the better. The only saving grace was Naseer Bhai reading out the story. Before the start of this 'play', Naseer had talked a lot about how there was a witch hunt for Ismat Chughtai by people who had branded her as a writer of vulgar and obscence stories when she first started publishing. In conclusion, he told us to decide for ourselves if the stories were actually obscene or 'examples of classy literature'.
My conclusion (Not as if you care): The first two stories were definitely interesting and would have made for a good read for a mature audience. The movie adapation would have nevertheless fetched them an "A" certificate from the Indian censor board. But as far as the last story is concerned, i am still baffled. Who on earth would call it a 'class act'? Or rather, why? If a today's C grade hindi movie script can be yesterday's 'class act', then this surely was a BIG class act. It was titled Gharwali but could as well have been given some other corny suggestive name. Full of cheap dialogues which were lapped up by the elite audience. Not that i am grumbling. At the end of the performance, i was left wondering if the people who come over to watch these plays are actually humour-starved. It was not like i didn't find the plays funny. But, the way people kept bursting into peals of laughter at the end of each dialogue made me wonder if this was also a part of some laughter therapy. Or may be, this is how a regular theater goer who understands nuances of theater and drama, is supposed to react! Or may be, i am too morose.

All said and done, it was worth a watch. It would definitely have helped if Prithvi theater was slightly bigger and had more comfortable seating arrangements. Because, every now and then, you do have a normal, theatrically almost-illiterate guy turning up to try and understand theater and have fun at the same time. Also, a few free passes would be a Godsend :)

PS: For those who actually want a nice, critical review of the plays can visit this link
http://entropymuse.blogspot.com/2008/05/review-of-ismat-apa-ke-naam.html.
And, please do it asap before i am asked to remove the link from my blog

Adios

2008-04-26T14:19:00.005+05:30

I know this one would qualify as the third most common blog entry on the blogosphere. The commonest and the dumbest would be, "Why i have CHOSEN to be single" or a slight variation of it, which would be something like "My ideal boyfriend/girlfriend/valentine/partner/hubby". Finishing a very close second would be "How i spent my 'today' ". I still haven't blogged on either of them because they have continued to vex me. Words have eluded me whenever i sit down to blog on these topics. Frankly speaking, i am not logical or witty enough to falsely prove that i am single by choice and pretend that i am loving it. And forget 'today'! I hardly do anything in as long a time period(strictly by blogging standards) as a month which is worthy enough to deserve a blog entry. So, I am going to play safe and blog about my life over the last five years. College life that is- something which will end in the next few weeks, if everything goes according to plan and if my guide(professor) doesn't develop a sudden unwarranted affection for me. The best part about writing such a blog entry is that in case you run out of ideas, you can always take a tour of the blogosphere and use some catchy/sentimental pick up lines used by fellow bloggers without even being detected. Let me forewarn you. My college life is in NO way the stuff fairy tales are made up of. So if you are looking for something readable, look elsewhere!
So, like every normal guy, my college life started in my first year as a freshie. As a freshie, i did what most of the other guys did. Other than attending classes quite regularly, i remained confined to my room most of the time. I was mortally scared of my seniors without realising that they were equally scared, if not more, of the freshies. Later on, as my seniority rankings increased, i learned how ungrateful a job it is.
I learned to play table tennis and went on to become a champ in my own small group of people. I started dispensing fundaes and harboured dreams of playing in the inter IITs and thereby landing up a job with Schlumberger (which was the only real big company that i knew of then). You should pardon my lack of knowledge or awareness then. Hailing from a family full of doctors and civil servants, i was the only one who had chosen to enter uncharted waters. Alas! my table tennis dreams lasted only as long as i was a frog in the well. I wasn't bad at studies either. I did put in a decent amount of effort in academics. But the grades that i got somehow failed to reflect the efforts that i had been putting into my academics. And i am not writing this to sound funny or anything. Honestly, i did spend sufficient time studying but somehow always ended up screwing the exams. I am not getting into the gory details of my academic performance for quite obvious reasons.
Second year was no different from the first year. I still continued to behave like a freshie. The only welcome change was that i refused to remain confined to my room any longer. This meant that i moved around the city a lot. And the charm of Mumbai proved to be irresistible. The more i roamed around, stronger became the urge to get more of the city. I became promiscuous in the sense that i started moving around with different groups in the hope of seeing the city as much as possible. In that sense, it worked. Academics naturally took a backseat. Result was that my grades fell to abysmal depths. I flunked a course for the first time in my life. Strangely, i coped with it pretty well. My parents didn't.
Come third year and i wanted to do something different. I started the first ever newsletter of the department along with a few classmates. The newsletter did much better than expected. I started imagining doing a Richard Branson (For the uninitiated, Branson started off his career with a newsletter in his college and the rest is history). That remained an imagination but the newsletter is still going strong. Finally, i also decided to put an end to my promiscuity and stick to a particular group. The results were positive. Academically, i improved. I also got to know a few people who were interested in more than just the academic scene - the 'poltus'. This was the select group of people that stood in each and every election in the institute. If it weren't they, then their proteges stood for these elections. But, not many were bothered. The kind of apolitical institute that IIT is, nobody really gives a damn. On the brighter side, i also a learnt a few small tricks of the trade here and there.
Fourth year was possibly the most enjoyable of all. By now, the bonds of friendship with quite a lot of people had been cemented. I had loads of friends by then. Be it my department group, the institute newspaper Insight group, the hostel group or friends outside of iit. There was groupism everywhere :). But it was all for good! This meant, that now i had a group of some amazing people to look upto. I spent some of the best time of my life in their company. Whether it was going on a trek or a visit to some museum/sea or simply eating out. Or combined studies for that matter. For the first time in life, i did well in academics. I developed a couple of new hobbies. The number of friends outside of the campus also increased which helped me view things in a proper perspective. For example, i realised that we were lucky enough to have scraped through JEE and life outside of IIT would be much more tougher.
Final year has been pretty eventful in the sense that it had been pretty hectic to start off with. Initially, there was this novelty factor associated with the year long project and so i started off by working really hard on it. The sapping placement season came and went. Everyone (including me) got placed. We moved around even more than before. Post placement season life has become unbearably lukkha with hardly anything to do. But i am trying to savor it to the fullest. I know i would long for these days once the professional grind begins. I am just hoping Pune turns out to be atleast as good as Bombay or Delhi.

Life with Grandparents-Part 2

2008-02-07T21:57:00.000+05:30

Bhagalpur, by itself, is quite big a city. To be precise, its a district. But physically its more or less a small town still struggling to come to terms with the modern life style. Before I make grander statements about the city, I must admit that whatever i am saying is based on the Bhagalpur that i saw more than ten years back. People change with times. Cities change quicker.
Getting back to Bhagalpur, it was a sleepy city back then. My grandparents lived in the central (and hence the affluent) part of the city which meant that they were amongst the most respected people of the city. Although the house was a single storey building, it was spread on a wide tract of L-shaped land. The house was actually broken into two parts which had been constructed at different points in time. The older slightly dilapidated part had three very simple rooms and a kitchen cum store. The newer building had another three rooms which were aesthetically designed. The Gothic windows were such that the sunlight streamed into the rooms very early making it virtually impossible to sleep beyond 7 in the morning. This ensured that I woke up pretty early in the morning and practically followed my grandmother wherever she went. Consequently i made friends with almost all the families in that small ghettoed neighborhood.
During those days, there were two things i almost always looked forward to in Bhagalpur - the mangoes and the monkeys . Mangoes of Bhagalpur are famous world over and are considered 'export quality'. I can still remember how i would skip my meals so that i could gorge on the mangoes. Honestly, these were and are some of the best mangoes that i have ever eaten. I was always in awe of the monkeys because living in cities meant that i could only see them in the zoos. The monkeys of Bhagalpur were quite huge compared to the monkeys that i saw in the zoos. Frankly speaking, i was shit scared of going anywhere near them. My fear was born on a solid premise though. I hardly remember anything about that incident but i am told that once when i was small, i had been chased by one such monkey for the apples that i was carrying in my hand. Not only did i fall down and get bruised, the monkey also decamped with the entire booty of apples. Since then i have been in mortal fear of all kinds of monkeys. But watching them from a distance always was pure fun. I used to sit patiently on the terrace waiting for the monkeys to make an appearance. Sooner or later, they obliged.
The most remarkable feature about living in Bhagalpur was that the people seemed to lead a contented life. Even if someone was filthy rich, there never was any ostentatious display of wealth. True, that the rich people inhibited colonies that were far removed from the poor, but they never flaunted their wealth. Life invariably began early in the morning and by around 9 pm in the night, the last few shops would also have downed their shutters. Schools were few and most of them were government owned. Barring a couple of decent schools, most of the schools were the saintly-types that are mushrooming with clockwork regularity in every small town and city these days (eg St. Gandhi). Medical and Healthcare facilities were in shambles. For even small complications, people had to be rushed to the either Delhi, Calcutta or Patna. But hardly did anyone cringe. They treated this as an opportunity to visit for-what-were-to-them an el dorado. All kinds of festivals were celebrated with a lot of pomp and gaiety. The mere mention of Holi was good enough to send shivers down the spine. This was Holi of the roughest kind and anyone who joined in was certain to return home bruised and bleeding. Dussehra was an exciting affair as everyone looked forward to attending the 'mela' which was a kind of confluence for performers, acrobats, traders, artisans, magicians from the innumerable villages that surrounded the city. Plus, one could always look forward to the canopies or the 'pandals' that were specially constructed as a temporary home for Goddess Durga. They were constructed to resemble historic monuments like Taj Mahal, Red Fort and even the Eiffel Tower.
Proximity to the Ganges meant that a trip on the boat was always on cards. What fun it always turned out to be! The sad part was that this trip always betokened the end of our stay at Bhagalpur. Within a couple of days we would be on our way back to our city home; which at different points of time would be Jamshedpur, Calcutta , Delhi or Nepal depending on where dad's posting was . And there always would be that lump in the throat :)

So Far Away (Please don't go by the title )

2008-02-01T19:43:00.000+05:30

First things first : My comp is back in business after a lay off period of more than a month. This affords me the opportunity to give some much needed attention to my dear blog. And i start off with the tagging business. I had been tagged and it was high time i got rid of the burden of that tag :D
The tag is one of the more interesting tags that i have come across. Best part is that you don't have to think a lot about what to write :)
The rather simple rules are
1. Put your mp3 player on shuffle
2.For each question, press the next button to get your answer
3. You must write the name of the song, no matter what

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?
Have you seen the saucers- Jefferson Airplane (UFO connect, eh? )

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
When I am gone - 3 Doors Down (So very true :P )

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Peaceful Easy Feeling - Eagles (Don't think i am asking for too much, am I?)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Wonderwall - Oasis(hehe)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Summer's gone -Placebo ( Have i already outlived my years on earth :-?)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Somewhere they can't find me -Simon and Garfunkel (I have always shunned well deserved fame :P)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
My Friend, My friend -Phish (This is incredibly spooky and i have started to enjoy it)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Lightbulb Sun - Porcupine Tree (Good son, God son!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Karma Police - Radiohead (Now veering towards spiritualism)

WHAT IS 2+2?
Simple Man -Lynrrd Skynrrd (quite a simple question)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Lend me your comb - Beatles (Sharing everything:D )

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Torture Me - RHCP (is it the person i like or dislike ?)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Morning Glory-Oasis (This is the best answer so far ;) )

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Hate to say i told you so - The Hives (The kind your mom warned you about, huh?

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Born to run - Bruce Springsteen (Can anyone decipher that for me? )

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
No woman, No cry- Bob Marley (Parents are sympathizers, after all :( )

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Voodoo Child - Jimi Hendrix :))

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
House of the rising sun - Animals (Will my death be that tragic? )

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Faceless Man - Creed (Hobbyless man, u mean? )

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Breakfast at Tiffany's - Deep Blue Something (My claim to fame-yay!! )

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Stormbringer - Deep Purple (Storm in a tea cup :D )

WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
So Far Away- Dire Straits (I don't quite like the title of the post, but whatever)

I won't tag anybody and risk being damned for the rest of my life. Believe me, people can become quite vindictive when it comes down to tagging. So i would leave it to the reader to decide whether he would take up the challenge or not :P

Life with Grandparents-Part 1

2007-12-23T11:35:00.000+05:30

A couple of days back my grandma (nani) was in the ICU down with serious stomach cramps and high fever. She is a septuagenarian and the vagaries of old age are starting to show clearly on her. She has been bed ridden for the last couple of years and finds it very difficult to even move an inch. Quite naturally, everyone was praying fervently for her recovery. Luckily, our prayers were answered and she quickly recovered and has been discharged from the ICU.
Thinking about nani, i was immediately reminded of the days with my grandparents. My grandparents hail from a small city called Bhagalpur on the southern banks of Ganges. It has been more than ten years since i last went to Bhagalpur but the memories of the fantastic time spent with my grandparents there are still as fresh as ever.
I very well remember the arduous journey that we had to undertake to get to my grandparents' place. Getting down at the small town called Jasidih in the dead of the night signaled the end of the first relatively easier part of the tour. The second part involved spending around three to four hours at the dilapidated Jasidih railway station waiting for the morning to dawn. For companions, we almost always had disinterested beggars and your quintessential chaiwallah. To add a little spice to the plot, there would invariably be a couple of small town ruffians loitering around who looked straight out of some 70s bollywood movie. The sun breaking through the horizon marked the end of our stay at the railway station. Half asleep we would trudge towards a vikram - a type of autorickshaw designed to carry 10 people at a time, but which always had 15 to 20 passengers inside. In another half an hour, we were at the Jasidih bus stand to board a bus for Bhagalpur. For some reasons, these buses always ran jampacked and the concept of airconditioned buses didn't exist then - atleast in this part of the country. The seat inside the driver's cabin was the coveted one because it helped escape the impoosibly increasing crowd inside the bus. Of course, we had to shell out extra bucks to get the prized seat.
The bus journey always turned out to be the most adventurous part of the entire trip. Bus drivers, by some designs of destiny, are always on a high. No matter what part of the day, how narrow the roads, how crowded the streets- a bus driver is bound to drive oblivious of all such facts. For him its always HIS road. So the next three hours of bus journey would give us enough tales of nail biting escapes either for the bus or for the smaller vehicles that plied on these roads. In defence of the bus drivers, it can be said that even the drivers of smaller vehicles consider the road to be their own property. Of course, this being Laluland, we would come across a bunch of buffaloes sunbathing right in the middle of the road every now and then. The three hours journey would have no less than five pit stops where the bus crew would get down at some roadside dhabas for refreshments. This also afforded the passengers an opportunity to relieve themselves in the nearby bushes. Hordes of people would get down together to pee on one small slightly bushy patch of land merrily chatting all the while. This setup hardly gave any sort of privacy but then who cares! By the time the three hours journey came to an end, the bus would be putrid with farts and sweat.The bus journey would have already taken its toll by then. My mom's migraine attack would have resurfaced, my younger sister and I would be down with nausea and my dad would be busy doing what he is best at- attending to co passengers turned patients. Back then, the only mode of travel in Bhagalpur were cycle rickshaws. The final lap of this Tour de Bhagalpur would involve a 15 minutes ride on the cycle rickshaw. Compared to the highly taxing bus journey, this was always a Godsend. At the end of 15 minutes, we would be standing at the gates of my grandparents' imposing house. Down but not out !

Frankenstein Reloaded !

2007-10-30T15:35:00.000+05:30

I have been desperately trying to update my blog for quite sometimes now. But lack of time and ideas have proved to be big constraints. Finally finally, i do have a blog update albeit of a different kind. There was this interhostel blog writing contest held last week where i represented my hostel. And since i don't fancy my chances of winning, i would rather post my entry for that contest here on my blog.

IDEA: There was a list of ten personalities - both real and fictional. It included names like Mussharaf, Super Commando Dhruv, Frankenstein, Hitler's mom, Olive Oyl (other names elude me right now). You have to imagine that you are one out of these people. Then write four blog posts that this person might have come up if he was actually blogging. The time allotted was 90 minutes. So as it turns out, it would be quite a longish post. I dont really expect you to read through the whole of it. But a casual browse-through is solicited :) Btw, i 'doppelgangered' Frankenstein

Frankenstein’s Blog

Post 1

I sometimes wonder if they stopped making people like me. I don’t understand any of the shit they teach in school. Why should German be taught as a compulsory language to each and every student in the school? Why physical training is deemed so important? Why do my parents want to me to stick around with the other guys and indulge in the so called ‘normal’ activities that these people indulge in? I think, I am born to be different. While the others in my class love a lesson or two in Chaucer, I would rather while away my time looking out of the window. My friends consider me a misfit and scoff at me. My parents never take me seriously. No one is willing to discuss the evolution of this world and the evolution of man.

I am not an avid reader but I love reading books on alchemy. Of course, my parents won’t allow any of that into the house- so I have to sneak them inside. I keep them hidden in my grand father’s old chestnut trunk under my bed. I hate people who think that alchemy is the same thing as black magic. I don’t particularly like my parents either and vice versa. To let you in on a little secret of mine, I am starting to learn alchemy pretty fast. Why only yesterday I actually managed to set fire to a log of wood using only a couple of chemicals. Fortunately for me, my parents weren’t around and I cleaned up all the ash before they were back. I will tell you more about this as I progress. Till then keep reading and keep commenting. And do not waste your time trying to figure out who I am.

Post 2

The first thing that naturally comes to mind is why I stopped blogging altogether after my first post. It’s almost five years now that I last blogged. I expected that loads of people would read my blog posts. And I would be flooded with comments and queries about alchemy. My original idea was that if there were just too many queries about alchemy, I would start a separate anonymous blog on alchemy itself. As it turned out, I did get a few machine generated comments about how I can increase my revenue by subscribing to Google ad sense, how I can make my sexual life more exciting by using potency pills of such and such company, how I can go around dating people living near my home and so on and so forth. Not a single genuine comment. Further confirmation came from my apples-studded-hit-counter which didn’t report a single increase in the number of hits. Posting my blog link on the ‘anonymous bloggers’ community on Okut didn’t help either. Apparently, nobody takes an anonymous person seriously. People are strange when you are a stranger!

As a last resort, I went around commenting on blogs of random people. Leave aside hitting back, these people didn’t even acknowledge my comment. As if it never existed there in the first place. Getting filthy and abusive on others’ blogs didn’t help either. People simply deleted my comments.

Five years down the line and I have matured a lot. I do believe that it doesn’t matter whether someone reads my blog or not. After all, a blog is a vent to your emotions and feelings. Rather than allow, the turmoil to build up, I would use this as a platform to get my ideas across.

The latest news from my side is that I am on the verge of stardom. My interest in alchemy is about to payoff. The readers of this blog are a few of the lucky people on this earth who are getting to read the mind of someone who have stumbled upon the secret formula of LIFE. I won’t reveal more details here. But if are you really inquisitive, then keep watching this space. On second thoughts, please do visit my blog.

Post 3

I know, I know! I haven’t ever received a single comment. And still, I had been blogging incessantly for quite sometime. Then, all of a sudden I took a break. Till now my posts had all sounded chirpy and cherubic because I had reasons to be. My grasp over alchemy was becoming stronger everyday. As I had mentioned in my previous posts, I was very near to what is technically termed as ‘cloning’ by some fools. My posts centered on my having discovered a secret code to actually making another man. Not that it got anybody interested as the number of comments on my blog would show.

The reason behind coming up with this post in the middle of the night after such a long hiatus is because my formula actually bore fruit. That also explains the hiatus. I did manage to clone a human being. Everything was going well till I actually saw the ‘human’ that I had cloned. To call it a human would be mocking the entire community of homo sapiens. This ‘successful’ experiment took place almost a couple of months back. The result of my experiment left me mortally terrified and dazed. Shocked and perturbed, I just ran away from the scene and kept running till I thought that I was far away from his reach. I had forgotten all that happened as a nightmare.

My new life here is or at least was just so rosy. I have made some amazing friends with whom I go around a lot. They make me forget all the troubles and miseries of life. So much so that I had even ignored my blog. Lady luck seems to be showering all her blessings upon me. While loitering around the town, my eyes fell upon the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen in my life. We started off with our hellos. Through some acquaintances, I was introduced to Elizabeth. I still vividly remember the first time that we went out on a date. It was to a restaurant overlooking the lake. I started courting her more and more. We went together to the costliest of theatres and the shopping malls. Then one fine day on a beautiful summer afternoon, I popped up the question; “Will you marry me?” The smile said it all. Now we are already preparing for the wedding.

Ideally I should be very happy. I am not exactly sad or disappointed. But the nightmare that I had long forgotten is back to haunt me. There is something deep within me which says that the monster is lurking somewhere nearby. He is out to seek vengeance and even all forces put together on this earth cannot stop him. I only pray that is just a sad passing thought and I will somehow get over it. Meanwhile, you, my reader wish me and Elizabeth a happy and peaceful married life. This is the least that you can do apart from commenting

Post 4

I am aghast, totally heartbroken, wretched, hapless, woeful, pitiable and inconsolable. It cannot get worse than this; I am just back from attending three funerals in a very quick succession. What started off with the murder of my best pal ended with the death of my father who died of grief over the death of my bride-to-be Liz. The worst part is that I could have easily prevented all this but for my idealistic thoughts. Trying to save this world, I ended up ruining my own world.

Without confusing you any further, let me admit that my worst nightmares had come true. Proving my premonitions to be correct, the wicked scary monster actually hunted me down. Not only is this monster extraordinarily huge, its damn shrewd as well. Using tidbits of information which I had left behind, he actually managed to track me down all the way to this town. After he got rid of the little boy, I found out that he was hiding somewhere in the town. In lieu of letting me live in peace that crook begged me to make a female equivalent of him.

In the name of Christ, how could have I done something as blasphemous as that!!Give him a female and they will produce twenty children. These twenty children will then screw each other thereby producing hundred more like them This cycle would go on unabated and they will finally end up killing all human beings and make the whole world their own. I tried diplomacy with him but in vain.

Exhausted, I returned and waited for his next move. What else could have I done? I know I was acting selfish by not warning people about my own creation. But I had no other option.

I didn’t have to wait for too long. The monster made good on his promise by first killing my best friend and then he doused the light of my life and the fire of my loins- Elizabeth. My life is in total shambles- a wretched existence. There is nothing left to live for. If there is anything that I would love to do before I die, it would be to kill my own creation with my very own hands. And if there is God, he will see to it that I take my mission to successful completion.

Before embarking on this tough mission I would like to make a promise to all you readers over here. If I do not succeed, I shall not return alive. If you do not see any more posts on this blog, assume that I am dead. But do not ever tell your children that Frankenstein died a coward's death

Victor Frankenstein- for that is my name!

Been there, done that, what next ?

2007-08-26T22:02:00.000+05:30

If I ever go on to write a 'trekologue', this would definitely qualify as one of the most eventful treks that i have undertaken. For one, most of us were not prepared mentally for Siddhagad. Secondly, none of us had bothered looking up the details about Siddhagad. Been there and done that, as i googled for more information about Siddhagad, this was one piece of advice that almost every website had to offer, 'It is very dangerous to go during monsoons as the route is very slipppery and there are thorn bearing trees along the route'. We did exactly opposite to what the doctor prescribed.

But fortune favoured the brave. And you are getting to read a trekking account full of gore and accidents that could have turned out to be fatal. The group comprised, as one passerby aptly summed up, "Typical IIT crowd. 1 girl for 8 guys". The best part was that, belying my own expectations, i did better than a few other group members. A very promising early morning start ensured that we got to the base camp pretty quickly. Breakfast comprised some Maharashtra special bhajias which for reasons beyond my normal human comprehension, most people tend to savour a lot. I had to make do with Parle G which tastes only delta better.

If i go into all the details, i might as well end up writing a travelogue which hardly anyone would bother reading . So i would talk about a few inci-dents that stand out.

Death trap1: Gawande, freshly out of a BMC (Basic Mountaineering Course), was itching to prove his superior trekking skills to the lesser mortals . And it didn't take long before an opportunity presented itself before him. There was a rivulet, not a river, flowing which had to be crossed. The villager on the other side of the rivulet warned us not to enter the waters at the point where the flow was relatively strong. Still high on heavy doses of BMC and dying to prove his mettle, Gawande entered the waters exactly where the flow was the strongest. Within a matter of few seconds, he was down in the water and the water carried him along for the next 12 to 15 feet of vertical descent . His arms were flailing wildly and there was a look of terror on his face. For a moment, we all thought that our trekking group would now be depleted of one member. Finally he managed to wriggle out of the water where the flow wasn't strong. Ego bruised but physically intact. The champion had been humbled and this showed for the rest of the trip :P This was our first encounter with death in a region full of 'death traps'. For the rest of the trek, we used the term 'maneater river' to refer to Gawande's nemesis

For the next hour, the trek couldn't have been more enjoyable. It was raining incessantly which helped to spruce up things further. Out of nowhere, waterfalls sprang up all over the place making it very slippery to tread on the rocks. But the party went on unabated, stopping every now and then at some waterfall . Getting soaked in the flowing water of the falls was pure bliss!

If you are reading this account and not getting jealous, trekking isn't your cup o' tea!

Death Trap2: Towards the summit, there was a vertical climb which was entirely made up of rocks. Monsoons had ensured that the rocks were as slippery as it gets. To do or not to do - that was the question. The heart egged us on while the head advised us against going for the kill. The two sensible ones in the group - Ameya and Shiksha backed off. Rest of the group inched forward. Time passed - minute after slow minute.Finally we were almost there. The view from the summit was awe inspiring. I have never seen something more beautiful than this. This was even better than walking in the clouds. It was a brilliant mix of red earth, the pouring rains and the ghostly clouds. We drank in all that like a heady wine

But for time, we could have stayed on forever. The mere thought of the descent gave us goosebumps. With lots of trepidation, we started the descent. And this turned out to be worse than what we had imagined. One wrong step and you would be plumetting into the valley leaving behind no trace. We maintained enough gap between each other to ensure that if one person takes a dive, he doesn't take the entire gang along with him. Sai led the descent. When we finally reached the spot where Shiksha and Ameya awaited us, we were simply euphoric. More Parle Gs followed. Strangely enough, they tasted relatively better. The last part of the descent was easily accomplished and we reached our base camp where the villagers were outrageously helpful. Few photosessions at the village followed. The remainder of the journey was not uneventful though. The group got split up into two. And the two subgroups followed two different routes. As it turned out, neither of the groups had taken the right path. Another misfortune befell our group when we were suddenly attacked by a pack of buffaloes who apparently got pissed off when i wanted to click their photographs. What ensued was a 'charge' where a few buffaloes took a special liking for Shiksha and went for her. She darted for cover and outran the buffaloes holding onto her dear life.
After following various false trails, we finally managed to hit the right track. Walking in knee deep dirty water full of excreta of all possible organisms (including humans), we finally managed to reach the base camp. The other group had not made it to the base as yet. The next few minutes were minutes full of anxiety for us. Meanwhile the news of Gawande's heroic stunt had spread like wild fire in the village. While we waited nervously for the other group, Gawande regaled the audience with stories about how he had 'deliberately' committed that act of bravery.

The arrival of the other group ended the trek on a happy note. Incredibly tasty (anything tastes incredibly tasty when you survive 12 hours on Parle G) non-veg dinner followed.

Now that i am a veteran of three treks, i would definitely dub this as the most eventful, the toughest but the most enjoyable trek of my life. Now the question is.. been there, done that, what next?

Trek Details
Date: 25th August (Saturday)
Venue : Siddhagad
Team: Sai, Shiksha,Das,Ameya,B Dot,Kris,Gawande,Mittal and I(Arunabh)

Damn! I am famous

2007-08-19T16:05:00.000+05:30

A few lines of introduction or self flattery, call what you will, be in place.
Ahem ahem.. so this book review by me got published in 'Yuva', a tabloid catering to youth which was launched in Mumbai recently.

My review got published on the 15th of August to mark 60 years of India's independence *collars up*. So if you were damn unlucky and didn't get a copy of the newspaper, you can read that review here. I am looking forward to seeing you run to the nearest crosswords store to get your copy of the biography once you are done with the review !
Its the biography of Vikram Sarabhai authored by Amrita Shah. Its titled 'Vikram Sarabhai~a life~'. Published by Penguin India, it costs a cool 425 bucks. Now without boring you any further, here goes the review.

Vikram Sarabhai: A Life by Amrita Shah

This biography by Amrita Shah delves deep into the real character behind the name Vikram Sarabhai. The biography starts by taking us into Vikram Sarabhai’s childhood. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had a princely childhood. His doting parents ensured that he was reared up in the best possible fashion. As a toddler, Vikram turned out to be noticeably energetic and showed flashes of his brilliance during the growing up years. His love affair with Science began in his school days when he worked in his specially constructed ‘home-labs’. With the passage of time, the interest became a full fledged passion. Coming from a highly renowned family made things pretty easy for him as he traveled world wide meeting some of the greatest scientific minds of his time. The book has some very engaging episodes of his encounters with the likes of Millikan, Raman and Bhabha.

The author very successfully unravels different facets of the great man’s personality. To his children, he was the most doting father they could have had, often taking on the mantle of a ‘single parent’ to help his wife pursue her passion for dance. On the family front though, all was not well. There was always the shadow of the ‘other woman’ looming large. He was quintessentially a man who could charm people and get the best out of them. Man management was something that came naturally to him, whether it was working with a grass root level worker or with the top brass.

A philanthropist to the core, Sarabhai was instrumental in the setting up of some of the best institutes in the country to date, including the IIM Ahmedabad. This was his humble contribution towards the greater cause of nation building. He was someone who had his own views on serious issues like nuclear technology and space exploration. Counted amongst the greatest scientists of his time, these were also the issues that were close to his heart. Towards the later stages of his life, he had a tough time handling men with political inclinations.

The author has done tremendous amount of research in coming up with this biography making it a very interesting read. Loads of amusing incidents and anecdotes are scattered throughout the book. This apart, there is also a rare collection of photographs tracing the life of Sarabhai from a toddler to the Vikram Sarabhai known to us. Once you have started with the book, you won’t feel like putting it down.

Life-as we know it!

2007-07-26T19:10:00.000+05:30

Its exactly a year gone by. Things have changed in a way i couldn't have thought of then. Last year 26/6 proved to be Mumbai's nemesis. The monsoons had wreaked the kind of havoc which has very few parallels in the history of the city. Cut down to 26/7. Its horribly hot and humid. I am sweating persistently; even as I blog. The sight freshmen/women roaming around freely in the institute makes me jealous. In our time, the rains had been so particularly filled with hatred and despise. It was almost racist. The rains were hell bent upon humiliating someone from North India who had dared to make Mumbai his abode for atleast the next 5 years. There was no love lost for the next four years. Final year provided me with the rare opportunity to sit inside my room and get sadistic kicks out of seeing the others get soaked in the rain while trying to get to class to avoid XX. But God had something else in store for me. This is the time Mumbai's fickle weather has decided to play spoilsport. And it all seems so intentional. As if God had this trick up his sleeve all this time while i was braving the monsoons with a very cheap, shady, for-the-name-sake wind cheater. All in the hope that every dog has his day. This dog doesn't.
Another thing that has dramatically changed in just one year is my love-hate relationship with lectures. Till last year it was only mutual hatred. The professors didn't like my attitude which reflected on my grades. And i despised them more than i despised my hostel cooks when they cook any dim sum paneer recipes. Now the things have changed. I still despise the professors as much but love to go to the classes. It gives an escapade away from the humdrum and monotony of existence in my room. And yes, the professor has also started to despise me. Till last year, coffee shack was the place i used to frequent whenever there was a break between any two lectures. Now, classroom is the place where i go in between any two sessions at the coffee shack.
I cannot publish this post without discussing this very interesting incident that took place about a fortnight back. I was coming all the way from Charni Road railway station and had got down at Kanjur Marg from the local. I hailed a rickshaw for hostel. Just as i got inside the rickshaw, a woman also entered and sat beside me. She must have been in her very early thirties and was wearing an unusually hits-you-in-your-eye bright kurta-jeans combo. In very fluent english, she told me that she had to get off a little before iit main gate and sought my permission to hitch a rickshaw ride. My 'aye or nay' was totally immaterial as she had already made herself comfortable beside me, ofcourse maintaining that safe distance which any three seater rickshaw in India affords to 2 passengers. At the sight of her, the rickshawalla flinched and his face contorted into spasms. He muttered something incoherent about how people resorted to shady means to save a few bucks but a steely 'Chal jaldi start kar' from the lady was enough to silence the crook (that was what i thought of him then). The 5 minutes journey was uneventful. Finally she got off a little before the main gate but not before she gave me 5 bucks, a thank you and a disarming smile. I was chillar enough to accept everything. Later, the rickshawallah told me that she was a dhandewaali and he had picked her quite often from shady bars near Kanjurmarg. I couldn't have accepted/refuted his story. So i thought silence would be the best virtue. For the next five minutes i heard all kinds of stories of sleaze and sex around Kanjurmarg. Finally when i got down at the hostel, the rickshawallah had already made me his brother and kept referring to me as 'chota bhai'. An advice on how to behave 'smartly' in Mumbai or face the threat of being laid by such women followed. When he left, i couldn't recollect much of what he said. But i was pretty happy that i had saved 5 bucks.

Death can throw up surprises too ;)

2007-07-24T21:07:00.001+05:30

So what does your obituary say?

We came. We saw. We conquered !

2007-06-18T18:06:00.000+05:30

It was a tossup between a trek and a night at a beach. Heated conferences on yahoo messenger, telephonic convos and finally a get-together-brainstorming session sealed the matters in favour of a trek. Mahuli was chosen as the final frontier. Initially there were only four of us. Lots of coaxing and cajoling later and the party had finally swelled to seven. And what a perfect seven it finally turned out to be. Trek-experience wise, the composition of the group was highly colourful. There were three of us who were total novices - Sumit, Anand and I (Arunabh). There were two who had been there and seen that a couple of times - Aashish and Nirav. Rounding up the group were the hommes responsables - the trek hardened warriors, Sai and Poddar.
We left IIT for the railway station at around 5am. Wihin half an hour , we were inside the local heading towards Asangaon. Most had slept only a few hours the previous night while a couple were on nightouts. But that didn't reflect on anyone's spirits as most were quite chirpy and cherubic. And no, we didn't play any antakshari in the train. It was more about the hitherto unheard 'manly' games as the pic clearly shows :P. In around an hour we were at the small decrepit Asangaon railway station. The sun was out in all its might which was not a good sign. The place reminded me the of typical Hitchcock murder plots but i somehow managed to keep it to myself.Only one eaterie was to be found- hot succulent vada paos, amul kool and walnut muffins formed the brekfast. Having a couple of marathis in the group made communication with the locals much easier. The bravehearts that we were, we decided to walk the distance from Asangaon to Muhali. A little help from an autorickwallah, who seemed high on something didn't help too much either. We could have actually asked him to take us all the distance to the base camp. But one of the more enthusiastic group leaders thought that walking the distance shouldn't be a big deal. The decision was catastrophic. But no blame games here :P
The road definitely seemed the road less travelled. There were only autorickshaws plying on the road carrying loads of trekking enthusiasts. Alas! every group but ours had a good enough sprinkling of the other sex. This added salt to the wounds. But then Lady Luck had better things in store for us. Not for the first time. Black clouds started gathering. Now we could see the silhouetee of the intimidating peaks. I could literally feel the butterflies in my stomach. But the enthusiasm didn't sag. Even the four kilometers of walk had not done much damage to the enthusiasm. At the base camp we were greeted by the sight of another group which was almost 6 times as large as ours. And they also had girls:( This group had a wonderful origin upon which i would dwell later. The sight of the peaks was awe inspiring and intimidating for a newbie like me. I was going through a gamut of emotions which i did well to keep to myself. Not that i would have frightened others but would have made me the butt of ridicule for the remainder of the trip.
The initial climb was a child's play as we were almost running. The land was largely flat which made it easier. But hardly had we gained a little height when all of a sudden, unannounced, the climb became steep. The path had become ragged, slippery and stony. After about half an hour of ascent, i was left high and dry. The party came to a halt on a little piece of flat land. It was only when i looked around did i realise that we had actually gained a lot of height. The other group used this opporunity to get a lead on us. A friendly talk with a group member and we realised how omnipotent Orkut has become. The group comprised trekking enthusiasts from Maharastra who had come together through a trekking community on Orkut on a whim. This gives the Govt another reason for considering/not considering the idea of clamping down on orkut. 10 minutes later we started the second round of our ascent. This was more gruelling and more demanding. I was feeling something that can be best described as a close cousin of vertigo. The other group was using 'Aye O!' to keep in touch with each other. The whole landscape kept resounding with loud screams of 'Aye O!' every now and then. It also turned into an 'Aeee O!' when one of the female enthusiasts decided to give it a voice. We had to fight back. We zeroed upon the F word. 'Fuck u' was how we were going to communicate with each other. And soon the "Fuck u"s drowned the 'Aye O!'s That was the first among many of our victories that day. Then came the time for the second break. My legs were giving away and i wasn't the only one who was making noises. The climb was also showing its effects on Aashish and Sumit.
The second rest was a tad shorter than the first one because Sai and Poddar were keen on making the conquest asap. We were forced to tow their lines, but not before i had done my lil bit of Pranayama. And Nirav his lil bit of smoking. The climb now was the toughest. For this purpose, the party was practically split up into two. Sai would be dragging me and Sumit up the slopes while Poddar would lead the remaining three ahead of us. If Sai was getting frustrated by the way we somehow dragged our loads, he didn't show it. At some places, he was even pushing me.
Meanwhile, kaviraj Anand kept twisting the lyrics of "Ganpat" of the Lokhandwala fame to egg everyone on. Lady Luck seemed delighted with our efforts. Scintillatingly (for the lack of a better adjective) soothing wind began to blow combined with a comfortable drizzle which was pleasant enough so as to not hamper our ascent.For the last 500 fts or so, the slope became absolutely precipitous and the ascent gravity defying. Had i missed a step, you would not have been reading this account. Every 100ft, i paused, did a rapidfire version of pranayam and then repeated the question to myself,'To do or not to do?'. The answer always came from behind in the form of a light push from by Sai.
Finally, after approximately 3 hours of an arduous jouney we were there where everyone craves to be. Been there and done that! Now was the time for the hunger pangs to start showing their effects. Biscuits were all we had. I was having an uncontrollable craving for non veg food and could have eaten anything raw. Alas! that was not to be. We rested our tired limbs and then decided to explore the landscape. If there is beauty on earth this was it. We were literally walking on the clouds. And it had started to pour now. The script couldn't have been better. We were all soaked -Nirav and I more that the others because we had landed there without any protection. No words can do justice to the divine beauty of the place. So i would let the pictures speak for themselves. After roaming around and soaking in the beauty of the place, thirst started getting the better of the men. We had been forewarned to carry enough water on us. But we never knew that the enough would not be enough. We were having a steamy hot affair with Lady Luck. We chanced upon a group of locals who emerged as if out of thin air. They led us to a source of water where they did rain water harvesting. We drank water as if there was no tomorrow and then filled all the bottles. Replenished and rejuvenated, we were back at our helms. We had still a lot to explore before we could be on our way back. This curiosity had us walking into a jungle which reminded Anand of Kali's jungle from the bolly flick 'Kaal'. The jungle had lots of variety to offer. But the most noteworthy was an engraved stone with a long key drawn on it- something that brought back memories of another bolly flick Haatimtai where there was a tilasmi chaabi. This one had a chaabi but the tilasmi part was beyond the comprehension of mere mortals like us. Finally, we came upon the Kalyan Darwaza which was a paradise for the rock climbing enthusiasts. Fortunately for me, my group members had not given a thought to this and so were without the basic paraphernalia. Which meant that we weren't going rock climbing :D
Now having seen all that was to be seen, we started our descent. Compared with the ascent, the descent was a child's play. Although the legs were hurting badly and there were rashes, bruises, broken nails; the descent lasted for approximately two hours. Once we were grounded, we turned back and bid our final adieu. Once amongst the population, we dined at a restaurant in a way that would befit a pack of hungry wolves.
Before i wind up, a few facts and figures to spice up this gory and wonderful tale. This is approximately 2700 feet high which means i can go up 1/9th of Mt Everest :D. Sounds boastful and vainglorious but i would count that as an achievement for someone who had not climbed more than 500 feet before. A few casualties here and there - my costly nike shoes suffered irrecoverable damage. A few wind cheaters that weren't actually wind cheaters - couldn't bear the brunt of pre-monsoon showers. Someone lost a cap.
For a newbie like me, a few lessons were also there to be learnt.
Like jeans might look cool but thats not what you wear when you go on a trek.
Never ever look up. The height left to be covered keeps increasing in geometric progression. Water bottles might be difficult to carry but you realise the importance of them, only when you have to stick out your parched tongue in the hope that some rain water will fall on it and quench your thirst.
Lady Luck changes even before you have had time to thank her .
Pranayama rocks !!
Having a few girls is always a bright idea. But boys dont suck either! You all rocked!
The guide is the GOD!
And finally, the joy and excitement and the kick that you get out of such a trek is simply unparalleled. Hats off to all my mateys. You made my day :)

Heroes

2007-06-12T22:29:00.000+05:30

Quite a few things change as you make the transition from the comfy existence of a home to the tougher grind of a hostel life. One of the major changes is your relation with the idiot box. While at home, the television is forever at your beck and call. In a hostel, its always a compromise where everyone has to go along with the majority's opinion. So things like 'Kaun Banega Crorepati' and 'Laughter Challenge' always get a precedence over a cricket match. This has basically killed my appetite for the game played between the polished willow and the red cherry. But whenever i get the opportunity, i try and catch up with the game that once used to be my passion. Cricket also means Hero worship. The moment you develop an infatuation for the game, you also develop an infatuation for the gamers. This post dwells upon the kind of cricketing hero worship that i have indulged in
Hero worship is something that i indulged in the moment i started to understand the nuances of the game. My first childhood hero was - who else but Kapil Dev. I wonder if there would be anyone from my generation who hasnt idolised Kapil Dev at one point or the other in his life. All i began with was this little piece of info that Kapil Dev was India's best quickie who also wielded the willow ala Dhoni does today. I grew up on tales of how a young lad from a small town in Haryana had become the biggest sporting sensation ever to have hogged the limelights. My mom, very mommy-like, used this phenomenol success story time and again to drive home the importance of milk in any person's success - the kind of story which can have great impact on the impressionable minds of young children. Stories about how Kapil could drink 5 litres a milk everyday had us siblings more mesmerised than his actual cricketing exploits.But a mom will always be a mom. She was also quick enough to point out that sports was one area where the number of success stories were far outnumbered by those which could somehow never make the cut.
Padhoge likhoge banoge nawaab
Kheloge Koodoge banoge kharaab.

Regardless of that, kapil continued to 'haunt' my imaginations like no one had done before. So much so that i had a secret plan up my sleeve - study during the day to keep my parents satisfied and work upon my batting when the whole world slept. Yeah, i didn't fancy myself as a 'bowler Dev' but more as a 'batter Dev'. But very soon i knew that shadow batting wont take me anywhere.
So to overcome the disappointment, i went for a hero-change. Replacement came in the form of the indomitable Sir Vivian Richards. Arguably the most destructive batsman to have ever wielded the willow with elan. Though he was nearing retirement, he showed no signs of mellowing down. He was as menacing as he used to be though the effect was not quite the same (so said the old timers). I remember buying old issues of sportstar from the raddiwala at exorbitant prices, even if it carried a single article about King Richards. And i drank in all that like a heady wine. But then the inevitable happened. Sir Viv called it a day. I was heart broken and for the first time in my conscious memory, was left 'idol-less'. Days passed and i became more and more desperate for an idol.
W.V. Raman ( now dontcha ask raman who? ) came in as the compromise choice. This incident took place sometimes in 1995-96. My joy knew no bounds when i realised that he was travelling in the same train as me (ofcourse in the 1st AC) for a ranji match at Jamshedpur. As soon as he alighted from the train, my younger sister and I rushed towards him. He was accompanied by the now infamous Maninder Singh, once-also-clicked Ajay Sharma and Atul Wassan who is now the host of some of the most boring cricket shows on DD National. Yawn! I got his autograph on the back of my tshirt while Mani obliged my sister. That was the last i heard of W V Raman. I briefly experimented with the likes of Ian Healy,Bevan, Azhar, Dominic Cork, gentle giant Walsh,even Aaquib Javed and few others who do not merit a mention. But all these experiments were ephemeral. Because by that time Brian Lara and Wasim Akram had become the big names that were going to rule international cricket for years to come. I agree that i discovered Wasim Bhai a tad late. He had already won the hearts of cricket lovers around the world with his bowling which clearly reflected a hunger for wickets. The kind of killer instinct that gets the adrenaline pumping. His trademark lethal toe crunchers which were almost unplayable. I can still vividly remember a grimacing Kiran More; almost on the verge of tears due to the sheer physical pain; dragging himself back to the pavilion when he was trapped in front of the wicket. And the celebrations thereafter were what folklores are made of :) FYI,More's toe took almost three days to heal thereafter.
But my search for the elusive idol finally ended with one man everybody loves to call Brian Charles Lara. The man the machine. The run scoring machine. One man who singlehandedly saved the Windies from plummeting to the abysmal depths that it ideally should have once the Ambrose-Walsh-Richardson era ended. For a team that had suddenly been bereft of all big names, Lara led from the front. A terminator to the core, who always let his bat do the talking. And the real test of character came down under in the face of possibly the best bowling attack ever in the cricketing history. An attack that boasted names like Warne ( i also flirted with him briefly), McGrath ( how i hate his consistency, Gillespie(why did he perform the vanishing act?), Lee (man!! he sure knows how to celebrate) etc etc. And he dominated them all. So much so that Mcgrath rates him as the toughest batter he has ever bowled to. Now that he has officially called it quits, Brian Lara would still continue to be my idol - FOREVER!!
Amongst the current crop, its a neck to neck between Freddy Flintoff and Huss Hussey. But i guess it would be Hussey in the end because i dont see England breaking the Australian jinx in the near future. And i sincerely hope they dont.

What man proposes, God disposes

2007-06-03T17:56:00.000+05:30

"When a man wants something very badly the whole universe conspires to help him achieve it!" Words of 'infinite wisdom' straight from the horse's mouth. Paulo Coelho must have never been to Bombay. Or even if he might have been, he might have never risked going to one of the cinema theatres. Even if he might have risked, it must not have been a Sunday. I have always disliked Paulo Coelho and his 'wisdom'. Now i have more reasons to do so.

Before i get to the original story, a prelude would be in place.
The prelude: This is the story of a young guy. The guy doesn't mind watching movies once in a while regardless of the language, theme, quality, actors etc etc. What matters is the medium. A television or a pc would be more than welcome. But the guy shirks at the thought of spending a few precious bucks for the sake of watching the same movie at the theatre. The only movie that he has ever watched to date in a theatre has been Dilip kumar-Vaijyanthi Mala starrer 'Madhumati'. The reasons for watching the movie would require yet another post.

The story: Then something happened one day. The guy, tired of vegetating within the four walls of his hostel room, decides to grace PVR theatre with his benign presence. The partners in crime being the ever scheming 'S' and 'An' who quite deserves the 'bapu' tag. I would stick to these names so that they can be in no way used against the guy when he stands for the post of President of India or the President of World bank or for that matter, Chief Justice of Pakistan in future. Change of heart was brought about by the fact that 'An' had two free tickets. Deal was that the three of them would contribute equally towards the cost of the third ticket with 'An' being generous enough to not make noises about it. Catch - the movie was 'Fool and Final'. The guys land up at PVR well ahead of time. Then came the second biggest shockof the day. The biggest ofcourse being the guy relenting to go to a theatre. The movie was running housefull. Unbelievable yet true. Even as Himeshbhai was crowing nearby, the scheming 'S' got into a huddle with 'An' thinking of ways to 'katao' the guy. But in vain. The guy won't budge without them in tow. Ultimately, 'S' came up with this bright idea of first selling off the tickets and then deciding what was to be done with the money. Finding fools for the foolery was the simplest thing to do. A pair of what were definitely love birds (though the guy must have been the same age as the girl's father) leapt at the offer. Now the troika was richer by 300 bucks. But the foolhardy didn't stop at this. Huma theatre was the next target. Nothing changed. Soldout. A few expletives directed at the person manning the counter didn't help either. They had been fooled and this was final. The writing was clear on the wall. But the booty had to be utilised. An awesome combo of pizzas, nutty chocolate rolls, french fries, garlic bread and chilled coke at a cool 300 bucks enough to serve three grown ups more than made the day. Sumptuous meal !

The End: The guy rounded it up by watching Eastwood's 'Letters from Iwo Jima' in his room.
50 bucks are still 50 bucks. For the mathematically disabled, when you split up 150 bucks between 3 people (which would have been the cost of that elusive ticket), each ends up paying 50 bucks. The guy had planned a tear-to-shreds review of the movie on his blog (regardless of the movie starring some Miss Takia). A free treat is a free treat is a free treat. In conclusion, all is well that ends well. "What man proposes, God disposes!"

Before signing off: Left to me, i would rephrase Coelho as "When a man wants something very badly the whole universe conspires to ensure that he doesn't achieve it. This makes the universe very happy. But this happiness is rather shortlived. The man realises that by not having achieved that 'something', he has endedp up happier". Now beat that !

PS: No marks for guessing who the protagonist is.
No marks for predicting that there is no love lost between me and Coelho

The trek that was never to be

2007-05-28T15:16:00.000+05:30

Some people are blessed with enviable mesmerising and convincing skills. Try as much as you can, you are forced to toe their lines. And it doesn' t require a formal education or a degree from a business school. I would like to label my driver as one such crafty and scheming person.

For the uninitiated, i have been living in nainital for more than a year now i.e ofcourse when i get a break from iit. Fot the even more uninitiated, in other words dimwits, Nainital is a hill station in the state of Uttaranchal..err..Uttarakhand. For the lesser dimwits, there are places in and around Nainital which are even better than Nainital.
So getting back to my driver- he is bitten by the sometimes very irritating 'travel bug'. People who are itching for an opportunity to travel. The kind who will even jump at the chance to buy a toothpaste. But the catch would be that he should be allowed to travel to the most uninhabited corner of Nainital and locate a shop there. The typical sturdy villager of Kumaon who has spent most of his life 'upping and downing' the majestic hills of Nainital. And God knows how, but he was living under this false illusion that i am the typical hectic jumping jack types- his perfect companion for the roads less travelled. Getting back to his skills, he firstly hypnotised my mother into sending me out with him to a trip of Bhawali ( i am not sure if thats the way its spelled in english) and Mukteshwar. These are places around Nainital which are at much higher altitudes than Nainital. We set out inside our car without any eating hamper to go with. This is going to turn out to be very important later on. He has a very simple straighforward driving principle. 'Drive as fast as you can. The serpentine roads of Nainital are so treacherous that any driver worth his salt is extremely careful. So why should he bother ?' So normally when it takes others 1 hour to reach Bhawali, we were there in 45 minutes sharp. Then came the shocker. We were going to trek. Me and trekking ? I tried reasoning out with him but in vain. He was already there with the necessary paraphernalia and claimed that he was related in blood to Tenzing Norkay. I knew he was lying and yet i was convinced. The mountain in front of me resembled a gargantuan orang utan ready to feast on my meat. It was densely covered with pine trees. Strange thoughts started cropping up. What if i get lost ? I will have to survive eating the yucky tasteless looking pine cones when i am a die hard non veggie. The fact that i had recently watched 'The Hills Have Eyes' didn't help my cause. Then came the gut wrenching shocker. He started drawing out ropes. My eyes popped out of my sockets. He was going to indulge in rock climbing. That sounded the death knell for my trekking bravado. I had had enough. I left him to God's mercy and told him that i would meet him at the top of the hill. Very slowly i steered the car up the slopes and reached the top via road. He was already there flashing the happy dent smile. The sight from there was awe inspiring. I know this is getting tad too longish. But i cannot stop before i have talked about this tree. We were blessed by the sight of the tree right at the top of the mountain.This tree, as the natives claim, has ridiculously incredible medicinal properties. But the best part was they said it was the baap of viagra. My driver couldn't agree more. And there was no immediate way to verify the claim.The scenery around was breathtaking. Only Kashmir might be better. I drank in all that like a heady wine. And then i drank a cup of tea in the kind of tea stall that every bollywood movie associates with a hill station. Something was written on one of the walls of the tea stall. Closer inspection revealed 'Bhoot ka hai apna ghar. Mujhko toh lagta hai darr'. Why the hell did i have to read this? I got goosebumps. Not because of the cold. We left the place in a hurry. Hot steamed food and worried parents waited me. The smart driver again managed to convince them that i had the best travel experience of my life. More action to follow but in later posts.
For records' sake here goes my driver

Tempus Fugit

2007-05-27T02:45:00.000+05:30

Tempus Fugit or Time flies ! It sure does. And nowhere does time fly faster than inside a college.May be in a school. There will be enough people who will readily take up this debate but i am in no mood to spark off a debate on my blog. May be later. But not now.
Four years of stay at IIT are now officially over. Unofficially i already hold the BTech degree. One more year and i would be a postgrad-the so called advantage of being a dual degree student. Another debatable issue which should be mentally filed for future reference. Four years down the line and some things have changed drastically and irreverisbly. A lots of familiar faces are gone for ever. Not that i miss them much- those left behind more than compensate. What awaits is one year of a princely existence. No classes. Absolutely nothing. A dual degree project carrying abnormally high credits to keep you occupied. What this ends up doing is it affords you infinite time to retrospect, introspect and circumspect- not necessarily the last one and not necessarily in that order. But like every other civilised beast i must retrospect and more importantly blog about it. What went wrong during my 4 years stay at IIT ? Academically ? Everything. Almost that is. I screwed up my acads badly- its very voguish these days to make such a statement. You are considered a cool-dude-who-doesn't-give-this-world-a-damn. So much so that even 8 point someones love to make such grand statements. Before you start growling,barking and woofing, i must point out that there are also many honourable exceptions to this phenomenon where people are actually proud of their academic assets. To get back to the point, i have 'screwed' up my acads in the truest sense of the word. And I DO feel bad about it specially as the job season inches closer.
I didn't do a zilch on the sports scene. And I DO NOT feel bad about it. Simply put, i am not cut out for any sporting activity. I did play quite a lot. But that was the kind which does not lead to your CV enhancement. Cricket in the wing- i prided myself as a bowler. People called me Nainital Express because they got great kicks out of it. Bowling was the preferred option- not because i can do magic with the red cherry- the dirty yellow tennis wala in my case. But because it ensured you were not hit below the belt in that ungentlemanly format of the gentleman's game where the motto simply is 'Aim for the crotch. Everything else is an illusion'. Anything that was played in the wing had me involved as an active player-sometimes even as the sutradhar. The moment the scene shifted to anywhere but the wing, i was reduced to being a mute spectator. I did grumble and made few noises but then who gives a damn.
Dramatics was something that i always wanted to do. Did a few typical dram roles while in school. The kind where you walk all dressed up as a sainik (Not the Balasaheb version) - just one component of a large entourage that moved with the Rajah on the stage. Just to earn my one minute of fame. The blink-and-you-miss appearance where the only people interested in you are your doting parents. In IIT, i stayed away from dramatics considering it to be a sacred bastion-the one reserved for the real talents.I envy those who are good at dramatics. So i hardly envy a few in the institute. That sums it up all.
Did a lil bit of debating and a lil bit of creative writing here and there just for the heck of it-also cos it leads to resume enhancement.
I must have done lots of other things. Ok atleast, a few other things. But age is fast catching up. My memory is failing me. Another fashionable statement. To be honest, its late into the night or very early in the morning depending on which side of the divide your sleeping habit falls. Its 4:30 am.More updates of a demented mind will follow.But for now, its bon nuit. So long and thanks for all the fishes !!

My kiddo years

2007-03-07T14:51:00.000+05:30

Nostalgia is an amazing thing. The online Webster dictionary sums it up very aptly as 'a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition'.
All it requires is a triggering agent and the sluice floodgates of the mind open thereby letting in past memories flow back. The memories that were lying dormant somehwere in the deep recesses of the brain become active. I had such a triggering reaction today. As i was casually browsing through the newspaper, i came across the headline saying 'Geodesic to buy Chandamama for Rs 10 Cr'. I didn't have to read the entire story. What actually ensued was i was transported back to my childhood days. The days when Chandamama,Nandan,Champak and Nanhe Samrat formed the staple food for the curious mind. The invasion by the westernised versions had just begun then. Archie was far removed from the Indian style of living. So it didn't have much calling. Action sequences-be it deshi or videshi could never keep me riveted for long. So Super Commando Dhruv,Super Man and their ilks were always out of the question. That left me with the Chandamamas and the Nandans. But awesome were they. I was specially a big Nandan fan. I still wonder why. The stories in Nandan generally had a brave 'rajkumar' and a divinely beautiful 'rajkumari'. And there was the quintessential villain- the kind of plot that has been lifted with clockwork regularity by stupid bollywood flicks. Champak was outright idiotic. You had scatterbrained animals trying to play humans. I know 'Animal farm' rocks but this came nowhere close. The scheming fox, the super duper helpful elephant, the wise owl and God knows what. Nanhe Samrat was one magazine which prided itself on the detective stories that it churned out with the claim that they were not plagiarsied. Regardless of the tall claims, they sure were!! Some were lifted straight out of Sherlock Holmes. Television was Doordarshan which meant that these comics were always very much in demand and they always ended up burning a hole in my father's pocket. Not that he minded it much. Then there was this very unknown english magazine called Target. It was totally Indianised and all the stories were meant for children. It had some of the most weird stories that i have read/heard till date and i had subscribed to it for a year. After six months, i stopped receiving my copies. I tried contacting them but in vain.Years later, i was told that the magazine went bust within a year of its inception. I won a few elocutions by reciting poems directly out of that magazine. And i still miss its weird stories.

But in a nutshell, these magazines/comics were pure unadulterated fun. Television/internet is an unnecessary evil which has almost killed my reading habits. But before i sound sermonising, i shall sign off on the note, happy reading !

Schools and Sainthood

2007-03-06T23:04:00.000+05:30

There is something about schools which really bugs me. No! It has got nothing to do with the schools no longer being the temples of learning but merely a means of minting money. Neither does it concern the kind of supposedly 'hifi' education that the neo schools claim to impart. This post is also not about the 'super smart' schools which insist upon interviewing a kid's parents before they deem the kid good enough ro merit an entry into their 'coveted' school. This despite the child having aced the mentally torturing and nerve wrecking written tests.
This post stems from my concern about the nomenclature of schools. I can wager a bet that ATLEAST 50% of the schools, especially in the smaller cities and towns, have a name bearing the suffix Saint(St) before their names. I think i am really smart because i have a theory to explain every smart phenomenon on this planet earth. So i also have my very own theory to explain this fad. It goes something like this. The dimwits behind the naming of any school first sit down for a brainstorming session over a jug of some very high content alcoholic drink. The first step is to come up with some Anglicised name for the school. The imaginations are allowed to run wild. The person who comes with the most common sounding name is then made the principal of such a school. This helps kill two birds with the same stone.The school has a moron as the principal and the school has a name..almost that is. The dimwits still feel that there is something thats still missing from the name of the school. Enlightment dawns upon these poor souls all of a sudden and they prefix the name with a St. (short for a saint). Everyone heaves a collective sigh of relief. End result-the common man has to put up with outrageous sign boards painted in the most unprofessional manner in 'dhinch' colours. These can be seen at every other 'gali n nukkad' proudly claiming that the 'gali' has St Ignatius, StMauritius, StThomas, StRonaldo, StFederer, StSchumacher, StSchwarznegger-name them and they have them.
Some schools do not stop at this. They believe in stooping lower. The signboards are further spiced up with claims like 'English mediumICSE education till 9th standard'. Or something which goes like'Teaching same as in CBSE board' when the CBSE board might not even have heard of the existence of any such school. As for the english that is used while designing these repelling boards, the less said the better. But this should take another post. ...

PS: This post in no way tries to berate the so many schools using the St. prefix. There are many
that have done a great service to the nation and have produced top class alumni. So sincere apologies to such temples of learning. For the other so commons. feel free to criticise ..

techFEST

2007-01-28T09:38:00.000+05:30

Its the fourth Techfest at my college that i am a witness to. The one thing that i like about Techfest is that its held during the semester. Unlike Mood I, which is held during the winter break. As a result, i have attended all the four techfests since i landed at iit. But, till date, i have not attended a single MoodI in its entirety. I had the (mis)fortune of attending only 2 Mood I's and on both occasions, it was only on the last two days. Hmm, now let me get back to Techfest. This is the tenth Techfest and by having attended 4 of them, i can definitely claim to have been a part of 'it'.
In my fresher year, when i was just too innocent and naive, i worked as an organiser. Being an organiser means that you get exploited (:D) in every way possible (except perhaps sexually) . The best part is that you realise this only once the fest gets over. And then you are too embarrased to even admit it and dub it as a part of a learning process. Running around for small errands, gatekeeping, bringing food and bisleri bottles, pretending as if you are very busy, trying to strike up a conversation with the girls from outside iit - all form an integral part of an orgy (even the term sounds so demeaning) job.
Once you are in the second year comes the job which is just above an orgy in the job hierarchy at techfest. This time you end up with a an identity card dangling around your neck that loudly proclaims coordinator techfest. Not at all the kind of job that dreams are made of. How different is it from being an 'orgy'? Strikingly different. The orgies (pun intended) are always huddled together while gatekeeping. On the other hand, a coordi stands alone dressed more formally and doing what? Gatekeeping! All the while hoping that the people from outside iit do notice that you are a coordinator and not an organiser. And on top of that, you also expect (how on earth ?? ) the outsiders to understand that a coordi comes above an orgie in the techfest hierarchy. For the insiders- you dont mind for they dont matter. But the coordi job also comes with the kind of 'political ambitions' that an orgi job does not. If you are 'poltu' enough and smart enough to interest the people above you, then you stand a chance - the coveted opportunity of becoming a manager techfest in your third year. More importantly, you should be working with loads of zeal and enthusiasm when 'people who matter' are in the near vicinity. Does this sound like grapes are sour ? Sure does:(
Haan so now onto 'managerial fundaes'. A manager defintely is a very important person. Not because he is so vital to the success of Techfest. That ofcourse is stating the obvious. Important because it gives him such a strong resume point to brag about during job interviews. "I was the MANAGER of such and such Techfest". But since my story ends at being a coordi, so i wont comment- attribute to it to lack of knowledge and partially to 'sour grapes syndrome' :(
Now onto the current Techfest. I am having a dream run over here. Managed to win two techfest tees [definitely the best techfest tees that i have seen to date :) ], one fundoo mousepad and 2 cans of free red bulls. So far so good. I can only hope that today is even better. In lieu of all these goodies, i must admit Techfest roxxx....

Citius,Altius,Fortius

2007-01-11T22:09:00.000+05:30

Prelude : This post has been inspired by some of my close buddies who have, oft late, been bitten by the fitness bug. Partly, this post also stems from my own lack of interest (read that as inability) to join the fray. This is attributable to a host of reasons - sloth, sloth and even greater sloth. All incidents mentioned in this post are real and any resemblance to any event/person living are purely deliberate and not at all coincidental.The semester has just commenced. There is still more than a month to go before there is even a whiff of any exam. This translates into the students being infinitely 'lukkha' with not much (actually nothing) to do. Necessity is the mother of all inventions. And one of the most healthy and rewarding ways to utilise this unexpected abundance of time is to hit the roads. Not the way "hitting the road" is supposed to be, but the supposedly 'unpeppy' way - on foot- the Gandhigiri style. Most insti inmates prefer to hit the road anonymously - generally hitting the roads late in the evenings when its quite dark and the chances of your recognising another fella are really low until and unless you are hell bent upon doing otherwise. That is when you are straining/rubbing your eyes and posing this query to yourself "Woopsie !! Is it really (s)he who is galloping? GAWD!! i should get closer." But pretty soon you realise that (s)he is a tad too fast for you to do the catching yourself. You then console yourself with the thought,"(s)he sure did look like a raging bull. I wud rather be myself and not make an ass of myself .... gees" ! when deep in your heart even you want to play the raging bull :(. The cricket field has to be seen to be believed. There ongoings don't even come close to that gentelman's game. Some people are stretched out on the coveted 22 yards patch of land which is supposed to be a "pitch". The runners/joggers meanwhile are slogging furiously circumferencing the field taking care not to make an eye contact with anyone in the near vicinity. And i dont know why. Not to be left out are the people who have been inspired by the numerous art of living courses which are mushrooming faster than the coaching courses meant for getting through to the engineering and medical colleges. Alas what i terribly miss is having a Munnabhai inspired "laughter club" inside iit. That would have been beneficial in two ways - for those who joined and for those who refrained and still would end up having the last laugh. But my heart goes out to them who cycle incessantly from their respective hostels to the main gate and back; all the while timing out their journeys. Coming from a cycling veteran, who only recently gave his beloved bicycle a teary farewell, believe me this is the most gruelling and enegy sapping drill. But the sense of achievement and pride is something that has to be felt to be believed. However its the alpha males who are a sight to reckon with; who are far far above such petty running, jogging and aerobic routines. Gym is where the art is. These body brandishing insti inmates are the craziest of the fitness freaks; most of who consider themselves enlightened enough to show the divine light to the poorer souls. If you are unfortunate enough, the enlightment might go on for ages till the time you are rescued by some other unsuspecting innocent soul. Now its his turn to see the divine light.
By now, you must have realised that this post gives vent to my frustration on not being a member of this league of extraordinary ladies and gentlemen. So i am ending this post on a hopeful note .....

No full stops in India

2007-01-02T13:39:00.000+05:30

Have you ever travelled in a 2nd class compartment of a train or what is called the GENERAL compartment these days? Or better still, have you ever travelled in a passenger train? If you haven't, then you might fnd this funny. If you have, then you might not. I had the unenviable previlege of travelling in a passenger train this winter. The kind of stuff that no fairy tale is made of. One of the most harrowing experiences of a lifetime. I was accompanying my dad on his Nepal visit. The first and the much longer part of the journey was mighty peaceful and pleasant. We got down at Gorakhpur. Then started the second leg of our tour which was travelling from Gorakhpur to Sunauli which lies on the Indo Nepal border (a border for namesake). The official railway time table said that it should take us three hours. The train was to depart from the last platform of the Gorakhpur junction. And what a platform did it turn out to be! There was not a single vendor to be found. The entire platform was littered with garbage, rubbish, rags and yes.. human faeces !! The Almighty was kind enough and the train , believe it or not, was on time. As the train chugged in, the sea of humanity dotting the platform, came into motion. We were prudent enough to have a coolie with us who managed to get us a couple of seats, though not at the same place. The train left after what was close to an hour and the thought of getting over with the ordeal in a time span of three hours soon evaporated into thin air. I was sharing my four seater with six other good fellas and i was literally hanging on the edge of the seat. Facing me were three Nepali dudes- in the good, the bad and the ugly ishtyle who kept cracking some incomprehensible Nepali jokes and laughed at the expense of the other cubicle mates. Nobody was bothered though. Within moments, the interior of the train was fetid with sweats and farts. "Love in time of cholera" no longer was worth a read as i quickly pushed it within the bag. All the time, i tried to breathe as less possible specially curtailing the inhalation process. The conversation between the people occupying the same cubicle as me ( there were no less than twenty five) varied from the mundane to the worldly wise. The marriage season, the upcoming elections, kabul express, katrina kaif entering the ajmer dargah in a skirt to india's debacle at south africa- everything came under the scanner of the learned and the not-so-learned. Much of the train had soon become a garbage dump. The floor was littered with "chiniya badam", "bhelpuri", betel stains n some unidentifiables. And GAWD !! there were two goats as well that had been tied near the wash basin rendering it useless. Then i committed the cardinal sin of deciding to use the train toilet to relieve myself. The toilet had masses of shit, overflowing and spread liberally all around. For the next few hours that image and that stench stayed with me: when i ate and when i drank. Meanwhile the train strolled at its leisurely pace stopping at every possible place where there was even a sign of the Indian Railways - and that included some strategically positioned trees as well. All this while the person sitting beside me, who was obviously drunk, kept using me as a leaning support. The lil ones accompanying their kith and kin also find their predicament unbearable and soon they were puking all around. I almost felt like passing out. Finally after five hours of a gruelling journey ( my watch said it was five hours but mentally must have been much much more) the train stopped at the decrepit railway station. Alighting from the train consumed some ten more minutes and i looked skywards. God had the last laugh and it started to drizzle giving UP's cold an even greater bite..

HIBERNATING

2006-11-26T12:11:00.000+05:30

THIS BLOG IS HIBERNATING!! WILL BE ALIVE AND KICKING WHEN JANUARY COMES

It's Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life

2006-11-07T14:55:00.000+05:30

Act1,Scene1: It was my freshie year. Having been allotted hostel13 meant travelling up and down the slopy roads leading to the academic area. Something that would be a real arduous task. For the unitiated, the academic area is more than 1 kilometer away from my hostel and you have to surmount two himalyan slopes on your way. What i badly needed was a bicycle. Severe cash crunch, as always, ensured that my bicycle could only be a "bicycle"! Not the sleek and sexy ones which most others seemed to possess. So a not-so-soothing-to-the-eyes blue coloured framework, just two brakes, just the normal handle without any add-ons, the normal bell capable of producing the most repulsive and an ear drum piercing sound and ofcourse, no signs of gears-all in all the kind of cycle that the filthy rich kids of today would dismiss as prehistorical. Despite this it cost me a fortune-1700 bucks!
Act1,Scene2:Now its my fourth year. "Well wishers" bombard me with queries with a clockwork regularity. Queries of the type, "You don't even realise its kiddish?". "How long will she carry your load re?". "Will you exploit her even in your 5th year or will you even cycle to your office?". And these queries crop up only when my "well wishers" are in groups. The boisterous laughter that emanates thereafter can unnerve or irritate the lesser mortals but i still manage (or pretend to manage) to maintain my composure. So i would like to use this medium to express my gratitude to all "well wishers" who have ensured that my love for my cycle does not mellow down with age. For someone for whom a trip to the main gate has become a religious ritual, life sans a cycle would have been hellish. My old faithful- she has withstood the vagaries of faith and weather ungrudgingly. She bore the brunt of Bombay's monsoons for an entire month when i parked her in the open unattended while i cheerfully proceeded on a vacation back home. There are loads of people who owe a big thanks to her for having saved them on innumerable occasions - be it missing a lab, lecture or a date:d . She has been subjected to double and triple ridings as well regardless of her highly fragile and docile framework. And despite all these favours, the ungrateful fellas have tormented her and her owner with the crudest of jokes. The biggest advantage of having a cheap bicycle is that noone really bothers even giving her a look while the costlier ones keep getting moused.There have been gazillion occasions when she has suffered a chain break, puncture, break fail and god-knows what !! But every time she has recuperated back to "fighting fit". Alas!! now these events have become just too frequent- signs of old age catching up with her. Every second day some part gives away and getting a repair costs me a fortune. But the strong bondage ensures that i do cough up some precious bucks- something that i don't do for nothing! Now for all my "well wishers"- here's some good news! The truth has dawned upon me albeit late. The imminent has arrived. She definitely deserves a rest. Before i say RIP , i must tell you its AVON SLR 707. Go have a look ...

ps: The preference of "she" over "it" and "he" has a reason. Not to be disclosed :p
pps: She is too camera shy for any pictures. Everybody loves my baby :)

Salaam Bombay !

2006-11-01T23:01:00.000+05:30

Ever since i was done with my schooling and all, i have lived the life of a nomad. I have been lucky enough to have lived in some of the beshtesht cities one can think of. A huge chunk of that stay has been in the himalyan kingdom of Nepal. Then i have lived in places like Patna,Mumbai,Delhi and Nainital . Having lived the biggest part of my post-schooldays life in Mumbai, i consider myself qualified enough to voice my opinions about the city. I , for reasons inexplicable, do not like the sound of the word Mumbai. So i would be better off using Bombay. Before i go about rattling my version of " reasons why i love Bombay", i must say that these views are totally personal to the me and any offences are purely coincidental.
First and foremost, i like Bombay for being Bombay. The kind of Bombay that one grows up with watching doordarshan's serials and movies. The kind of Bombay that is the real exotic orient. The kind of Bombay that greets you the moment you get down from your train onto the platform. Everyone seems so lively and active - the entire city oozes life from every pore. For someone who is awe inspired at the very sight of a beach, Bombay keeps me mesmerised. Having looked at some of the best beaches/shores like Murud, Colaba, Bandra etc (and still miles to go before i sleep),it has only left me longing for more. And how can someone waxing eloquent about Bombay forget to mention Bombay's awesome snacks. Stepping out of my college's main gate, the first thing that attracts me are the street vendors selling all possible permutations and combinations of "puris" - be it bhel, batata or sev. A start without a stop. The amazingly crisp chikkis and the vada paos - the list is simply endless. Even the Bombay local trains are inviting. Despite the sometimes unnerving crowd that zeroes on you from all sides, travelling by the Bombay locals is another experience that i look forward to. Looking out of the window, you can see the exact Bombay that has been depicted mesmerisingly through media, literature, news etc. And i swear, i have never been pick pocketed!! ( during my much shorter stay in Delhi, i had been pickpocketed twice). I also love Bombay for being one of the richest cities one can think of. The shopping malls and the multiplexes are always teeming with the Bombay millions- something that would have been a luxury in some other place. Bombay, as far as my perception goes is also much more safer than a host of other Indian cities. Personal experience says that you can hit the roads even in the thick of the night and still return home safe and sound. For a city which is as important as Bombay, i must say that the people here are totally devoid of any ostentatious displays- something that is quite evident in some other cities that are far less important than Bombay. And i must add - the Bombay populace is mighty helpful and forthcoming.There are still myriad other reasons why Bombay rocks but then i am quite sure i have bored you people enough. There would be more people living in the city of Bombay than in the Australian continent ten years from now and i am proud to be one of them.

ROTFL

2006-10-16T23:16:00.000+05:30

What happens when a much touted and promising bollywood director starts gloating to the extent of becoming vainglorious? What happens when a bunch of jokers are put together into the main cast of what is supposedly a serious bollywood venture? What happens when people try to work out a sequel to a movie that was made almost a decade back with the only motive being to cash in on the original version? And the one and the only answer to all these questions is SHIVA. I am quite sure that a director of Ram Gopal Verma's calliber must have had certain novel designs in his mind when he conceived of a sequel to his original Shiva. But whatever the intentions might have been, the film is ludicrous and that is saying the least. A laugh riot ( though its not intended to be one) from the beginning to the very end. An out-of-this-world- honest sub inspector blessed with extraterrestrial physical prowess is the pivot around whom the entire laugh riot revolves. The guy tries his best at looking i-mean-business type damn serious but i am really sure that he must have dropped laughing onto the ground after each take. Nisha Kothari is there again doing what she is best at - providing the unnecessary spice girl element. Alas! she even fails in that attempt what with our RGV getting her to don glasses playing a journo who seems to have just come out of some mental asylum. But the cherry on the cake is provided by the villainous character named Baapu. He doesn't even need any special efforts to make you laugh ( again i must warn you that this is supposed to be a goddamn serious movie and the shades/abundance of laughter are totally interpretation dependent). One look at his rusticity and you are certain to be amused throughout the movie. RGV has grossly overdone things in his attempt to paint a gory picture of the underworld. Like in one scene where the mafioso kills a man in broad daylight by driving a nail through his head using a hammer(Guffaws!!). Guess this doesn't even happen in Colombia, leave aside India. Then without any forewarning or a need, there is the typical bollywood ishtyle dancing around the trees with the actress in her itsy bitsy best. And the dialogue delivery is simply GODgiri. Voice modulation is something i believe that the entire crew wasn't aware of. So anything that Baapu or Sandhya (Nisha) speak, hits the ear like fingernails scraping on a blackboard. The sync (or the lack of it) leaves so much to be desired. It creates so much confusion you aren't sure if you must sympathise with the hero or join Baapu in his merry making or infact, the vice versa. Right from the beginning the hero keeps winning on all the fronts and that too hands down. So i kept guessing that the next scene would give a blow to the character's aspirations. Strangely enough, that "next scene" never materialised. Result is that it turned out to be a total feel good/feel best movie. For me, this has to be the funniest i have seen this year from the bollywood stable. I don't think i need to watch Lagey raho.. after this divine experience. Btw, my tummy still hurts from the experience. Will need a good night's sleep to overcome the mental trauma and just praying that i don't get a hangover.

If i am not a weirdo, what the hell am i doin here ?

2006-10-08T01:00:00.000+05:30

Life on the blogosphere becomes a hell when you have been tagged. The person who tags you proudly announces - "I have done it" . His role over, everytime you come across him you are reminded of the bitter truth. The ungrateful job you have landed with - living upto his tag. When you feel like blogging, you cannot! You have been tagged. So i have decided to put an end to this tagging business for good. So here i am.
Well, i have been asked to point out the 5 "most" weird things about me! How on earth do i know that ?? What might seem perfectly normal to me might be more than perfectly abnormal to you. "Weirdity" lies in the eyes of the beholder. I talked to a host of people which included my siblings, friends,romans n countrymen. But to my utter disappointment, i have been told that i am a perfectly normal dweeb . I did take offence to actually being labelled a dweeb by someone but then thats another story. Someone who is simply so "unweird" that it almost borders on boredom. Someone who is interesting only as long as you are not in intimate contact with him. Then i start becoming predictable, then a little boring, then more boring and then even drab. So after more than a week of analysis and inspired thinking, i have come upon the conclusion that, indeed, i am NOT AT ALL WEIRD !! The verdict has been delivered. No overrulings on my blog. Sincere apologies DADA - I tried like anything but failed to deliver. Anyways, thanks but no thanks! So long and thanks for all the fishes :)
PS: And people please do not bother tagging me again. I am well and truly done with this tagging business forever. And for good !

Touch me, I'm sick !

2006-09-29T00:54:00.000+05:30

A couple of cones more than what my system can handle, a couple of more than necessary treats for me, a couple of more than than the usual night outs, a couple of more than necessary assignments for my sparrow brain and a couple of days of getting wet in the usual Mumbaiyya weather.This deadly combination of factors, all going against me at the same time, is what lands me at the unwelcoming IIT Hospital (btw, which hospital is welcoming?) for possibly the gazzilionth instant. My love and hate relationship with the IIT hospi has been going on for what now seems ages and the saga simply refuses to die down. So there i was ! Perched on the typically-hospital-white-bench patiently waiting for my turn outside the doc's chamber. Not every soul looked ill. Most were like me - invisibly ill. Didn't shave for quite some days which actually made me look forlorn and not quite fit. My chance came after around 20 minutes of peaceful wait. I entered and sat facing the doctor. I always manage to find the same doctor whenever i land up at the IIT hospital despite there being around six doctors there. So even before she could shoot her first question; boom! there goes my answer
Me - 55 Kgs (Had checked my wait at the delhi railway station before embarking on my journey from Delhi to Mumbai. It showed 54 Kgs. So i calculated that the mess food must have done wonders and i must have gained a kg - nothing more and nothing less)
Doc - And thats your weight?
Me- Smilingly nod my head ( what else on this earth could that be ?)
Doc - Have you been smoking excessively over the last few days ?
Me - No! Infact , i just forgot, i don't smoke at all!
Doc - Is this the result of an affair gone all wrong ?
Me - No doc! Not at all.
Doc - Then give me an acceptable reason for your almost underweight status.( A cunning questioning smile lightening up her visage)
Me(mumbling under my breath) - Is it not something that you should figure out?
Doc - What?
Me - Nothing (followed by a wry smile that came with the involuntary twitching of my facial muscles)
She then gives up the pretence of being genuinely interested in her patient's health and gets on with her usual business. Gets me to open my mouth as big as it gets, then doesn't even bother looking inside. Uses the stetho as any other doctor does. Checks my pulse. Advices against eating too much oily food.
Doc- Then i guess this is just the common cold + fever that afflicts people with the changes in weather. Mumbai's not been treating you well then.
Doc- You want to go for a blood test.
Me - No! Thank you!
Me - Another wry smile managed albeit with lesser difficulty.
Doc - I have prescribed you a few medicines. Take them as per the routine. Come back in two days . Should be hale and hearty by then. "But then something must be ".... just trails off leaving me imagining the worst.
Me - Thanks a lot mam!
Prescription in hand,I drag myself to the dispensary. The service here is quick. I get a few tablets of Uni Cold tablets, scary yellow amoxycillin capsules and the most stinking and nauseating cough syrup that comes without a name - in a not properly disposed off chhota bisleri bottle. And then, there is my mom's never-worked-recipe of B Complex capsules which are supposedly energising and invigorating. The same combination of medicines that have been prescribed to me with clockwork regularity during my "now what has become ritualistic" visits to the IIT hospi ( how much we love that term!!). The same combination (with possibly an altered permutation) is omnipotent or apparently is. Be it body ache, toothache, tummy tantrums, cough, cold, malaria or anything - the IIT hospi has the proven and tested one single formula. And for some extraterrestrial reasons - it has always worked ! And i wager a bet that it will work again. For those more curious about my mecca .. have look!

we BANK upon YOU !

2006-09-26T00:51:00.000+05:30

I am very sure a lot of you , infact all of you, must have undergone the kind of trauma and torture which i am about to narrate right now. The kind of story that you must have heard one too many so that it sounds obsolete and all. Yet all this simply cannot dissuade me from pouring out my feelings on my blog. Afterall, its my blog :p

So the scene is IIT Powai SBI branch. One of my lectures got over early and there were around 20 minutes to go before the next one started. With too many people bullying and coaxing me as a daily ritual to return the money i owed to them, i decided to pay a visit to the bank. "Just get over with this life of penury and insult" being the driving force behind my taking this arduous journey on my ageing, creaking and squeaking bike (synonym for a bicycle) now on the verge of calling it quits. The guard at the entrance didn't even bother giving me a sidelong glance as he was quite busy ogling at the others "more interesting". Saying what i saw inside was discouraging, would be a moderation. It seems this is one elusive Mumbai bank where half the populace banks. There was utter chaos with the sea of humanity inside really unnerving. Perfect scene of unity amidst diversity. People owing allegiance to all religions, dialects, shapes, sizes, geometries, generations, genders were there. Nobody seemed interested in anybody. There were mothers with children and children with mothers. I also joined one of the serpentine queues that was on the verge of spilling out of the entrance. The guy infront of me was making really amazing faces at God-knows-who. Work was going on at a tardy pace. In the defence of SBI, it should be mentioned that this branch is entirely (wo)manned by an all ladies brigade - almost that is ! So the slow(another moderation) banking is understandable with the argumentative indian woman at her best. So there were the prolonged tea breaks where the ladies, still at their counters, chatted about how their kids were faring/screwing up. Why were they planning a move to uptown Colaba and why the banks should try cutting down the number of working hours. Munnabhai, Bala Thackeray's disappearance from the news and believe it or not, Pope Benedict - they all formed part of the not-so-mundane conversations that kept hitting your ears hard - really HARD ! I swear i haven't made up any of these divine conversations. Ofcourse, in between there were some traces of ill humored banking as well. It was almost an hour before i finally managed to reach within a stone's throw of the lady at the counter. Alas ! i didn't have a stone. At this moment Lady Luck (or what i thought she was) smiled upon me. The entire queue in front of me, for reasons inexplicable, performed a vanishing act. I was going to experience the once in a lifetime moment of being-there-done-that. Rejuvenated and seeing all my dreams materialising, I galloped and reached for the counter. The lady was busy knitting a sweater - a sweater for Mumbai's sweaty weather. One look from her made me jittery and nervous. "God!! what have i done ??" I wasn't expecting a scorching or lascivious look from her. But then neither was i prepared for the disgustingly disdainful glance i got from her. Too embarrased, i ventured to ask the peon (of the male variety) and was rudley told " Connection failure! Bhagwaan jaane kab wapis ayega! Kal aao".
Been there and not done that. A class missed and an explanation that would not go down well with the money lenders. I am back to my room hoping against hope that tomorrow is better.

Post examination blues :(

2006-09-16T23:41:00.000+05:30

What man proposes God disposes ! There is so much indigestible and stinking truth in this lets-call-it-hypothesis. And somehow HE has ensured that every man learns this lesson the hardest way possible. Murphy was in this sense a genius. He elevated himself to God's plane of thinking and came up with the now too much used/heard/written Murphy's Law. "If something has to go wrong it certainly will!". The sardonic law which choses the most unexpected moments to establish its identity. I guess the almost morose tone which this posting of mine has taken right from the beginning, must have provided you ample hints about the shape this post of mine is going to take. Another heart beating, gut wrenching, self pitying, full of shades of mediocrity posting in the offer? Unfortunately, you are bang on target.
But then its not my fault. Somehow things don't seem to be willing to go along as per my wish - not atleast this semester. How else can you explain the vicissitudes of Mumbai's weather? As long as the midsemester exams were on, the weather Gods were smiling on Mumbai showering all their love and affection in bountiful. Clear skies with the sun shining in all its possible pristine glory. Shining and yet not hot - just the optimal warmth a normal person desires and the kind of warmth that an examinee doesn't give a damn about. Do exams and weather have any correlation ? Its perfectly allright till about 4pm in the evening on Friday. Then clouds - dark and threatening, start looming over the horizon. By the time its 4:30 and midsems have somehow crawled away, it starts to drizzle. Wow !! we are all so delighted. The weather is going to be perfect for another post inconsequential-midsems outing. Ideas come thick and fast. Lets go trekking (am dead set against this and somehow manage to get it khatched). Munnabhai ?? This finds the maximum takers. Treat (the scary kinds where nobody treats anybody) at all the possible nooks and corners of Mumbai are discussed.I propose Juhu beach. The idea generates scorns and contorted faces. Enough hints to convey that nobody is really interested. Meanwhile it has already started raining cats and dogs. The dark clouds have become darker (for the want of a better word) and then the darkest one can imagine. All ideas get trashed. Now even getting back to the totally unwelcoming confines of our rooms becomes a tough ask. For me its going to be a Herculean task as my hostel is in the remotest corner of the institute ( No! hostels aren't allotted on the basis of merit and all. Pure luck or the lack of it dictates allottment). The others quickly slip away leaving me to fend for myself. I cycle as fast as a Lance Armstrong inspired amateur can. Rain Gods decide to have a laugh at my expense. Totally drenched, i am back to my room. Cribbing and complaining to almost anybody in sight. My comp meanwhile choses this as the opportune moment to play the truant. Even the last hope evaporates - i hit the bed all soaked and wet. It rains the whole night I wake up early to another wet saturday morning. The weather Gods do not relent the whole day. So even a saturday is washed off .. condemned to life inside the room with a devilish comp for company. And the omens are not really good. Guess i am in for another sunday, bloody sunday.

Examination blues

2006-09-11T17:57:00.000+05:30

I had decided against posting on my blog for this week atleast. With exams going on i didn't want to end up getting bugged by pangs of moral conscience. The kind that probes much deeper into a form of guilt that is much more difficult to understand- existential guilt. But even new habits don't die that easy. Unable to resist the creative juices that start flowing whenever i am in the midst of an examination season - i am back to blogging. Haven't given much thought to any corny topic over the weekend, so i am changing track and talking about exams - my tribute to the dreaded "muggai" period that last aeons in a student's life. Here are three real life believers on the ideology of we-mug-only during-exams. Result is that such people end up getting together and brainstorming over a cup of divinely tasteless and watery coffee. Putting up an unusual night out. A night out with a difference - they are delving into their courses. The pathetic state of "study room" and the more pathetic and disshevelled state of the room owners will give you enough indication of how much midnight oil has been burnt.
Why even half an hour, where yours truly is trying to work out a solution to overcome the ordeal of having to sit through the excruciating two hours period inside the examination hall, becomes so demanding. Ideas like bunking the exams and squeezing out a medical certi from the hospital gets summarily rejected. Fishing out previous years question papers is too taxing a job . Cheating doesn't get discussed because the biggest problem that would surface is "who helps who?".The other two disinterested fellas meanwhile look skywards/ceilingwards seeking the never materialising divine intervention. An hour or so is what it takes for the realisation to dawn upon the now enlightened men - the realisation that the course content is a goliath in front of the three davids. Now putting any semblance of an effort would be in vain. The three then sit together taking a solemn vow -"Enough of fooling around with acads and screwing up our lives. We shall get organised from the next time onwards". Feeling totally drained out, its time for canteen. The three make a royal exit from the temporarily created study room - We shall overcome, we shall overcome - some day! That someday .....

Those were the days ...

2006-09-03T17:29:00.000+05:30

Continuing with my "deprivation series", here is another posting of mine that dwells upon deprivation. Again, its the kind of posting which will make sense only to those who have lived a similar "deprived" childhood. According to the official statistics, more than 85% of India's population has experienced such a childhood of "want and deprivation". Since i am too bugged myself ( examination blues making me all jittery and nervous) to play any guessing game over here, i kill the suspense. I am talking about the kind of childhood spent in homes where satellite television made a real late foray. By late i mean not until 2000 AD. So you can easily arrive at the number of years (approximate that is ) of my life which have been spent living in what can be well and truly called "television's stone age". This in turn means that i had my more than fair share of "Krishi Darshan" looking at the clock waiting for the next program in the pipeline - mostly it used to be the still-going-strong Chitrahaar. Doordarshan inculcates in you loads of patience. Krishi Darshan was only one of those several mediums used by Doordarshan to this end. The inevitable and excruciatingly agonising brakes in the form of compulsory transmission of proceedings of the parliaments that used to come in between the live telecast of cricket matches tested your patience to the limits. Almost everyone (just tell me one person who actually bothered watching these parliamentary proceedings in all its gory details ? ) prayed that somehow one of the parliamentarians would go crazy creating a ruckus leading to an early closure of parliament's session. Quite often, our prayers were answered. Then more often than not, Doordarshan ran short of soaps and ended up with a retelecast (or reretelcast or even rereretelecast) of the same soap ( deliberately keeping it short of "opera"). Then there was this higly irritable World Of Sports where all you ended up watching was a kabaddi/kho kho match between two unheard colleges of some unheard university based in some unheard corner of Haryana. When you really ran into luck, you would be treated to the live telecast of a durand cup match between Mohun Bagan andMohameddan Sporting Club.
After enough of venting out my spleen on Dordarshan, i must also heap deserving praises and shower accolades on DD for the unforgivables that it has delivered with not quite clockwork regularity. Who can forget Ramayana or Mahabharata when the roads became deserted - a performance that captivated the imaginations of old and young alike. "Byomkesh Bakshi" was no less than Sherlock Holmes and then there were those a-bit-corny-but-still-entertaining Tehkikaat and the still going strong Shaktimaan. Added to it were the absolutely amazing and awesome tele adaptations of the equally wonderful short stories written by the likes of Anton Chekhov ( how can one who has grown up on DD forget Chekhov ki Duniya ?? ) and O Henry. And DD deserves a big big thanks for never letting the K factor dictate terms in this world of crass commercialisation. All said and done, i must point out that i have moved away from those days of yore and now subsist on the dose of programs dished out by my new dish connection. But DD has its own place of pride in my schedule; that is when i get to switch on the idiot box.

Not quite " Ok Computer "

2006-08-27T14:19:00.000+05:30

Only those who have experienced the sort of deprived life that i am experiencing right now can correlate with this posting of mine . So go ahead and feel the mental agony and the harassment that i am going through since the day my "dabba" ( for the uninitiated "dabba" is the desi version for a computer) decided to play the rogue.
The script could not have been more wrong. You pass the entire gruelling, sucking, blood sapping monstrous week without a single holiday. Surviving the tough shedule in the hope that every cloud has a silver lining. The silver lining of a much awaited weekend when you can totally cut yourself off from the rigours of college life, cocoon yourself within the safe and cosy confines of your room and while away the weekend on your computer. The servers ensure that you keep getting the required dose of movies that are opium to a life inside the college campus. Living and loving on radiohead ( the title of the posting gives you enough hint how much i love radiohead) and phish. Ofcourse then there are the scraps on orkut that need to be checked urgently and replied to. And being offline on yahoo messenger is now ( ever since i got a "dabba" inside my room) a concept totally alien to me. Now, without beating around the bush for long i must confess that my "dabba" went bust this friday as soon as i returned to my room after discharging all my compulsory lab duties to the great dissatisfaction of my instructor.
It was working fine as all sane "dabbas" do but then all of a sudden there was a brief flicker and then it blacked out totally. I tried all the tricks in the book to breathe life back inot the system but to no avail. I tried switch swapping ( this is no technical jargon - i just tried to change the plugs into which went the wires), fiddled with the wires, dusted the fans and even cleaned the whole system in the hope that during the process it would just switch on; exactly as it had switched off.Feeling down and out, then came the time for some expert help. Lots of pleadings and requests later, a few men in the know of things landed up in my room for a brainstorming session. The technicalities simply bounced over my head but in a nutshell i knew it would cost me a bomb to get it back on all fours. Stuck up in a state of penury, i decided to accept my fate and condemn myself to a life sans my "dabba". I even tried to falsely console myself. Considering it to be a blessing in diguise, i thought this would give me a chance to dwell upon other important aspects of life which i had till now royally ignored. But then who was i trying to fool ? Could not dare to stand the separation from the "dabba" for a few hours. Looking for greener pastures, i started pestering my wingies for letting me use their systems for a while. Alas! when your comp goes bust people start doubting your sanity as far as handling of the sysem is considered. I was turned away by all and sundry on some pretext or the other. Now after so much of soul searching and pleadings, i finally got Jitu to part with his "dabba" ( he is damn possesive about it) and here i am sharing my mental agony with my so- innocent and some not-so-innocent readers. With Jitu breathing down my neck, i must conclude this blog of mine right now. I know some of you will be laughing and almost rolling on the floor with glee and delight when you come to know of my present state of distraught and agony. Still every dog has his day :( For the more concerned others, please feel free to pour in your suggestions to get my jobless "dabba" back to work

Uncomfortably numb

2006-08-19T15:09:00.000+05:30

I guess a lot must have been said and discussed on the blogosphere regarding Shakira's latest release "Hips don't lie". My opinion in this posting stems not from any critical appreciation of the song/video where she shakes her hips like nothing that i have seen or heard before.
Within two hours of my landing inside my hostel after the end of vacations, i realised that we were in the inextricable grip of what can be truly called a "SHAKIRA MANIA". Whichever room i dared to enter, i was reminded of the hitherto unknown fact that the hips don't lie. To bring me face to face with reality there were life size posters of the diva taking a peek at you from inside some of the rooms. The latest kid on the block was here - possibly the best thing to have happened to the world of pop music scene inside the campus since Las Ketchup took the campus by storm. Three months away from the campus and things had changed drastically. Shakira, who just three months back existed only for name's sake, has suddenly assumed an iconic status. And the tide simply refuses to ebb. Nothing before had so captured the imagination of so many inmates before. To an extent only Linkin Park's "In the end" can finish a close second but then it was not "quite so big!" . I don't have too many complaints with the particular video which i believe would have been a chart topper even without the lyrics - afterall its the "out of this world" shaking of the hips that keeps the fan mesmerised and hypnotised. Even if i had, how could it have been an issue of concern for anyone who matters ? Just sample this information that i managed with a bit of googling But it gets on my nerves when it takes on the role of the morning rooster with the hippy song pounding against my ear drums, making forays into my room through the window, through the door and even penetrating the walls. My pleas have fallen on deaf ears and its high time, i start accepting the song as a way of life. But if hips don't lie, then neither do my lips :(

Vande Mataram

2006-08-15T17:23:00.000+05:30

At the stroke of dawn when the whole hostel sleeps i was still awake to life and freedom. A new kind of freedom that comes once in a blue moon when you get an off on a weekday. But having watched That 70's show for close to three hours, my eyes had become sore and were giving away. Considering the time as opportune to give my wearied eyes a much deserved rest, i decided to hit the bunker. Alas ! This period of bliss and independence was very short lived. I was jolted out of my bed by the terrorizing banging my door was being subjected to. Cursing under my breath, i opened my door only to find my wingies all decked up for the flag hoisting ceremony @hostel. I was dragged on all fours to witness the unfurling of the tricolor. Bleary eyed i stood through the entire process and here is my pictorial take on the independence day at my hostel.
Unfurling of the flag by my hostel warden. The more enthusiastic ones gave it a standing ovation and the lesser mortals like me were content with the standing part of it. But when it came to singing the national anthem i joined in the chorus. It gave me a great kick as i imagined myself to be a part of the imaginary Indian footer ( iit lingo for football) team singing the national anthem just before the kickoff of the world cup final :D

Then came the best part of the entire show. Distribution of sweets. The melee and jostling that ensued could have scared off any faint hearted fella but then the kind of sweettooth that i have, ensured that i stayed put. I emerged battle hardened and bruised from the war but literally savoring the sweets of my victory.

PS:: Now if you think that this reads more our out of the essay books of schhol students, then my most sincere apologies !

Oh deer ! Oh deer !

2006-08-12T01:16:00.000+05:30

"All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others".
This Orwellian quote strikes you the moment you go animal hunting inside the Delhi zoo. Here the "more equal" animal being the deer. The first thing that hits you on the face when you go inside the delhi zoo animal surfing is that the deers heavily outnumber all the other inmates of the zoo put together including the humans. They come in all possible shapes and sizes, hues and colours, languages and ethnicity and numerous apparels. However, if you are an "abnormal/paranormal" visitor to the delhi zoo highly motivated to carry out a detailed study of deers and their habitats, you are knocking ate right door. Jokes apart, how many of the enthused visitors (including yours truly) go to a zoological park to ogle at the galloping deers ?? For someone like me, the deers simply don't exist once i am inside the zoo. C'mmon i haven't parted with some precious bucks to see it all go waste on deers! To add salt to the wounds these come with all possible names one can think off -- makes you wonder if the world of animals allows for all kinds of hybrids. Other than the obsolete varities like the sambhar, cheetal, black buck ( of salman khan fame) , there are also those that come with the most imaginative names like the hog deer, the dog faced deer, or even the monkey faced deer ( its damn difficult deciding the reasons behind their weird nomenclature cos they all look the very same). And when the sweltering delhi heat has drained off all your energy , you finally reach where you always desired to be. The placard proudly announces that the cages house inmates like the white tiger, the one horned rhinoceros or the african lion. But then to your dismay the very same placard also informs that these are generally the nocturnal species who venture out only during the nights when the zoo has been closed down. Smart animals !! You are really running into luck if you manage to get a passing glance but then that is the end to the gory tale of deer sighting. Down and out, you return cursing the authorities and wishing that the zoo be rechristened as a national sanctuary for the deers. Thats why i always wondered why the deers never figured on the list of animals nearing the "extinction point". I know this is sadist thinking but then this is what a trip to delhi zoo can do to you :(( . And the pic say it all ;)

Storm in a cup

2006-08-10T01:18:00.000+05:30

If Mumbai is the city that never sleeps, then Delhi is the city that sleeps a tad too early. I came to this well drawn conclusion after my two months stay there during my summer internship. The shops generally down their shutters around 9 and so one must learn to move early even if it means braving the sweltering june heat. Well, lemme leave this open for arguments.
To go ahead with my story, we (my gang) were plainly lucky to have gelled together so quickly. We were people hailing from totally different backgrounds - from all the different corners of the country, different eating, sleeping schedules - the only common thread that bound us together was we were all supposed to be "future engineers" undergoing internship at the same place. So one night, out of sheer boredom and sleep deprivation we decided to try out delhi for a cup of hot tea. The clock had just struck thirteen and the dozen of us were treading the deserted road of the capital -- pusa road to be exact. Giving us company was the Door's "Queen of the highway" and stray canines who were totally taken aback by this uncalled intrusion of their privacy by the human species. Amidst all this, we wandered on aimlessly hoping against hope to land up at some dhabba which still had its lights flickering. Having walked on, attracting curious looks from the once in a blue moon passing by vehicle, we went on, for how long i don't know. Then we found ourselves standing in front of a police checkpost all of a sudden and totally unprepared for any eventuality that such a situation might bring up. "Are you people drunk?" .. was the first query the constable at the post shot at us. Who was drunk wasn't easy to tell .. we sure weren't !! And lacked the courage to point it out to the other party.Then another one, only in his bare essentials came out from within to add his unwarranted comment "Masti karne nikle hai sab"....followed by a profanity. We were petrified they won't buy our "looking for a cup of tea" story but then still decided to give it a try. Hoping against hope worked in our favour for a change and they sympathised with us. And to what remains to this day one of the biggest surprises of my life, they actually prepared tea, though not enough, for us and our mission impossible had been accomplished. We were then let off with a warning not to repeat what the constable termed our "daredevilery" in future. Chastened and satiated, we returned to our not so cosy bedrooms and immediately dozed off. Delhi Police -- We want you safe !!

Baptism of the blog

2006-08-05T16:16:00.000+05:30

Before my blog formally goes on air, a few words of apology would be in place. I would like to apologise to the imaginary die hard ardent followers of my previous blog that i had put up on livejournal.com. So taking a leaf out of Julius Caesar here I go. "Friends, romans and countrymen !! Lend me your ears!..... I come here to bury my old blog and not to revive it". Formalities over, lemme concentrate on my current blog. There are a few questions that need answering over here. Why the blog title ?? A lot of careful forethought, planning, microlevel dissection and brainstorming sessions had been spent in coming up with this blog title. If you don't believe it then you have got it right! It was purely a product of my impatience and my inability to think creatively. Having tried so many options like "rideronthestorm", "thegreatbeyond", "walkoflife", "stairwaytoheaven" and yes something called "theunknownsoldier", i was feeling totally down and out. At this point of time, as is not often, my creative juices started to flow and i came up with the beautiful (yes it is ! ) title of "flightsoffantasy". Only to be rudely denied with the message "Sorry! already in use". But i was hell bent on getting this title work for me. So off went l,g and h from "flights" and what remained was "fits" and so there you are reading what you are. As for the display name (changeling), i know its a tad ( or too much depending on your perception) shady but i came across this word yesterday itself and so felt it deserved a place of pride.