Life-as we know it!

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 ;)

So what does your obituary say?

We came. We saw. We conquered !

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

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

"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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 !

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

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 ?

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 !

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 !

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 :(

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.