Friday, 11 July 2014

Driving? Me? Crazy.


Only 3 kinds of people in this world truly value time- 
(a) Runner-up athletes. (Refer Bhaag Milkha Bhaag to get a complete picture)
(b) Youtube users without the Skip Ad button. ( THE WHOLE 20 SECOND AD?!! BLOODY #@$%# )
(c) Drivers stuck at a red signal. Or a level crossing. Or traffic jam. Intersections. Speed breakers. Road, etc.    

And talking of  #@$%#, I joined a driving school this summer, where my car-driving instructor was, well let's call him- Mr. K.,
(a) for privacy, security and legal reasons,
(b) because it sounds cooler than his real name,
(c) his real name actually starts with a 'K';
and Mr. K. started the first day with a question way too personal.

Mr. K. : Do you know the ABC of driving?
Me      : Hahaha! Nope. I don't know jack about driving. Except if you count riding tricycle when I was 3 as driving. Also, I haven't ever driven a bike, a scooter or a scooty. Hell, I don't even know cycling. In other words, all my ideas and opinions about vehicles and driving are solely based on...er...Transformers: Cybertron
Mr. K. : No, no. I only meant Accelerator, Brake and Clutch. And you said you don't even know WHAT?! 

And thus began this 18 day adventure, that taught me that a group of potholes is called a road.

The first days were very difficult, obviously, but Mr. K. being a very courteous man, always managed to withhold his anger within himself, turning red with rage while staying polite, whenever I failed at changing gears and made inappropriate turns. But he had figured out a clever way for directing his anger towards me.  

Me      : (after making a sharp turn in the 4th gear) I swear, that felt like the 2nd gear! Shit. 
Mr. K. :Yeah, you had almost rammed us into the tree, but don't worry. These things always happen when you're in the learning stage; like, when I was learning to drive my uncle's truck and did such ridiculous mistakes, my uncle who sat beside me used to shout, "Stop driving like a <insert a filthy part of a suitable reproductive organ>" and I took more care next time. And then when I made another such negligent error, he used to say, "I bet my <insert another part of the chosen organ> can drive better than this!" and I'd become more alert. But when I dared to make the same blunder again, he used to scream-
Me       : Alright! I get it! You drove like a <insert the whole organ>

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and crestfallen after the first week; with me being as good at driving as an alcoholic at tight-rope walking. And I tried to extract some feeling of sympathy from my parents. But when they saw me looking so glum, for having failed to learn at the school, while pissing off the instructor, making a complete waste of my time and their money; all they could feel was a terrible deja vu. 

Me  : I don't know why, but that gear changing thing is taking too long to learn.
Dad : Well, obviously. The only thing you've ever changed in your life is a TV channel. And it takes much time to master for everyone. So don't think you're special or something. 

I made another attempt. 

Me   : I don't know why mom, but the gear shifting thing is too confusing.
Mom: And I don't know what you're so confused about! It's really simple. You first put the car in the 1st gear, then as the speed increases you pull the gear down to 2nd, then go up and right and up and 3rd, then straight down to 4th, then 5th and then comes Reverse, which you pull to go in...well... reverse! Got it?
Me   : Holy freaking eureka! Finally it all makes sense!  

And that's why you never take driving advice from women. 

My usual driving stretch was a 10 km ride by the countryside, which may sound rustically romantic but was actually much trouble, because of the three prime obstacles a car driver has to face when driving by/through a village :-

(a) Children : When I say children, I mean-
The 1 to 6 year olds, who playfully run across the road, hither and tither, while their mothers gleefully stand at a corner priding themselves up at the agility and fitness of their kids.
The 7 to 14 year olds who have a tendency to gather around cars whether it's moving or stationery and give deep killer stares through the windows, making you feel ashamed and guilty for no reason.
The 15 to 19 year olds who have now grown up enough to have a love story each, which they duly inscribe on the car in the least time possible, in the form of something like, "Munna <3 Neelu", leaving permanent scratches. Because what good is your love if you can't engrave it somewhere for coming generations to see?

(b) Buffaloes : All types of cattle are dangerous, no doubt, but the ones that are the most difficult to deal with are Buffaloes. Because-
-> Buffaloes just don't give a shit, the idiomatic one I mean. Because they might as well pave the whole road with the literal one standing right in front of your car, while not giving an ounce of the idiomatic one.
-> Buffaloes are stoned as shit, like, all the time. Munching on grass and weed, they blankly stare into oblivion and contemplate on the origin of the universe and complexities of life. And your valueless time, worthless car and transient existence don't matter to them in the bigger picture.

(c) Old men : As in the case of buffaloes, slow reflexes and high response time, are the prime culprits here too, making it highly difficult to abstain from hitting them; except when you hit an aged buffalo, the younger buffaloes won't surround your car and frantically growl at you from all sides, demanding money. Because unlike humans, whose noses are always busy poking into others' affairs, buffaloes just don't give a...

Well, it surely took some time, but I drive somewhat well now (under the guidance of dad in the front seat who tells me when to change the gear and mom in the backseat who tells me to when to slow down from the super-speedy 40km/h to the safely-steady 20km/h) and will soon be able to perform professional manoeuvres, like-
-> Changing Raja Hindustani tracks on the tape while trying not to run over anyone.
-> Partially opening the door to spit gutkha while trying not to crack my head against the incoming traffic.  

But the most important lesson I learned in these 18 days was- when on road, there's no point of acting all alpha. Because contrary to popular opinion, overtaking never implies taking over. 

So please, stop being a hurrying-honking pseudo-punctual prick and drive safely. And when in doubt, always follow the age-old adage that the truck drivers have instilled deep into our minds, which without any specific target or context, goes as follows-


Buri nazar wale tera muh kala*

   
*No racism intended.**


**Conditions applied.  


Thursday, 17 April 2014

Ta-ta Time

It's been an eventful semester, this one, with most of the events revolving around the exploits of one tyrannical ruler who dominated and displeased all whom he could, by all his means. It's good the rascal finally died in the season's second episode. What?

So yes, under intense peer pressure and societal persuasion, I've finally started watching Game of Thrones (stop humming the theme music. NOW.) and by "started watching" I mean, I now don't directly skip to the good parts and watch the whole goddamn episode. (Which again is a very difficult task, especially when you have an attention span of a retarded monkey on LSD, and you've to wade your way through a hormonal cocktail with varying concentrations of adrenaline and testosterone depending on whether the characters are banging each other or banging each other, to understand the intricate plot.)

In other words, the spoilers on FB/DC/Twitter/Quora/any-damned-thing-that-can-show-you-some-text have now begun to thoroughly piss me off, and I've already plotted to strategically and cold-bloodedly murder all the people involved with my pet dragon.

On an unrelated note, saying something like "A Bhagavathula always plays his debts" doesn't work in real life, because Sam will take your 10 rupees anyway, and then ask "WTF is a Bhagavathula?"

Talking of real life, it's surprising how quickly, we, The Third-dies, have bunked our way through 3 years of campus life. And by campus life I mean, sitting paralyzed on chair watching any and every random crap available on DC fresh releases and FB news feed, simultaneously worrying about the incidence of a surprise assignment owing to our flawed genetic make-up that keeps us eternally haunted by academics.  

Needless to say, we have already started contemplating on the important questions about our future, like, "PS2 se grade kitna badhega?"

Okay, there are the serious ones too, who have a more mature take on their careers, and a better plan and course of action. They have already set their goals straight, and have firmly figured out what they'll eventually do in their lives, of course, after they're done writing GRE, TOEFL, GATE, CAT, CMAT, ICET, GMAT, XMAT, PGCET, IELTS, IBPS, UPSC and the 100 other exams that TIME gave an all-you-can-eat-buffet coaching for.

So it's almost like those wannabe-IITian times again. But without the pressure and knowledge.

Also, as we all know, 20th April is the "Get Publicly Photographed in Suits & Sarees without Feeling Awkward" day, when you'll finally get to see all the students in your branch at one place, and without an invigilator. However, the Farewell, as they call it, doesn't make much sense to the dual degree students, because the earth will go wobbling through space, crashing against meteorites, brushing with cosmic dust, to complete one whole revolution around the sun; and the dualites will still be here.

And this is the reason why these dreadfully warm and heavy costumes have been very cleverly chosen to be worn in this hot climate, so we at least look appropriately sad, if not feel, in our "farewell pics".
             
So be prepared, well in advance, to see your FB slowly turn into a love child of Barney Stinson and Tulsi Virani, as we shove so many pics up your news feed, you might as well gouge your eyes out than look at a suit/saree again.

Farewell to thee.

Friday, 14 February 2014

Will you be my...? Part 2

It's been a year since I wrote a post for all the "sexy single males in your area" to renounce their singularity, which they had been so preciously preserving and protecting like a grandma preserves and protects pickles. And the extremely helpful tips provided had changed the lives of millions around the world overnight, whose names I will dutifully withhold for privacy reasons; and because it's difficult to make up so many names.

But ironically, I've still meticulously managed to stay as lonely and deserted as a Neon atom, except even that damned blob of charge happens to successfully react with others when things get heated up beyond control, rather than taking an easy way out and expelling electron plasma in isolation.

And this huge span of unintended solitude and abandonment gave me long enough time for self-analysis, self-discovery and self-exploration. Yeah I'll continue when you stop grinning, pervert. So, this period of study and scrutiny lead to many findings that I'd like to share with you on this holy feast of St. Valentine who's got to be like, the most romantic saint. Ever.

Of course all parents may not like this eerie idea of you having a girlfriend, but that will last only until you debate with them, with a logical point of view which has to deal, in most of the cases, with education.

You:              Ma! I got a girlfriend yo.
Your Mom:   WHAAATT?! NOW I KNOW WHY YOUR CGPA IS SO LOW! WHY YOU BUNK CLASSES! WHY YOU GOT A 'D' IN THAT STUPID ELECTIVE! WHY YOU DON'T HAVE A START-UP YET! WHY YOU DIDN'T GET INTO THE I.I.T.! WHY YOU DIDN'T GET 90% IN YOUR 10TH! WHY YOU LOOK SO THIN! AND NOW YOU ARE AN ATHEIST TOO! GOA ISLIYE BHEJA THA?!!!
You:              Whatevs mom. It's like I'm at the library all day long. Studies 'n shizzz y'know.
Your Mom:   Oh LOLzz! Ye le beta Chyawanprash kha.    

So here goes the list of what not to do this V-day with easier steps as you go down, to help you effectively score chicks, whom you had scored until now with the perfection and proficiency of scoring in a game of Flappy Bird. Being played on a wet touchscreen. Of a perpetually hanging Samsung. With a broken hand. Wearing a blindfold. While sitting on an angry bull. In a rodeo stadium. Set on fire.
*Drumroll*

I Don't become a superhero.

Alfred:  Why do we fall, sir?
Bruce:   Erm... eh... gravity, I guess.
Alfred:  No shit, Batsy!

But no. Things aren't this simple when you're a superhero. You have to 'begin', 'rise', 'fall', 'return', 'amaze', 'avenge' and 'originate', single and heartbroken; because the heroine is meanwhile romancing away with the villain / side character / supporting cast / sequel hero / prequel villain / random nobody, and only returns your advances in the form of philosophical advises, and occasionally, rant letters. So, as pessimistic it may seem, the truth is, all that great power, great responsibility and those ill-ventilated costumes are pretty overrated. Just like your chastity.

Now, moving on to realism.

II Don't trust Quora

Now that Quora is blocked in our campus (owing to some reasonably reasoned reasons, I suppose, whatever they may be) I have lost access to all those brilliant thought provoking  questions our highly mature and wise BITSian friends had put up on it. Example-
"I live in AH6. Is it worth going to the Lit. Crit. class?"
Well, no son. Mars might have pots filled with diamonds and dollars on it, but would you ever see me backpacking to the planet? Nope.

And coming to those testosterone laced Q/As on Quora, if I had really wanted to read a million worded fake-fictional-filmy love story from the mystical lands of IIT, cheesy and corny enough to be passed around as pizza, I'd have rather read Five Point Someone again.

III Don't believe the Bollywood

Bollywood films are all basically of one single genre. Fantasy.  
Now fantasy is a relative word; it signifies different incredulous and unimaginable things for different people, be it fairies and devils, or black magic, or wands and spells and potions, or just Ron Weasley walking out of the frigging friend-zone.

And SRK has to be specifically blamed here for planting the multiple fairytales and myths into our easily moldable Indian minds. So, in reality, the only attention you'll ever attract by playing a mandolin in a mustard field on a sunny morning will be that of a pissed-off farmer. Similarly, all you'd perhaps get by pulling a girl into a train might just be one grateful, "Thankyou bhaiyya!" Also, stalking the soul out of the woman will get you nothing; or at most, a restraining orde...WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?! YOU MEAN ALL THAT RAANJHANAA MOVIE WAS A LIE?! LOVE DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY?! YOU FREAKING MAD OR WHAT?! WHAT THE F... Shhh! Calm down, Kolavari Di.

And the side-effect of watching these mellow movies is, you are left with a pleasant feeling for half-a-day when the world starts looking greener and brighter, until the hormonal high eventually wanes out , and you re-realize that true love lies only in the hidden folder.

IV Don't Be Shy

The early bird gets the worm. And the early stud gets the bird. Or chick, whatever.
It's difficult, no doubt, to come out in the open, ours being the generation which has spent more time staring at a facebook profile picture than facing the actual person; nothing comforting us more than the warm fuzzy feeling of security, when we hide behind the laptop screens. But in-live is better any day than on-line. Mainly due to an increased clarity in communication outside, owing to that dynamic smiley generator that's in vogue nowadays, the face.

Or you can just directly... okay I'll just stop it here I'm already feeling nervous right now.

V Don't Be An Asshole

Now we all know how girls have an awkward affinity for assholes, but by the looks of it, it's clearly not working out in your case. Also this argument seems to be skewed because just being an asshole won't do the trick, unless you are also a mediocre singer with a painfully transitioning adolescent voice, and also sport an incredibly shitty attitude (which is a necessary qualification anyway) inviting homosexual jokes from all around the world. Or you have a "Yoyo" permanently hanging in front of your name.
So better avoid being a jerk. It's off limits.
   

Now we men are all a bit like Rahul Gandhi. We think about women and empowerment all the time. And Rahul is a bit like Abhishek Bachchan, being the worst actor in the family. But more on that later. So all I want to say is, the times are very desperate, especially with women misinterpreting the meaning of "all men are like dogs", which actually addresses our eternal excitement, eagerness and enthusiasm for some love. And also the unflinching and unwavering loyalty we have for every random passerby who has something to offer.  

So, hereby, with these noble thoughts and intentions, I wind up my scroll.
And wish you all a Happy "You're just a fortnight away from T1" day.
With a message to make love, not war, like that perfectly logical Axe Peace ad* says.

Signing out.

*Yeah, don't believe those bullshit deodorant ads too.

Tuesday, 31 December 2013

Over And Out

Home is like a game of Pacman.
The only way to survive is to run hither-and-thither from the family members, while continuously eating, who will, otherwise, surround and fast-feed you to dormancy.

And it's totally irrelevant whether you have returned home looking like a Sumo-wrestler on steroids or a shrunken-up Somali. Because the unreasonable and unscientific accusations of malnutrition and boniness remain just the same, only you can't argue back as something digestible has already been shoved through your throat.

Also, home is where your ferocious sleep-cycle is forcefully domesticated. So it's no more okay to rise up leisurely at 11am; and doing so only invites stares so deadly, you begin to wonder if your parents found Grand Masti on your laptop.

Nonetheless, it's a lot better than our semester days, as the only organs which now remain in a state of continued trauma belong down the abdominal region, our nervous system being completely free of strenuous planning and decision-making like- "T2 is in 2 hours, is it too late to take li8?"

Of course, I'm not talking about those greedy nerds (or is it career-oriented students?) who are currently whacking their brains out in internships (or is it like PS-1 again?) to spice up their CV which at present characterizes a cold saltless khichdi. And then, there also are those people, who are working from/at home like me, but don't get any credit or recognition, or as my mom puts it, "Khali baitha hai, matar chheel de."

And as it so happens every Christmas eve, I put on some age, once again, and turned two decades old. And this long time-span scares me because if I were a cat, I'd have just 7 lives left, and if I were a college, the alumni would pay me a visit in 5 years, to check if I've collapsed. Fortunately, age is one such rare number that requires no effort on your part to increase, just like your weight or debt.  

And since two years, I've been dutifully awaiting my "birds and the bees" sermon, not that I don't have all my basics in apiology and ornithology already clear; in fact, thanks to DC, there's almost nothing I need to know anymore; everything having been thoroughly demonstrated- be it a bird with a bee, a flock with a bee, a swarm over a sparrow, a flight across a hive, hornets around falcons, owls over honeycombs, vultures with kites over a gaggle, wasps and bumblebees buzzing around... you get my point, right?

But no. In India, there's no such concept and we are never going to have "the talk". And it doesn't even matter, because what is the news for?        

Anyway, I took a daring step on my birthday and went to watch Dhoom-3 without heeding the numerous warnings and criticisms I had heard and read; and after watching it could't help but think of Christopher Nolan's reaction if he had watched the movie.

Journo: Hello Sir! I'm a great fan and I've seen all your movies 2 times, including Inception which I failed to get twice. Well, how did you feel when you realized that this Aamir film too, like Ghajini, had picked up various plot points from your movies and dumbed it down in their movies, of course after having paralyzed the pace with the dance sequences and having screwed up the script with added plot-holes?
Nolan:  (in British accent) Bollywood walon, tumhari aisi ki taisi. 

And it's ironic how we people can tolerate and withstand all the indecency and hopelessness around, but our movies always must end happily. And if they don't, all the dead characters, be it the villains, or the heroes or the supporting characters, have to turn up in an ending dance sequence without fail to inform you about their safety and good health. So, if The Dark Knight was actually remade here, it wouldn't be surprising to see Harvey, Rachael and the Mayor dancing with Wayne, Joker, Alfred and Gordon in the ending credits with Joker playing silly tricks on little kids, on a song that may go like, "Na na na na Batman na na na na na, Gotham ke logon ko humein hai bachana.." and all that crap.

And coming to the "31st December" celebrations, various all night "open-sky" parties (which is just a glamorized way of saying, we could't afford a club) and DJ nights are being organized everywhere (because DJs are like engineering colleges, every gali has one of them, and most ain't any good). And everyone all over the country seems to be hyper-happy and super-excited, which might probably be due to the numerous Dhamaka Discounts the malls offer at this time, when people buy valuable accessories and decors for their homes, like new calenders. But anyway, there's nothing to complain about here, it's not like we have Gudi Padwa, Sankranti, Baisakhi, Ugadi, Vishu, Bihu, Cheiraoba, Puthandu and 100 other festivals to celebrate the onset of a new year.

Okay, anyway, I'll now refrain from my senile rants and rapidly retire, leaving you to dance in the cold air, and wish you'd stop horsing around at least this Year of the Horse, and have a kick-ass new year.

You're welcome. 

Monday, 11 November 2013

HIT THE.. never mind.

The last few days have been a blast, including Diwali, which is the festival that comes once a year to specially remind you, once again, of the pussy that you are deep within. And it gets particularly trickier when you're at a relative's house with tomboy cousins, who go on unintentionally insulting you by heroically lighting every known kind of explosive that can be possibly sold legally in stores, while you slip away sneakily, snuggling in the safety of the secure, yours truly, phuljhari.

Also Diwali comes with its fair share of shitty film-releases, which are like the cinematic equivalent of those phuski-bombs; except that the phuski might eventually blow up after a dramatic, attention-seeking pause, but there's no way the movie will ever make any sense to you on further contemplation, the only thing it manages to burn being your pockets.

Unfortunately and fortunately, this time, I managed to see Krrish3 and Gravity respectively. One was about people flying into space, meeting with horrendous mid-air collisions, to create a shitload of high-speed debris that could effectively wipe out a whole planet if properly projected. And the other had Sandra Bullock with shorter hair than mine.

And Krrish 3 proves yet again how "subtlety" falls right under "logic" in the list of Top 5 things Bollywood mercilessly hates. Because, the people at Gotham might erect a memorial statue for Batman with respect and gratitude and all, but their love will never be as sincere as here, in Mumbai, where they don't leave it at that and suddenly move on to dancing around Krrish's statue, to "God, Allah aur Bhagwan, ne banaya ek insaan", with ridiculously choreographed moves (Krrish, his wife, and father included). Seriously? You three mega-mighty-minds sat together and all you could come up with was this narcissistic bitch? I'll just go and upvote all the atheistic answers on Quora.

Gravity, on the other hand, takes the "Women can't drive" stereotype to an ionospheric level, with Bullock going bollocks over every damn craft she floats into, only to correctly land when Mr Clooney tells her how to handle the vehicle, in a dream that too. On the flip side, she does know how to give her boyfriend some space when needed. (And before you astronomical Nazis tweet the hell out of this post for its scientific inaccuracies no one gives a stardust of a damn about, it's actually the thermosphere and not ionosphere. Now, shush!)

And then after an unnecessary break of 3 working days, hit the best fest since fest (yeah, go figure) with a mind-numbing speech by the new director that consisted of throat-choking words like "law abiding citizens", "don't break the rules" and "enjoy responsibly", thus putting back "IIT" in "shiiiiiit!" Thankfully, this was followed by Mime, shortly after, which chose to communicate better messages without any speech.

Also this fest increased the number of celebrities I've seen at a safe 100 m distance, by around 10, depending on whom you may count as celebrities. And I realized how celebrities too are just like us mere mortals, with similar emotions and expressions, albeit slightly refined, when I hurriedly stuttered "Sir! Sir! Sir!" at Nikhil D'Souza, and complimented him with a smooth, flattering, "Awesome! Awesome! Awesome!" to which he responded with a weird stare.

And the surprise of the year undoubtedly goes to the sudden, almost UFO-ish appearance of Priyanka Chopra at the Karaoke Night (or it felt so), to join in with the audience to sing, along with her friends Vishal & Shekhar. I just wanted to quickly run to her and ask my 150/- on Krrish-3 back, but something about the dancing and singing crowd around reminded me of her fabulous performance in Barfi, and I chose to cut her some slack.
    
But of all the highlights of the fest, I'll personally cherish Kalki Koechlin sweeping my mind away as she swiftly passed by, few inches from me, never giving me a chance to convey how much I love her... well, husband. But I'll certainly try to make up for it by watching at least his next movie in a theater.

And so, with a quick fast-forward like pace has this fest ended throwing us back into the stuck-tape scenario that the post-Waves period is, with a resounding, repeating word, "compre". And this transition from rewind to revise is indeed hard. So let's once again, get calm, sit down and realize why we're actually here for, and steady our distracted minds to study. Of course after liking those Priyanka Chopra pics on FB, that is.

Signing out.

 



      
   



   

Wednesday, 9 October 2013

First Anniversary

He leaves her a final gift. A watch.
Time flies.
Too quickly. Too subtly.
As her heart ticks its own countdown.
#time                       

Or maybe I've got too much of TTT on my wall; its posts being spammed everywhere by the FB literati who view this page as a beacon of hope for English, where spellings and grammar are not regarded as unnecessary luxuries and commas still matter. But I don't think our faculty has the intellectual depth for appreciating this exceptional form of talent, given how every time I try penning a creative little story that successfully fails to make any sense whatsoever, my answer sheet is assigned a null-pointer.

Anyway, speaking of time, it's almost been a year since we were busy celebrating the oncoming of 'Waves', which had an interesting theme, "Relive the Streets", which is like a shining career prospect for your everyday non-CS guy who has failed to get himself sucked into the sh-IT-hole. And the prime reason for the excitement was the upcoming performance of a popular band from the Kangaroo Kingdom, the "Dead Letter Circus", popular for having unconventionally chosen its name by picking 3 chits from a hat.

But, thankfully, this time, a lot of effort for pretending to know the songs will be saved, as we're going indigenous, and will have Vishal-Shekhar perform here. Yeah, those two men who composed a song appraising the youth of one particular woman 'Sheila', which till date remains the most celebrated Jawani preceding over its siblings 'Halkat' and 'Second-hand'. But Sheila and her self-overestimation apart, if there's one thing I've learnt from this Vishal guy, it's that, it's okay if you make mistakes as long as you can make up for them. Like how, playing a horny baldy in a song's video can be made up for, by singing at the Coke Studio.


Also, there'll be another event, which most of us can safely forget about, by default. No. Not Spree. That's too far away. It's the Waves Ball; which has a classy theme "The Great Gatsby", which obviously doesn't matter anyway. Yeah, yeah, sigh and frown, but there's a reason it's called 'Ball'. A pair of them is needed to go ask out. But I think, it'll be safer to give it a try at least this time, because even if you are rejected, you'll be dumped "like a Sir". 

Or you can just catch the Femina Miss India 2014 auditions at the campus, which is, as the poster says, "The chance of a Lifetime", for us enthusiastic engineers to drool over.

Also, it's good to be getting associated with the very critically acclaimed paper, "The Hindu", which is especially renowned for its, well, not being The Times of India. But it'd be a really challenging task for TOI, if it were our media partner; striving and struggling to find a little hint of a nano-sized quantum of glamour amongst us; only to eventually go- "Ah! Screw you! I'll just write up some goddamn news."

And last but not the least, there will be Shiamak Davar, that Jurassic-aged choreographer who has been credited for teaching Jesus his moves. Or maybe it's just the posters and he isn't actually coming. Well, this poster cleverly flashes him to get all the misinterpreted attention, with a small, "in association" written somewhere, which takes me back to those good ol' days when I used to brag about how I got into "B.I.T.S. PILANI", only to reveal to my close friends- "Pssst.... Goa. Goa Campus."  

Also, today happens to be that special day when this blog, which had been started with the motto to compile all my seemingly useless FB posts into one page which could then be comfortably ignored at one go, turns one year old. Okay, I lied. It was yesterday actually, but I couldn't write owing to the post-lunch lab hours that had pipetted the soul out of me. However, it doesn't really matter. No one gives a shit either way. 

And if you'll now excuse me, I've to try and deduce some meaning out of a strange series of images.
Or I'll just sleep and complete the movie tomorrow. See you!       
   

     

   

  
 



          


   










Tuesday, 24 September 2013

Times Now

It's been a while since Test-1, and you might have already received your instant-scholastic-karma- points, a.k.a., answer sheets; helping you to thoroughly analyze and introspect your presently poor performance, and chalk out an action plan for your academic improvement, which roughly translates to: "Next sem fodenge!"

Then again, it'd be lame to worry about trivial things like T-1, when many amusing events so eagerly await us. Yes! You got it! I'm talking about our very own desi Hugh Hefner, Asaram Bapu, and his bail plea hearing on October 1st, when we'd, once again, get to hear his badass(hole) lawyer, Jethmalani's scientific breakthroughs, in defense of Bapu's innocent escapades. Like the last time, when he accused the victim of being afflicted with a disease 'that draws a woman to a man'. (On an unrelated note, it'd be really interesting if he had hypothesized that disease to be bacterial and working the other way round. In other words, Delhi would have one more microorganism named after it.)

But, who knows? This time, he might just blame it all on the ominous title 'Bapu', that already has this evil reputation of, first elevating the designated person to an improbably high spiritual pedestal, then throwing him down eventually, head-first, into a muck of weird sexual allegations.

Gandhi jokes apart, we also have Zephyr, sometime in future, yeah, that 'inter-house drama competition in school' equivalent of our college. Because, remember how half of those houses didn't give a do kaudi ka damn about the event, preferring to just fool around on stage, while the remaining half fought it out with abundant amounts of over-action, only to win a not-so-noteworthy prize? It's the same here; except, the hostels, and not houses, are the ones competing, and the hostels actually are our houses. But then, we never had any expectations from Zephyr, given its annoying habit of not going international like the rest of our fests, which reportedly go. But, yeah it can time-travel.

And don't even start about the comedy night. For, until my "SWD Dues" shows- Rs <what are you staring at, you penniless nincompoop?>  I'll rather choose to watch Dhoom 3 teaser again and again, laughing hysterically each time, till I slowly get sucked into Abhishek's aura of theatrical autism and disappear; than pay Rs 100 to hear two comedians cracking some silly jokes on... I don't know. I'll just keep my money.

Or I can just indulge myself in Twitter, and find out some totally valid reasons for why Miss America is like the PR head of Al Qaeda. And also realize that, it's actually legitimate to mistake Indians as Arabs, considering how we have exported an entire state to Dubai.

(But yes, it surely does seem fishy how this geeky gulti, who once won the National Honor Society Award, Michigan Merit Award and various other nerd honors, decided to stop wearing glasses one fine day, and turned glamorous overnight. I mean, what does she even think she is? Deepika from YJHD? And meanwhile, the US government might have been too excited for saving at least one software job from an N.R.(South)I., to notice this oddity. No, just saying.)

Or, I can opt to not degrade my already weak geography, and continue watching a 1000 different reviews of GTA-V, where you can apparently play Miley, and paraglide off a skyscraper, twerk against a grenade-launcher midair, ultimately land on an SUV of some black drug lord, distract him with the GOPLAYSOMEBASKETBALLNOW cheat, then steal a bike, go to a bar run by an over-the-top-brownish Indian, and peacefully order a hammer tikka masala, after killing a hooker obviously.    

But of course, all these choices have been thought of, assuming I'll have no work this weekend. Which won't be the case, if the Prof who first gave me a Project, and then, conveniently forgot my existence, suddenly remembers about the piling deadlines.

So, to quickly and dramatically conclude, it's a tough job to be a III-yearite, especially when you still are as clueless as ever, with the subjects taking mysterious twists and turns and the lectures sounding like Pitbull's songs- understandable up to the second line, all Greek and Spanish thereafter. But all we can do is pretend and act like everything is normal, with optimistic and positive thoughts. Like how you can soon save a '100 bucks'. If you want to, that is.

Ta-ta.