The Loneliest Year

Its funny how something as cheerful as a party gets you sad. The Rotaract farewell: the occasion where we would gather and have fun with a group of people with whom we have probably interacted the most in the last three years; where we would play musical chairs and paper dance with the most like-minded people we can ever hope to meet again; where we would have the hot seats of perhaps the most intriguing and visible faces of the college. Also, the place where we would realise what lies in store for us next year.

Being an engineering student, and a hostelite at that, I shared a dream that is almost universal in student spheres, talked about in hushed tones and dreamy eyes. The thought of being in the final year of under grad. The year when you can supposedly do anything, and get away with it. The year in which wearing a tie over a t-shirt to class is not frowned upon. The year when girls get drunk, and coyly talk about it. The year when crushes are revealed and laughed about. The year when your Profs actually understand. The year when you plan to go crazy. Also, the loneliest year.

It never sinks in, till it sinks in. And when it does, it’s not pretty. The day we were sending off our Rotaract final years was the day we realised that we were on the verge of becoming final years ourselves. Seeing off your best friends from across batches was something one wouldn’t exactly term endearing.

That’s when it sets in that you will hardly know anyone when you come for classes after summer. There will be a batch of freshmen with whom you are legally forbidden to interact; a batch of freshly baked sophomores who are too full with their new found freedom; and a handful of junior years with whom you have ever interacted, thanks to the no ragging policy in the first place. So all you are left with is your own batch; the final years, or the senior years, so to say. Grim? Very.

Call it human inclination, but people always look up to their seniors; for advice, for treats, for books, for everything. Right from the day your immediate seniors rag and subsequently treat you after a particularly gruelling session, you form a bond. Maybe it’s that enactment of Twinkle Twinkle Little Stars with voice muted, and being asked innuendo-laden questions about it, or being asked to go-kart on the senior’s bed that sets the ball rolling, but the sessions are almost tailor-made for memories. To accept that the people, who made you do the most shameless stuff in the name of “interacting”, will be no more when you come back after summer break is scary, to say the least.

Life always comes in full circles. We all started off the same, apprehensive about what the first year in college would be like, not knowing anyone; we all revelled in freedom and a sense of belonging on reaching second year; we all bore a sense of responsibility on reaching pre-final year; and as we reach this threshold, as Metallica would aptly put it, “Now I see the sun”. We see the lesser known side of final year. The year when you just have yourself to live with; when you are back to not knowing people like in first year. The year when you can’t look up to others for help. The year when you don’t have someone to take the fall for you. The year when you leave college. But also, hopefully, the year in which you have fun like never before. Welcome, final year.

MyQuote #2

Life is a bitch, take it by the tail.. \m/

MyQuote

Happiness brings disillusion :)

I am..

It is tough to describe oneself. The last time I was asked to do so by our Language Lab teacher, all I could manage to write on one huge sheet of white paper was: " I am this blank page, and whatever it can be." Gutsy, you say. Almost the same review that my friends gave. But then again, I thought my courage would be appreciated. What I never thought, though, was that I would get the paper back saying the blank paper could fetch me either a 10 on 10 or a 0 on 10. The teacher obviously asked me to re-submit a fresh "about me". And this article is that redemption article of mine, which I hope gets me that 10 on 10 in Language Lab. But let it not be thought that I am that spineless guy who bowed down to write an article just for marks. Very truly speaking, I realised the reason of my existence only after my initial blank page fiasco.

If you are lucky enough in life, you experience that one event X which divides your life in two parts: Before X (BX) and After X(AX). It could well be that cute girl in school, that first crush, that first flunking in the exams, that live saving miracle, that first day in college, that first kiss: the possibilities are endless. But it seems Fate had some different plans for me: my X was my stay in Hall 7, or should I say the Homi Bhabha Hall of Residence. It was Hall 7 which made me realise the reason of my existence. I shall let you in on who I am, and why I am.

I am bloody Marco Polo, sans the funny hat of course. And I aint kidding. My search for water to brush my teeth in the morning is no less than Marco Polian. Marco Polo navigated on water, I navigate for water. I am a migratory bird. Just as they know that they have to fly north in the winters, so do I know that the nearby B wing bathroom will be out of water at 8:15 in the morning. I know I have to migrate to that A wing bathroom up north.

I am a freakin’ pill of Zofran, and that’s an anti-vomiting pill, in case you are wondering. Why, you ask? Cos I am expected not to puke after looking at the toilets in to whose gory details I won’t go. I am the nameless, bruised and beaten wife who is subjected to domestic violence because of all the bugs who bite me to give me the dreaded disease which people here call "Herpes”, leaving marks and bruises all over the body. I am the embarrassed Bill Clinton post the Monica Lewinsky scandal, when I find out on Wikipedia that Herpes is actually an STD and realise that the parental concern which I received on informing home about me getting Herpes was far from innocent concern, actually bordering on an unexpressed suspicion on their child's character.

I am that slimy bullfrog croaking out in the rain, with my "Herpes" marks all swollen up and covered with slimy ointment. I am a terror stricken "gaaonwaala" from Sholay's Ramgarh. They turned off their lights and closed their doors in fear of Gabbar, and I do the same in fear of insects.

I am the camel in the desert who is impervious to the heat outside cos of the power cuts. I am also the guy who is forced to break into the Electronics Department at 2:30 in the night to have the luxury of sitting under a working fan because of the night long power cuts in the boys' hostel. I am the salvation seeking Buddhist monk, walking around all over the hall and going to unimaginable places in search of my Airtel network.

I am Chinese, because my healthy diet consists of liberal helpings of insects in the rice. I am the Neanderthal Man in more than one way. I have developed an aversion to bathing like our ancestors, because of water shortage and increased occurrence of insect bites while taking bath. I am used to living with dogs and sporting a beard, because shaving is a luxury not affordable by all. I am Preity Zinta in the waterfall from the Liril ads cos I am forced to take bath in untreated natural water directly pouring from an open pipe which was supposed to be encased in a shower cap. This is probably because the contractor has removed most of the bath fittings and sold them to make some more profit, though the benevolence of the contractor is beyond doubt: he makes sure that atleast one tap is always intact in a bathroom.

I wouldn’t like to get into the architectural marvels the hall displays, the least of which is an outlet drain which actually opens into a corridor and causes occasional floods. And of course, I am Picasso, who appreciates the radical modern art depicted by the not-so-understandable structures in front of the hall. Lesser mortals assume it to be a wastage of space, material and eventually money, but I understand the ulterior "cubism" depicted therein. Finally at the end of the day I am the adjusting Indian citizen who has adapted to living with one more guy and other species of insects in a room fit for only one human.

Its understandable when you think I am being too many people and things, but believe me, at Hall 7 we are all kinda schizophrenic. I thank the administration for giving us this hopefully-once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Ek Chaalis ki Last Local??? Yeah right...

The long wait is finally over.. After a hiatus of about a fortnight, I am back to regular blogging… Though that itself is not sure coz my broadband connection is acting real weird, and MTNL, acting as per the standards of all organisations of the Indian Government, has still not looked into my complaint.. So as I wait for the ever-indispensable MTNL phone-lineman, I have been granted permission to use Mr. C’s computer… All hail Mr. C for that

If anyone has yet chanced a glance at the time when this post was entered, you might be wondering as to what I am doing at Mr. C’s house at this unearthly time (it may seem to you that 6:37 PM isn’t an unearthly time, but in my time zone the time is 7:07 AM).. Well, sadly Mr. C has been transferred to some place and is leaving Mumbai soon.. So all friends decided to have a night-halt at his place.. That ended up with me, Mr. A, Mr. C and an until-now-unintroduced friend Mr. E at Mr. C’s place.. So basically we gorged on six pizzas, until Mr. A decided to give vent to his sleep and dozed off very early, even by normal standards… Mr. E, the youngest and the most adventurous of us, decided to bid adieu to our friend Mr. C by making a rather adventurous plan, which I am sure owed its origin to the four drops of Romanov Vodka which he had consumed before the pizzas…

Whatever be the case, it is to be noted that at exactly 00:35 hrs on the 3^rd day of July 2007, Mr. E decided that we friends (three of us, coz Mr. A had already started snoring) should go for a walk to the local railway station at Elphinstone Road… His initial plan was to take the last train home, and as per the recent movie “Ek Chaalis ki Last Local” we were led to falsely believe that the local trains run till 01:40 hrs.. It was only after we reached the station when we realised that the last local train had already left at 01:15 hrs (the movie makers should be sued for this)… To while away time Mr. E had this idea of walking down from our station to Lower Parel station along the railway tracks.. Bowing down to his wishes and ignoring the threat posed by the numerous pools of shit and the rowdy “taporis” by the trackside, we decided to accompany our friend on this quest of his.. But of course it isn’t the journey which made me write the post.. It was the sight which met our eyes when we reached the station back..

On reaching our beloved Elphinstone Road station, we three musketeers saw that the station had undergone a huge metamorphosis during the 25 mins that we had been away… The previously empty benches were either occupied by sleeping beggars or chatting labourers returning from the mills.. One could occasionally spot a policeman.. One such philanthropic policeman came to us and inquired as to what we were doing… When we told our case, he started warning us about the unsocial elements present at stations, and being teenagers, we didn’t give a damn.. When we had finished talking to him, we just walked on with the intention of paying no heed to his warnings.. After one full round of the platform, we reached one extreme end and found staring at us a group of people whom I couldn’t distinguish at that point of time.. It was only after a hurried nudge from Mr. C that I realised that the group comprised of eunuchs, or Chhakkas, as we more often call them.. Then there was this defining moment in my life, when the Chhakkas gave me one such killer look which conveyed that they would like nothing more than to have my balls in their hand and smash it to smithereens to make me like them (it actually happens in Mumbai)… This one moment has caused me to consider adding the words homophobia and eunuchophobia (if such a word exists) to my long list of fears.. Then one of the “taporis” seemed to have problems with us conversing partly in English, thus giving some rather loud comments, which, combined with the killer look of the Chhakkas, catalysed our unbelievably fast trot back home…

So this was our experience when Mr. E missed Ek Pandrah ki Last Local… And the moral of the day, or should I say the night : Never trust a Bollywood film and a guy who had his Vodka… Just kidding, Mr. E

The Theory of Relativity

Ten days pass away, and the ultimate sense of grief and longing sets in… Grief, for not having written any blog entry.. And longing, for talking to my friends, which is not possible here as my cell phone is on roaming.. Of course, I have an excuse for not writing a blog entry.. I am currently pursuing the ever-so-difficult and inevitable task of finding myself a college and this quest has led me to New Delhi (that explains why my cell is on roaming), where I have put up at my cousin’s place and taken admission in Hans Raj College for the course of B.A Economics (Hons.)… Some may say that the excuse is hardly valid, coz I sure did have access to the net from this place.. But the saddest part is that my younger cousin has already exorbitantly exceeded the maximum allowed internet usage limit, and he requested me to curtail my net usage, otherwise he would be in some serious trouble…

So what have I been doing since the last so many days??? Getting bored, piss bored.. I did manage to do some commendable things, though.. For starters, I finished up Rushdie’s “Midnight’s Children”. Amazing book by an amazing man… I was shocked to know about the realities of the Emergency imposed by Indira Gandhi, and the oddities of her son Sanjay Gandhi (sterility drive and all)… All in all, a very good read.. I also started reading the Lord of the Rings, phinally… I had been waiting to lay my hands on it since a long time, but never had the courage to pick up the 1100-page mammoth.. So in the last few days, I finally overcame my fears.. This suddenly reminds me that my blog entries have been a bit too long, especially the last one.. So I will try to curtail it from the next time onwards..

Now, getting to the topic of the post, which I just thought of while typing the fifth line: I was a CBSE student in class XIIth, and many of my friends belonged to the ISC board.. It is not a very well known fact, but the truth about ISC is that the board does relative marking.. That is, the subject topper’s marks are made 100, and the marks of the rest of the students are increased accordingly… So if a person manages to top in all subjects, he will get 100%... On the other hand, CBSE believes in absolute marking, and therefore CBSE marks are never as high as ISC…

For applying to colleges in the Delhi University, the class XIIth marks play the pivotal and the deciding role.. In reputed colleges like St. Stephen’s, 75% weightage is given to the board marks, and only 15% to the interview performance, while in the other colleges the XIIth marks solely decide a student’s fate.. So there is an unfair advantage to the students from ISC.. I had heard that to counter this, the percentage of ISC students is deducted by 5%, but on asking the concerned authorities it was made clear that no such thing happens… I started wondering about this topic coz even after having a decent interview, I was only put up on the waiting list for St. Stephen’s College, while absolute gits from ISC (serious dung-headed gits) got through.. So this is where I got stuck… A very practical and logical question : Why is there a disparity in the marking standards of the two boards, and how to tackle it? And this gave rise to a new and more fundamental question : Why are there two (actually many more, if we start counting the state boards) educational boards, in the first place?? What is the need of having separate education boards??... If people say it is less taxing on the infrastructure and management, that is crap… On the contrary, the education system of the country would become less ambiguous and improved if unified… With this I would like to bring the post to an abrupt end (though I am not done at all) coz it is getting very lengthy and dragging, and throw the topic open to you all… All I expect is some comments and feasible solutions to this very basic problem from the readers…

Ulta Pradesh

It is with a really apologetic feeling that I have started to write this post today… Blogging is turning out to be a really difficult task.. Its okay on those days when something eventful happens, but its really tough to write a post on those days which turn out to be totally uneventful… Like yesterday, when I spent the whole day at home.. I was at my wit’s end to find a topic to fill my blog with, and my mind came up with dumb ideas like telling the readers (I wouldn’t have made this statement, coz I never expected anyone to read my posts… But since I can see a few comments, I am led to believe that there are certain people in this universe who are so utterly bored that they considered reading my blog as a very lucrative option.. At this juncture I would like to mention my special thanks to those people, who posted some comments just to keep me happy) about my choice of music… I know that such a travesty would have caused me to lose whatever little readership I have currently obtained (three people by the looks of it)…

But I am also quite happy to inform everyone around that there was something very eventful today.. Apart from me watching the movie “Shootout at Lokhandwala”, there was a very strange incident that took place in a totally different part of India : U.P… Everyone (hopefully) knows that U.P is a state in India and is the abbreviation for Uttar Pradesh, sometimes jocularly referred to as “Ulta Pradesh”.. And let me tell you that I don’t think there is anything funny about addressing the state with the name of Ulta Pradesh… The most recent occurrence that took place there kind of reinforces that U.P has something Ulta-Fulta associated with it.. Now people may think that I have that stereotypical mentality of considering U.P and Bihar as very eccentric states, and I would like to clarify that this is not the case with me… I myself have resided in Lucknow for 6 years and have really fond (and when I say fond, I mean it!!) memories associated with the city and the state… So its not as if I am going to give a biased description of the current event that took place out there..

As the song “Toh phir aao” by Mustafa Zahid plays on my computer, I embark on the task of describing the strangest examination ever conducted in the world… The Combined Pre Medical Test (CPMT) is an exam given by the residents of Uttar Pradesh for a seat in any one of the various medical universities situated in the state, and as expected, students slog their three-lettered unmentionable body parts to get through the exam.. The funniest thing about the exam is that it is not conducted by a fixed examination board… On the contrary, the different medical universities take it in turns to conduct the exam and this year’s edition was to be managed by a complete novice : Jaunpur University… And due to this lucky turn of events, I got yet another opportunity to criticize the educational system in our country, which is one of my favourite pastime activities… The exam results were announced on the 14^th of June, and U.P has been burning since then… Not due to the excessive heat of the summers but due to mass scale protests and riots in the state, especially in Lucknow and Kanpur.. The reason : Out of the 16000 odd students who gave the exam from Kanpur district, only 20 were declared eligible… Now one more important fact about the exam is that to be eligible, one has to score merely 35% in both the papers.. So how can one explain that whereas last year out of the 60000 odd candidates who appeared for the exam, 55000 were eligible, this time out of the 70000 odd candidates, only 14000 were announced eligible.. There was this rumour doing the rounds that every candidate with a roll number resembling (4n+1) {where n is a natural number} was announced eligible…

Before I move on to describe the other facets of this story, I would like to clarify that though I totally empathize with the protests of the students, I still don’t agree with the means that have been used by the students (or should I say, the means that have been used by those idiotic hooligans who get paid by political parties just for disrupting the law and order in a state)… For one thing, they burnt a bus full of 40 people in the Gomti Nagar area of Lucknow… Although the people escaped unhurt, I think they were as much to be blamed for the exam scandal as the thumbnail of Paris Hilton (who, incidentally, continues to rot in jail)… That is one most peculiar thing about Indian protests… I could go on and on about this topic but I had rather save it for some other uneventful day, when I could fill the blog with my views about the topic…

So going on with the story… I would like to remind the Science students that the eligibility criteria for the CPMT exams this time around kinda resembled Huckel’s rule of aromaticity, the (4n+1) rule.. A very simple way, I would say, of knowing one’s CPMT results this time around… Jokes apart, I was shocked to hear about a guy committing suicide coz he didn’t get qualified in the CPMT after taking a drop for four years… One event for which I think the examination committee should be held solely responsible.. A related event was of this boy getting a 60-something rank in the All India PMT and not even qualifying in the CPMT… Closer to me, one Ms. D was badly depressed coz she didn’t qualify in the exam, whereas one of her really dumb friends got a 500-odd rank, only to realize that the results were withheld by the U.P Government.. Another really funny thing about the OMR sheet used in the exam : Normally questions are given with choices like A,B,C,D , but in this exam the choices for questions were printed as A,A,A,A; B,B,B,B and so on.. There are also allegations that the question paper codes were tampered with, that is, question papers with the same code had a different order of questions… I commend the organizers on how efficiently they managed to so badly screw up the procedure of a totally computerized exam..

Now I have this totally out-of-the-earth explanation of this scandal… I know this is just a conspiracy theory, but who gives a damn… Methinks when Mulayam Singh Yadav was about to resign from his office as the Chief Minister of U.P, he resolved to have Mayawati embroiled in some type of controversy… What better way than to screw up the CPMT papers?? I know it might sound strange, to the extent of being hilarious, but if Mulayam can make Amitabh Bachchan appear as a farmer on paper (refer to the newspapers for this piece of news, in case you haven’t heard of the controversy yet), this is something really accomplishable…

After such a brilliant mockery of the Indian education system, I, an ardent fan of Uttar Pradesh and Uttar Pradeshwaasis, have to admit that addressing U.P as Ulta Pradesh is not totally unjustified… Paper leaks can still be understood, but paper code tampering is something which I am sure is totally unheard of… But of course in U.P, you need to expect the unexpected… And Ms. D, get happy, coz this post was for you…