tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70403639150254513282024-03-13T09:10:45.926+05:30Close to ImaginationSuprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-31076269390056292522015-06-02T00:23:00.000+05:302015-07-21T01:31:09.033+05:30One Last Time <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Four years past at BITS Goa, graduation will be the first time when we'll <i>pass out</i> but our parents will be proud of it. And standing at the academic crossroads, looking back at everything, fills us up with a cocktail of memories. Also, by <i>academic crossroads</i> I mean that by-lane towards Zuari and by <i>cocktail of memories</i> I mean, well, just <s>cocktail</s> vodka.<br />
<br />
The only Goan resort with an entrance examination and a <i>messy</i> cuisine, BITS Goa is Birlas' attempt at balancing their karma points for making a college bang in the middle of a formidable survivalist war-zone. And that's just the Hyderabad campus. So, "Who builds an engineering college in Goa?", probably isn't the question you should ask someone who thought it okay to establish another campus in a country where flogging is still an acceptable form of punishment. Only for the hardened criminals though. Like women with opinions.</div>
<br />
The horrors of getting out of college (and the adulthood that follows) finally hit me when I witnessed my junior batch's farewell. And I call it a horror, because from now on I'd have to ponder about and plan out <i>my</i> future instead of Tyrion Lannister's; which would really mess up my priorities because the winter HAS come.<br />
<br />
In addition, the Nareal awards, "All Rounder" and "Casanova" brought up the same old existential question- "What the hell did I do my whole college life?" But the question quickly answered itself as the awards for "Best Social Service" and "Mr Velino" were given out.<br />
<br />
Of course, <i>BITS Goa</i> shall be missed. Not necessarily in the same order though. The reasons being: <br />
(a) There is just one Goa.<br />
(b) BITSians are everywhere. In Bangalore. Because when we get <i>placed</i>, we automatically get <i>displaced</i>. To Bangalore.<br />
<br />
The good news is, we <i>bachelors of engineering</i>, will finally make it out of the screwed and skewed sex ratio, the infamous <i>6:1</i>. To give you a perspective, that's the student to faculty ratio at certain prestigious universities. Moreover, the ratio happens to ominously rhyme with, s<i>ex is to none. </i>Again, just to give you a perspective.<br />
<br />
Talking of <i>screwed</i>, the CDC lectures have been one of the weirdest experiences of our college life. But pursuing a thesis at BITS keeps you from attending classes for so many days, you almost miss bunking them. And these lectures are just like flight safety instructions, considering how both of these are:<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>=> Incredibly simple at first.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
"When a body is heated, it gets, uh, mostly, y'know, heated up and stuff."<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>//"This is how you fasten a seat belt, in case you've been whiling away your whole lifespan, entirely oblivious of the concept of a belt or a buckle. So sir, could you please try and not ignore my existence while I'm demonstrating?"</i><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>=> Fatally incomprehensible after just 15 seconds.<i> </i></b><br />
<br />
"...and the equation for heat released by conservation of energy is given by-<br />
<b>cρAΔxu (x,t + Δt) − cρAΔxu (x,t) = ΔtA(−K0.∂u/∂x)<span style="font-size: xx-small;">x</span> − ΔtA(−K0.∂u/∂x)<span style="font-size: xx-small;">x+Δx</span></b><br />
which holds true only if you assume the 5749 other variables to be constant, of course. And that makes this equation and the 331 that follow, utterly inapplicable to real world situations LOL."<br />
<br />
//<i>"Now what part of <b>'pull the oxygen mask in case of decompression,</b> <b>secure its elastic band behind your head, take a bracing position, remove the life vest, pull the red cord to inflate it, blow into its mouthpieces to refill it and </b></i><i><b>locate the nearest emergency exit</b></i><i><b>' </b>don't you understand, you partially evolved imbecile?" </i><br />
<br />
<b>=> And by the end, you just know you're not going to survive through this <i>course</i>.</b><br />
<br />
On a related note, BITS Goa might be the only place where your conversations get interrupted aerially, around 25 times a day, by 75 ton machines at a 2000 feet altitude, as you wait a whole 1/2 minute, for their 3-wheeled bottoms and 100 decibel farts to get out of your personal airspace, so you can have a chance at completing your abruptly abandoned sentence.<br />
<br />
But at least the airport is just "200 bucks" away.<br />
<br />
Now let me add one last item to the BITSian hate-list, the obnoxious <i>"Relative Grading", </i>which happens to be my least favorite English phrase. Because it instantly reminds me of two despicable things: <b><i>Relatives</i></b> and <b><i>Grades</i></b>. But there couldn't have been a more appropriate name, because that's exactly how a relative of yours would have graded you, if given a chance. Not by considering merely your scholastic achievements, but by going around, comparing them with the marks of every single student in your academic demographic and timeline, until every score is recorded, a normal distribution made; the mean, mode and median figured out; and you're <i>awarded</i> a <i>C-</i>.<br />
<br />
The advantage: it's almost impossible to fail.<br />
<br />
And that's the reason why most career discussions at home are on the lines of-<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Dad :</b> Mishra Uncle's son has cracked GATE, CAT, XAT, GMAT, NMAT and 50 other exams that coincidentally rhyme with BAT<i>.</i> What have <i><b>you</b></i> cracked until now?<br />
<b>Me : </b> I don't know, jokes..?<br />
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<br /></div>
This is where college life makes all the difference. Here, your thoughts are not mere echoes of your parents' opinions and self awareness hits you like a finely blended joint. You dream, you attempt, you screw up. And your family tries to counsel, while your friends collaborate. Because home is where people love you no matter how ugly you are, but hostel is where people get you no matter how insane you are.<br />
<br />
And you finally realize that there's more to life than just competitive exams. For starters, there's pay scale. And loans and bankruptcy, not to mention.<br />
<br />
But that doesn't mean it has been all rainbows and unicorns all through these four years. I mean, just look at us 4th yearites. Nicotine has gradually taken over as our Inner Voice and Caffeine has replaced our Conscience. And fests and all might have helped in retaining sanity but engineering has already had its side-effects.<br />
<br />
Remember how once our psychopathic seniors burned down our Waves'11 mascot, <i><b>Papple</b></i>, the 8-legged freak, because it would be hilarious? Exactly my point. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2N1d0xhonR_1g5cGhPuPQvy7elnsJ9x-8WQjCZ28nnhmlZRDQmSoxs433R19QsY5tH6STap-OCSLz64_Gk0_22XDlYOcu92zwOcSbH72kPTIofMoDIIWphJURa5WZ0buqhGenT3uw7N_/s1600/Untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2N1d0xhonR_1g5cGhPuPQvy7elnsJ9x-8WQjCZ28nnhmlZRDQmSoxs433R19QsY5tH6STap-OCSLz64_Gk0_22XDlYOcu92zwOcSbH72kPTIofMoDIIWphJURa5WZ0buqhGenT3uw7N_/s640/Untitled.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Engineering: Before & After (Don't bother asking me why I have these photos.)</b> </span></div>
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So, now that we're done and dusted, all geared up for the real world (more or less), let's fasten up our seatbelts and roll up the windows, 'cause this is going to be the ride of a lifetime. Like, literally. <br />
<br />
Signing Out.<br />
[2011A1TS<i>*censored*</i>G]<br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-22082087987770516822014-10-11T15:37:00.000+05:302014-10-11T17:22:44.900+05:30-OH Crap<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.games-answers.com/wp-content/uploads/icon-pop-quiz-brand/Smirnoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.games-answers.com/wp-content/uploads/icon-pop-quiz-brand/Smirnoff.jpg" height="97" width="100" /></a><i><b>Statutory Warning:</b> Alcohol consumption is injurious to your health and destructive to your life</i><i>. <br />And so is consuming that greased Puri at the mess. Except when was the last time you felt like dancing after having 5 of them? </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So, my liver recently lost its virginity to a <i>Smirnoff </i>shot. And my brain lost its sanity to the next one. Then my bladder lost its...well I drank is what I mean to say. And drinking for the first time feels like preparing for an exam with just a couple of hours remaining; because you're shocked out of your wits, grinning and giggling at the meaninglessness of the whole thing, wondering if anything good is ever going to come out of it, and deeply regretting not having done it before.<br />
<br />
Also, have you heard of this confidential organ called the brain-to-mouth-filter which prevents you from pulling off stunts like-<br />
(a) explaining to an acquaintance how his pronunciation of the word 'ambassador' as amba-<i>sadder</i> automatically gives you a lifelong lasting license to judge him <br />
(b) conveying to a team member that his only contribution to the project has been making lame jokes in the meetings <br />
(c) confessing to your friend that the excessive bass in his voice could be the reason for your regular headaches?<br />
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<br /></div>
Well, alcohol takes good care that the filter is tweaked right off its position causing a burning sensation in the esophagus, filling you up with all the guts and balls in the world, until stability is regained and stupidity realized. Because, if there is one thing that's perfectly soluble in alcohol besides Sprite and Coke, it's inhibitions.<br />
<br />
So it's preferable for you to stay away from crowds, especially when you've got nothing nice to say. Which is when your introversion comes to good use because you're already like, <i>Nah, I'm not going there, that's too much society at one place.</i><br />
<br />
Your perspective of the world begins to gradually change, with a slight blur obviously; and your appreciative and argumentative capabilities take an upward gradient, with a slight slur obviously.<br />
And you ever so slowly time-travel back to the pre-independence era, as the spirits stir up some old memories and English words forcefully fuse themselves into your speech. And to prove my point, here lies an excerpt from a vodka driven conversation I, well let's say, overheard-<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>At S.T.P.</i><br />
<b>Guy1:</b> Samosa mast hai.<br />
<b>Guy2:</b> Haan achha hai.<br />
<br />
<i>After 1st Shot</i><br />
<b>Guy1:</b> Samosa sahi hai dude! Ekdum epic!<br />
<b>Guy2:</b> Haan man, true.<br />
<br />
<i>After 2nd </i><br />
<b>Guy1:</b> No no I'm still not drunk. Normal only. But yaaar! This is the best ever Samosa I ever had in my freaking life ever man!<br />
<b>Guy2:</b> Yeah it's good, I get it.<br />
<br />
<i>3rd Shot</i><br />
<b>Guy1:</b> I think ab thodi chadh rahi hai bey. Why are they not changing the channel man?! Oh that's a signboard. Shit! Also this Samosa is exquisite man! Like. This. Is. The. Shizz! Like if I had my whole life in one hand and this Samosa in another, I..<br />
<b>Guy2:</b> Now you're embarrassing yourself.<br />
<br />
<i>4th</i><br />
<b>Guy1:</b> Dude dude dude.<br />
<b>Guy2:</b> What?<br />
<b>Guy1:</b> You ever thought about why all expletives are like all about sex? Never thought? Wait I'll tell you. It's because sex means kids, and kids means responsibility, and everybody hates responsibility.<br />
<b>Guy2:</b> Good to know. Thanks.<br />
<b>Guy1:</b> Hehe LOL. And bro, one more thing.<br />
<b>Guy2:</b> What?<br />
<b>Guy1:</b> The Samosa here izz da-<br />
<b>Guy2:</b> *dunks the glass down his throat* <br />
<br />
And this is why petty units like <i>pint</i> and <i>quarter</i> (<i>quarter</i> being 180 ml, and not 250 ml, because that's the exact amount of alcohol you need to ingest before you stop caring about the metric system) can't really estimate how drunk you're, but <b>{No. of English words used/Sentence}</b> certainly can. <br />
<br />
So if your friend begins from- <i>"BC mera anda bhurji kab ayega?"</i> and later ends up at- <i>"I'd relish this dish more if my scrambled eggs were sautéd with some finely chopped spring onions"</i>, it's time you put a full stop to your liver-banging session, eat some Mentos and go home.<br />
<br />
That said, after a threshold limit, drinking turns into a truly meta experience: your each and every neuron acting the exact same way like you, procrastinating and postponing on signalling and stuff; just lazying around drowsily, too relaxed to trigger reflexes and responses; and you desperately trying to think sense with these sluggish unicellular losers; almost realizing why the world hated you all your life. <br />
<br />
And I say this from my first-hand experience. <br />
At the campus main-gate security room. On 22nd September. <br />
A breathalyzer in my mouth. Two equally dazed friends by my side. <br />
All singularly staring into an ethanol induced oblivion. Getting photographed by a guard.<br />
<br />
But obviously the whole scenario wasn't sinking in, escapism being a salient feature of intoxication, which leaves you floating comfortably above reality; and this is precisely why these things are fatal: drinks, marijuana, LSD, crystal meth, cocaine, college orientations.<br />
<br />
Now a video footage of the scene would reveal how perfectly sober we three were on the outside, only a video footage couldn't show you the frigging fragrance. And considering how efficiently brown liquors can transform you into alcohol scented <i>agarbattis, </i>it wasn't surprising that all the faked sobriety and <i>smoothness</i> of Brandy couldn't get us through the gate.<br />
<br />
So I recounted all the breathalyzer cheats I had heard since my first year (like- <i>"don't exhale, inhale"; "slow down your respiration"; "make the right sounds"; "hold it with your mouth and let your nose do the breathing"; "oh my god baby, yes!"</i>; etc) and tried out my luck thrice; miserably failing, annoying the guards and the already caught friends around, and finally realized that I had totally <i><b>blown it</b></i>. Quite literally.<br />
<br />
Next up was the toughest part: writing an apology letter; when we three looked at each other in utter desperation until one finally got down to writing; whose work was blatantly plagiarized immediately, in the weirdest handwriting possible, and then it began to dawn. We were on the path to <b>screwdom</b>. <br />
<div>
<br />
The next day was filled with threats of the infamous <b>Disciplinary Committee </b>meeting, which is basically a semi-circular arrangement of pissed-off faculty members who gang up on you from all sides with self-righteousness until you start suffocating with guilt; fondly known as <b>DisCo</b>;<b> </b>which seems fitting because-<br />
(a) Alcohol is one of the prime reasons why you're here dancing around aimlessly.<br />
(b) You've managed to get in, so you've got to <i>face the music </i>whether you like it or not.<br />
(c) You've never met most of the people around before but that's no reason for them to not judge you.<br />
<br />
So, no wonder we tried talking our way out of the DisCo meeting with the Hostel Warden and the Chief Warden. And consequentially, I had to come out clean and confess all my sins to Father. In a phone conversation that started with-<br />
<br />
Me: Hello Dad. So me and my friends went outside for dinner and we had a little party sort of.<br />
Dad: Hmm.<br />
<br />
And I bet my brandy on that <i>hmm</i> that he knew it already. And here's a heads up to all the dads reading this post, if there's any, by a one-in-a-billion chance: if your son/daughter ever calls you specifically to your cellphone anytime between 8 am to 1 am and begins the conversation in a solemn tone with anything similar to-"Dad, me and my friends went outside yesterday and had a party..." hold your breath; because the climax of this story is going to suck worse than <b>Rockstar</b>'s.<br />
<br />
Amazingly and fortunately, he was awesomely cool about it. Unlike the Chief of course. <br />
<br />
The Chief was mostly concerned with the low price of alcohol in Goa, which he attributed to <i>"spiking the liquor with drugs"</i> to <i>adulterate</i> it and make it <i>addictive</i>. Which is fundamentally against the core principles of addiction and adulteration. Firstly, because alcohol doesn't need an external agent to make it addictive. And secondly, because when the rates are already so rock-bottom level low, the only <i>drug</i> a seller could afford to adulterate alcohol with is Disprin. <br />
<br />
But as much as I wanted to say, <i>"Ab 17 rupey mein bachhe ki jaan loge kya?"</i> all I could manage to mumble in the end was my pledge to- <i>"never drink alcohol again in my whole entire life!" </i>which was sworn with as much sincerity and honesty as the good old- <i>"All Indians are my brothers and sisters."</i><br />
<br />
Then passed a week. And we were called for DisCo anyway.<br />
<br />
There were five of us standing outside the conference room. Three ourselves. Another with a seriously bad case of weed. And another guy caught due to just <i>"having a <b>Breezer</b>", </i>which was unfortunate, because it's kind of like being put on a trial along with bank robbers when all you have done is steal a cat from a lonely old woman. So we called bullshit on that. Then they called me inside. <br />
<br />
Lasting for roughly 3 minutes each, it was a much better experience than we had imagined. Part of the deal being, calling a parent. Not on phone, but to campus.<br />
<br />
And thus ended my bittersweet relationship with alcohol. Turning me to teetotalism temporarily.<br />
<br />
So kids, shortly put, the moral of the story is:<br />
(a) If you have any rebellious ideas about indulging in alcohol and/or drugs, please postpone them until after your graduation. It's getting pretty inconvenient in here.<br />
(b) Letter writing is a very important skill. All the more when you're drunk. So practise it. And have some synonyms to <i>"sorry"</i> and <i>"regret" </i>always in handy, just in case. <br />
<br />
And now winding it up; with warm regards.<br />
<br />
Yours soberly. </div>
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-4287414375546411932014-07-11T11:39:00.002+05:302014-07-13T09:08:39.553+05:30Driving? Me? Crazy. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Only 3 kinds of people in this world truly value time- </div>
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(a) Runner-up athletes. (Refer <b><i>Bhaag Milkha Bhaag</i></b> to get a <i>complete</i> <i>picture</i>)</div>
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(b) Youtube users without the <b>Skip Ad</b> button. ( THE WHOLE 20 SECOND AD?!! BLOODY #@$%# )</div>
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(c) Drivers stuck at a red signal. Or a level crossing. Or traffic jam. Intersections. Speed breakers. Road, etc. </div>
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And talking of <b>#@$%#</b>, I joined a driving school this summer, where my car-driving instructor was, well let's call him- <b>Mr. K.,</b></div>
(a) for privacy, security and legal reasons, <br />
(b) because it sounds cooler than his real name, <br />
(c) his real name actually starts with a 'K';<br />
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and Mr. K. started the first day with a question way too personal.</div>
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<b>Mr. K. : </b>Do you know the <b>ABC</b> of driving?</div>
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<b>Me</b> <b>: </b>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...<b>Transformers: Cybertron</b>. </div>
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<b>Mr. K. :</b> No, no. I only meant <b>A</b>ccelerator, <b>B</b>rake and <b>C</b>lutch. And you said you don't even know WHAT?! </div>
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And thus began this 18 day adventure, that taught me that a group of potholes is called a road.</div>
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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. </div>
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<b>Me : </b>(after making a sharp turn in the 4th gear) I swear, that felt like the 2nd gear! Shit. </div>
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<b>Mr. K. :</b>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-</div>
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<b>Me :</b> Alright! I get it! You drove like a <insert the whole organ></div>
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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. </div>
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<b>Me : </b>I don't know why, but that gear changing thing is taking too long to learn.</div>
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<b>Dad :</b> 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. </div>
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I made another attempt. </div>
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<b>Me : </b>I don't know why mom, but the gear shifting thing is too confusing.</div>
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<b>Mom: </b>And<b> </b>I don't know what you're so confused about!<i> </i>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?</div>
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<b>Me : </b>Holy freaking eureka! Finally it all makes sense! </div>
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And that's why you never take driving advice from women. </div>
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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 :-</div>
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<b>(a) Children : </b>When I say children, I mean- </div>
The <b>1 to 6 year olds</b>, 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.<br />
The <b>7 to 14 year olds</b> 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. <br />
The <b>15 to 19 year olds</b> 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?<br />
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<b>(b) Buffaloes : </b>All types of cattle are dangerous, no doubt, but the ones that are the most difficult to deal with are Buffaloes. Because- </div>
<i><b>-> Buffaloes just don't give a shit</b></i>, 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. <br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">-> Buffaloes are stoned as shit,</i> like, all the time. Munching on <i>grass</i> and <i>weed</i>, 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.<br />
<br />
<b>(c) Old men :</b> As in the case of buffaloes, <b>slow reflexes</b> and <b>high response time,</b> 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...<br />
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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- </div>
<i><b>-></b></i> Changing <b><i>Raja Hindustani</i></b> tracks on the tape while trying not to run over anyone.<br />
<b><i>-></i></b> Partially opening the door to spit <i>gutkha</i> while trying not to crack my head against the incoming traffic. <br />
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But the most important lesson I learned in these 18 days was- when on road, there's no point of acting all <i>alpha. </i>Because contrary to popular opinion, overtaking never implies taking over. </div>
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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-</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i>Buri nazar wale tera muh kala*</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*No racism intended.**</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">**Conditions applied.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div>
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-9595774538936776732014-04-17T22:42:00.002+05:302014-04-17T23:25:12.193+05:30Ta-ta Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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?<br />
<br />
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 <i>good parts</i> 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 <i>or</i> banging each other, to understand the intricate plot.)<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?"<br />
<br />
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 <b>campus life</b> I mean, sitting paralyzed on chair watching any and every random crap available on DC fresh releases<i> </i>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. <br />
<br />
Needless to say, we have already started contemplating on the important questions about our future, like, "PS2<i> se </i>grade<i> kitna badhega?</i>"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So it's almost like those wannabe-IITian times again. But without the pressure and knowledge. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Farewell to thee.<br />
<br /></div>
Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-4544099246228119842014-02-14T11:38:00.000+05:302014-02-14T13:07:39.964+05:30Will you be my...? Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a year since I wrote a <a href="http://cerup.blogspot.in/2013/02/will-you-be-my.html" target="_blank">post</a> for all the "sexy single males in your area" to renounce their <i>singularity,</i> 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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <b>St. Valentine</b> who's got to be like, the most romantic saint. Ever.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<b>You: </b> Ma! I got a girlfriend yo.<br />
<b>Your Mom:</b> 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?!!!<br />
<b>You:</b> Whatevs mom. It's like I'm at the library all day long. Studies 'n shizzz y'know.<br />
<b>Your Mom: </b> Oh LOLzz! Ye le beta Chyawanprash kha. <br />
<br />
So here goes the list of what <i>not</i> 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.<br />
*Drumroll*<br />
<br />
<b><u>I</u> <u>Don't become a superhero.</u></b><br />
<br />
Alfred: Why do we fall, sir?<br />
Bruce: Erm... eh... gravity, I guess.<br />
Alfred: No shit, Batsy!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Now, moving on to realism.<br />
<br />
<b><u>II</u></b> <b><u>Don't trust Quora</u></b><br />
<br />
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-<br />
"I live in AH6. Is it worth going to the Lit. Crit. class?"<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <b>Five Point Someone</b> again.<br />
<br />
<b><u>III</u> <u>Don't believe the Bollywood</u></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Bollywood films are all basically of one single genre. <i><b>Fantasy</b></i>. <b> </b><br />
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. <br />
<br />
And<b> SRK</b> 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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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<b style="text-decoration: underline;">IV</b><b> <u>Don't Be Shy</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
The early bird gets the worm. And the early stud gets the bird. Or chick, whatever. <br />
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 <b>face</b>. <br />
<br />
Or you can just directly... okay I'll just stop it here I'm already feeling nervous right now. <br />
<br />
<b style="text-decoration: underline;">V</b> <b style="text-decoration: underline;">Don't Be An Asshole</b><br />
<br />
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. <br />
So better avoid being a jerk. It's <i>off</i> limits.<br />
<br />
<br />
Now we men are all a bit like Rahul Gandhi. We think about <i><b>women</b> </i>and<i> <b>empowerment</b></i> 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 <b>loyalty</b> we have for every random passerby who has something to offer. <br />
<br />
So, hereby, with these noble thoughts and intentions, I wind up my scroll.<br />
And wish you all a Happy "You're just a fortnight away from T1" day. <br />
With a message to make love, not war, like that perfectly logical <b>Axe Peace</b> ad* says.<br />
<br />
Signing out.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Yeah, don't believe those bullshit deodorant ads too.</span></div>
Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-836944992927342222013-12-31T17:49:00.000+05:302014-04-28T11:15:33.597+05:30Over And Out<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Home is like a game of Pacman.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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?"<br />
<br />
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<i>.</i> 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."<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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? <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Journo:</b> 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? <br />
<b>Nolan: </b>(in British accent) Bollywood <i>walon, tumhari aisi ki taisi. </i><br />
<br />
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, <b>have</b> 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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>gali</i> 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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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You're welcome. </div>
Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-55390187445996745772013-11-11T17:59:00.000+05:302013-11-11T19:54:14.965+05:30HIT THE.. never mind. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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, <i>phuljhari</i>.<br />
<br />
Also Diwali comes with its fair share of shitty film-releases, which are like the cinematic equivalent of those <i>phuski</i>-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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>space </i>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!)<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Signing out.<br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-69733294228931604232013-10-09T23:07:00.002+05:302013-10-09T23:26:50.264+05:30First Anniversary <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="text-align: center;">He leaves her a final gift. A watch.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><i>Time</i> flies.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">Too quickly. Too subtly.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">As her heart ticks its own countdown.</span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">#time </span></div>
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Or maybe I've got too much of <a href="http://www.facebook.com/terriblytinytales">TTT</a> 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. <span style="text-align: center;">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.</span></div>
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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.</div>
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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 <i>Jawani</i> preceding over its siblings '<i>Halkat'</i> and '<i>Second-hand'</i>. 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.<br />
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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 '<b>Ball'</b>. 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 "<b>like a Sir</b>". </div>
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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.</div>
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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 <b>The Times of India. </b>But it'd be a really challenging task for <b>TOI</b>, 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."</div>
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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 <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=711191445575752&set=a.516936508334581.134956.511934252168140&type=1&theater">posters</a> 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." </div>
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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. </div>
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And if you'll now excuse me, I've to try and deduce some meaning out of a strange series of images.<br />
Or I'll just sleep and complete the movie tomorrow. See you! </div>
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-83242863369518716802013-09-24T01:49:00.000+05:302013-09-25T21:45:41.089+05:30Times Now<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a while since Test-1, and you might have already received your instant-scholastic-<i>karma- </i>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 <i>fodenge</i>!"<br />
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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 <i>desi</i> 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 '<b>that draws a woman to a man</b>'. (On an unrelated note, it'd be really interesting if he had hypothesized that <i>disease</i> to be bacterial and working the other way round. In <i>other</i> words, Delhi would have one more microorganism named after it.)<br />
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But, who knows? This time, he might just blame it all on the ominous title '<i><b>Bapu'</b></i>, 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. <br />
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Gandhi jokes apart, we also have <b>Zephyr</b>, sometime in future, yeah, that 'inter-house drama competition in school' equivalent of our college. Because, remember how half of those <i>houses</i> didn't give a <i>do kaudi ka </i>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 <b>hostels</b>, and not <b>houses</b>, are the ones competing, and the hostels<i> </i>actually<i> are </i>our houses. But then, we never had any expectations from Zephyr, given its annoying habit of <b>not</b> <i>going international</i><i> </i>like the rest of our fests, which reportedly go. But, yeah it can time-travel.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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(But yes, it surely does seem fishy how this geeky <i>gulti,</i> 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.)<br />
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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 <i>tikka masala, </i>after killing a hooker obviously. <br />
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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.<br />
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So, to quickly and dramatically conclude, it's a tough job to be a III-yearite, especially<i> </i>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, <i>all</i> <i>Greek</i> 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.<br />
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Ta-ta. <br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-12216266392415042822013-08-19T00:55:00.000+05:302013-08-19T08:31:15.833+05:30Hello '13<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Firstly, my heartfelt greetings to the 2013 batch for making it through BITSAT, despite the high cut-offs, which have been speedily and shockingly increasing every year, just like our... well, Convocation Chief-guests' awesomeness. (Now I'd certainly avoid using obscene words like '<b>fees'</b> in <i>this</i> post at least, wouldn't I?) Although, I assume you might have already gotten out of that "Yayyyy!! I'm in BITS! Second greatest thing I did in my life after surviving 2012! \m/ \m/" mode, since it's been almost a month and you might be now busy chattering at mess. Or at library. Or at inductions. <br />
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Well, two years have passed, since I hit the educational lottery on 1st July, 2011, when I received the <b>1st Iteration</b> confirmation letter for pursuing <i>"B.Pharmacy at BITS-Pilani"</i>, or as the Quorans querying about BITS-Goa call it, <i>"doing drugs</i>". And I still owe my success in the entrance test to Physics. Because nothing less than Quantum Mechanics can explain the infinitesimal probability of such an unlikely event. And shortly later, began my euphoric outbursts of disbelief and ecstasy which could be compared only with the reactions of the first men on moon-<br />
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<b>Neil:</b> That's one small step for man. One giant leap for mankind.<br />
<b>Edwin:</b> Dude! Talk like a <i>jerk</i> once more and I'll start those <i>Arm-strong</i> jokes all over again.<br />
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<b>Neil:</b> They were recording it man!<br />
<b>Edwin:</b> What? Couldn't you say something cool like, "The view has left me <i>out of breath</i>" or "These things happen just once; o<i>n</i> a blue moon" or "Nobody can understand the <i>gravity</i> of my situation" or a simple "I'm <i>over the moon</i>" ?<br />
<b>Neil:</b> Okay. But tell me, how could I wink through a helmet?!<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">meanwhile in the command module...</span><br />
<b>Michael:</b> Signed up for moon. Didn't walk on it. Life is one real Bitch!<br />
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Also, it's nice to see that this batch isn't as dumb as it portrayed itself to be in the "BITSAT 2013" FB group, where various thought-provoking questions were asked, the thought provoked being- how the hell did they get in here? Example: "I've a EEE degree. Should I bring a screw-driver or a protective coat with me?" I just wonder what all he'd have thought of bringing if he <b><i>had</i></b> an MSc Bio degree. But the questioner can't be totally blamed too, considering how deeply Aamir Khan's movies influence the Indian student's mindset. (Like how I still blame TZP for my haphazard handwriting and can justify the extremely rare phenomenon of a pretty girl talking to me only by assuming she is a ghost.) <br />
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But, my personal favorite is, "Pilani campus has a medical centre?" I mean, you first compete with people from across the country and then finally get selected to be sent to a remote area in Rajasthan without a railway line and an extreme climate and are also not provided any medical supervision. Now, what the hell do you think this is? <b>AXN Survivor</b>?<br />
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But then, I don't have a right to comment on this matter, as I had made an FB account only by the end of my first semester, not knowing till then, that there was an exclusive online platform for doing what I had so efficiently done through my whole schooling; saying something silly and waiting for people to respond. Although I'd have probably asked saner and better questions like, "Does anyone else here owe their seat to a Griha Shanti Puja?"<br />
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Also you 13-ites might have discovered by now, that sober people <b>do</b> exist at Goa, however incredible and preposterous the idea might seem, and that it isn't always "Booze is the secret of my energy" here.<br />
(A teetotaler Devdas myself, the only thing I ever got high on was a cough syrup overdose, and this has its own pros and cons.<br />
Pros: You get to act like a self-righteous asshole every time someone takes a shot.<br />
Cons: The pros exist only until your friends find out that the real reason for your abstinence is saving money.)<br />
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But I only wish that, more of you had turned up at inductions, thus giving us the egoistic pleasure of judging and scrutinizing you, rather than coming in so few a number, we start feeling insecure and nonexistent. Though, I'd also like to add, that attend an induction only if you're interested and inclined towards the respective work and not because all your friends are going too. Because the later doesn't help much in most cases and is also the prime reason why most of us are in engineering colleges and yet not <i>into </i>engineering.<br />
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And before I wind up, one last piece of the most common and yet the most neglected advice- <b>Do Attend Classes.</b> Well, this might seem pretty easy at first, (except in my case; me being destined to bunk my first ever class at BITS, by sitting in an almost empty classroom with 5 others, muttering about the shocking absence of the rest of the students and the professor only to realize 40 minutes later, that it was a Tuesday, unlike a Monday) but the habit gradually fades away as the Goan air starts settling into you. And if you're still wondering why it so happens, search Quora. There might be a smartass answer in there for it too.<br />
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Signing out. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Nah, I won't badmouth the messes. I've lost the appetite for all food-jokes. </span><br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-61785312848436848162013-07-05T16:53:00.000+05:302013-07-05T18:20:41.686+05:30Card Attack<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Or going by the medical terminology- <b>'Card-yuck! Argh-est'</b>, is that intense displeasure you feel on seeing few neatly placed alphabets and digits, that reflect how little you have learnt since those childhood days, when you struggled scribbling those alphabets and digits. <b>(Southies:</b> Remember that period of your life, when you were busy solving 'Narayana Material for Neonatals', sucking a set-square simultaneously? Yes, that's called 'Childhood'. <b>Northies: </b>Childhood is that stage of... Meh! You won't get it. You were winking at a nurse from your foetal sonogram.<b>)</b><br />
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Honestly speaking, I was never a believer of "Blow At First Sight". But this was before I met that card. It was raining that day; those memories still fresh and vivid in my mind. I was alone in a dimly lit room with it, slowly proceeding to open its envelope, while the raindrops splattered against the shivering windows. I gently trembled as I laid my hands on it, yet cautiously continued against my pounding heart; until finally, it laid bare before my eyes, leaving me bewildered. And it was at this intense moment that my parents stepped inside the room, and the episode took an awkward twist.<br />
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<b>Mom: </b>The hell! An E?<br />
<b>Me: </b>(in the tone of that annoying Parle-G ad) Mom, E <i>mane</i> Excellent.<br />
<b>Mom: </b><i>Beta, </i>that joke is so ancient, BITS used to be a non-profit organization then.<br />
<b>Me:</b> What? I heard it for the first time at our college orientation! Anyways when was the last time <b>you </b>made an original joke?<br />
<b>Mom: </b>If my memory isn't bad, back on 24th December, 1993 I guess.<br />
<b>Me:</b> But that's my birt..<br />
<b>Mom: </b>Exactly.<br />
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On a serious note, now I do know, why 'E' stands for 'exposed' (as given in our grade-cards). It's because it totally strips you down in front of your family, neighbors, friends and other inquisitive assholes who suddenly materialize into existence at such critical times, like abruptly erupting dormant volcanoes, rubbing<i> garam masala</i> into your wounds and steaming out your self-esteem. But again, 'asshole' is a <i>relative</i> term. I prefer using it for my relentless relatives.<br />
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And next inevitably, comes up the topic of fees, which now feels like a huge investment with no returns. Or rather, the only thing that <i>returns</i> is a dull wannabe-engineer who rebounds home from PS every weekend.<br />
Reportedly, the reason for the fee hike was to boost the faculty-salaries. Well that's sweet! But who the hell figures out the finances? Robin Hood? Okay, I apologize. In that case, the transaction would be the other way round.<br />
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<b>( </b>On the flip side, the Scholarship <b>might</b> be increased, but again, this increase would be as useful to me as a bookmark for a dictionary, as the applicants have to be either meritorious (which anyhow I ain't) and/or needy (which somehow I ain't). But being of revolutionary and rebellious nature since infancy, I'll continue passionately signing petitions on Change.org and will sincerely support all the FB groups named anything Maggi-ish by 'liking' and also won't hesitate to spam there. Yes. You're welcome.<b>)</b> <br />
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Eventually begins the speculation-sport, in which the players of the team (composed of parents and near family members) take turns and throw random accusations for your hopeless score, which you have to cleverly and cunningly contradict with intelligent arguments. Well, let me illustrate some of their usual suspects-<br />
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<b><i>Trips?</i> </b>Nope. Can't afford.<br />
<b><i>Tours?</i></b> Nope. Can't afford.<br />
<b><i>Drugs?</i></b> Nope. Can't afford.<br />
<b><i>Drinks?</i></b> Nope. Can't afford.<br />
<b><i>Smokes?</i></b> Nope. Can't afford.<br />
<b><i>Girlfriend?</i></b> Are you even listening?<br />
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But before you gone-graders start feeling utterly helpless and hopeless, and do something seriously stupid like, well, most of the things you usually do, let me remind you that your CGPA is a mere number. Just like your ATM PIN is a mere number. Except it would be really disturbing to see someone laugh at your PIN. <br />
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So basically, these times are sad, and to be accurate, as sad as the jokes that go something like-<br />
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Year AD hona chahiye.</div>
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BC toh tu bhi hai </div>
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Yet, we bravely survived through those, didn't we? So let's keep up the same spirit, and meanwhile celebrate the good things in our lives. Like how the BITS administration cracked a subtle joke by building kitchen in the girls' hostels. (Damn! Now <b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/555675321156216/?fref=tck">I AM</a></b> running a risk of getting karate-chopped.)<br />
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And lastly, I'd like to add that, curse however you might, but the bitter truth is, your CGPA card acts just like a mirror, by instantly letting you down, every single time you throw a glimpse at it. And also by reflecting your progress through your academic life. So, you better go study from now on, unless you want to follow an easier plan, in which case- <b>It's simple. We kill the postman.</b><br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-54767370375800652992013-06-01T15:59:00.000+05:302013-06-01T16:37:29.125+05:30Go Bhilai Gone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I know it's very late to rant and cry about PS now, but hell, how else can I pass my 100% natural and free and room-delivered tanning time on a day-off? So here goes my PS die-ry.<br />
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So, the PS is the place where we finally get to meet those lucky students, who don't have to give thousands of varied explanations for their college's name, geographical location, origin, history, background, affiliation, credentials and other fun-trivia to every questioning passerby, in short, the BITS-<b>P</b>ians. And it's good to see that there's isn't much intellectual difference between us and the Pilani people (as popularly assumed (in Pilani)) except that we don't think about camels when we hear the word 'hump'. </div>
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Anyways, let's <i>desert </i>the stereotypes and move on with what happened next. So, we, the Chemical Engineers, had to begin by exploring the Coke-Oven (interior temperature = 1600-1800<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">°C</span></span> ) on the first day. The sign-board, hiding amongst a clutter of shitty safety slogans, at about 0.5km from the main gate, said "<b>Coke Oven and CCD</b> <i>3.5km</i>". A shiver of ecstasy ran through our spines; we had a damn CCD inside! And thus with this shimmering ray of hope, we dragged ourselves through the Lava-is-in-the-air surroundings beside Blast Furnaces, took lift from a My-grandpa-can-sleepwalk-faster crane, made it across the dense Fart'll-be-more-fragrant atmosphere of coke-oven gas, and finally reached the destination. There, we met the head of the Coal Handling section who turned out to be a very enthusiastic person. His every word a pearl of positivity, every act a gem of generosity.<br />
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<b>He:</b> <i>Aap kaunse college se ho?</i><br />
<b>We:</b> BITS Pilani, Go.. (owing to previous experiences) BITS, Sir.<br />
<b>He:</b> <i>Achha! Ye kaunsa NIT hai?</i><br />
<b>We:</b> (uncomfortably long awkward pause) Private<i> hai </i>Sir<i>, ye NITs mein nahin aata.</i><br />
<b>He:</b> Branch<i> kya hai?</i> </div>
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<b>We:</b> B.E. Chemical Engineering, Sir.</div>
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<b>He: </b>Chemical Engineering? (guffaws) Chemical <i>kyun liye?</i><br />
<b>We: </b><i>Liye kya</i> Sir. <i>Mila.</i> (no, that's what we thought, we actually said->) <i>Bahut</i> scope <i>hai</i> Sir.<br />
<b>He:</b> <i>Achha!</i> <i>Mein bhi</i> Chemical Engineer <i>hoon</i>. <i>Mera kya </i>scope <i>hai?</i><br />
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<b>We:</b> (a 2 minute 'What the...' moment, then a sensitive Chemical guy aggressively responds) <i>Kyun nahin hai</i> <br />
Sir? Petrochemicals, polymers, biotechnology, nano-materials, pharmaceuticals, synthetic textiles... <i>aur</i> </div>
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Research <i>mein bhi </i>scope <i>hai.</i><br />
<b>He: </b>(still unconvinced as ever) <i>Ab yeh to apna-apna</i> choice <i>hai.</i><b> </b><br />
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And<b> </b>then he explained us various processes under his supervision as we scribbled on our diaries while silently salivating and desperately daydreaming about brownies and frappes we were going to have. Finally he ended his speech with a-<br />
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<b>He: </b><i>Koi</i> doubt <i>hai</i>?<br />
<b>We: </b>Sir, <i>yahaan</i> CCD <i>kahaan hai?</i><br />
<b>He: </b><i>Arey aaj jaana nahin hoga.</i><br />
<b>We: </b>(with choked throats) <i>Kyon</i> Sir?<br />
<b>He: </b><i>Aaj</i> <b>C</b>oke-oven and <b>C</b>hemical <b>D</b>epartment <i>ke</i> DGM <i>nahin aaye hain.</i><br />
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Complete. Pin-drop. Silence. Except for a clock hauntingly ticking in the background.<br />
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<b><u>Moral of the Story</u>: </b>Chemical Engineering <i>mein</i> scope <i>hai</i>.<br />
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And after a dehydrating and disappointing day, FB finally adds the decomposed icing on the decaying cake, by showcasing how people around the world are performing awesome feats while I lie here reading 'Yo Mama' jokes on the net. (In my defense, I'm reading those on Quora, so that makes me elite by default.)<br />
Let me elaborate:<br />
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<b>(a) </b>Well, BITS Goa has yet again proved itself to be very coding-conscious as in how people here know more about G-SoC than G-Spot. (Now you're Googling, dammit!)<br />
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<b>(b) </b>And then some are flashing their glowing GPAs. And CGPAs. And the growth of their GPAs. And the histograms of their CDC grades. And their attendance-to-GPA ratios. And logarithms of individual semester (GPA/CGPA). And inverse tangents of (GPA x 12th Board %). And a hyperbolic of.... Well why don't they just post their ERP passwords?<br />
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<b>(c) </b>Lastly, some are proclaiming to have an amazing PS. Now 'amazing PS' is an oxy(you)moron! Get with it.<br />
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Well I understand, that this all has been done with an intensely innocent intention of sharing your happiness with the world because you're too excited to hold on to it yourself. Just like how a suicide-bomber can't help but share his religious sentiments with others. *Boom*<br />
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So to sum up, the only good thing about the PS is going home on a Sunday. For me. Which is 3 hours away by train. (C'mon I'm just sharing my happiness here!) Preferably in a general compartment. Preferably, because, a general compartment has its own share of joys:<br />
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<b>(a)</b> Nostalgia hits you black-and-blue as the guy beside you plays Govinda songs (c/o blaring-mobile-phone-speakers) with lyrics so mentally stimulating, they put Yoyo Honey Singh's poetry to shame; songs like, "Mein Laila Laila chillaunga Kurta Faadke" (Translation: "Laila Laila" will I shout, tearin.. Okay forget it.)<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>(b) </b>You get so high by passively smoking <i>beedi</i> after <i>beedi, </i>you might as well freak your wits out seeing outside the window saying, "Holy Shit! The trees are running!"<br />
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It's another story that Mom doesn't like it when I show up looking like a piece of coke dipped in a glass of coke. But it's okay. As long as I ain't abandoned for Angelina to adopt.<br />
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So now, it's time I end this envious entry, with a very sweet, noteworthy and helpful message I came across at the Steel Plant Main Gate, which has been imprinted in my mind since. And before I leave, I do hope that you all follow and share it to make this world a brighter and a better place. So here it goes:<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Safety At Plant </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Safe <u>Tea*</u> At Home </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*No, I didn't add the underline. </span><br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-58221661831973013062013-05-09T15:10:00.000+05:302013-05-11T09:35:09.607+05:30Done With It. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ignorance is bliss.<br />
Unless you are reminded of it, repeatedly, without a pause, for 3 hours straight, in a closed room, with a screwed up AC, thrice a week.<br />
<br />
Coming out of the exam-hall feels like watching the end-credits of Man vs Wild. Yes, there's so much in common in those episodes and this experience, as in, how our answers correspond to those dense forests: senseless, directionless and full of shit. You can hear animals making eerie, terrifying sounds like, "Sir! Additional Sheet!", yet, can't kill them due to some legal obligations. And in the climax, you realize how your only accomplishment is just that you've survived. (Of course, before remembering the fact that this is going to happen all over again.)<br />
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And strangely when writing an exam, it's not the peeking student, who wants to check out your views and opinions about the Carbon Content in Malleable Cast Iron, who annoys you, but a mocking professor who laughs at your answer with an expression of, "Seriously? <i>That</i> was the best thing you could come up with?" And you silently respond with, "Well. Sort of, yeah. But there's a killer twist in the end."<br />
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And as if the tests weren't enough, there's this merciless act of paper-distribution which almost feels like the prof's comeback on the joke that your paper was. Here, they assign a number to show your relative proximity to being an academic Titanic. And believe me, it hurts, when the teacher and her assistant look at you and then exchange knowing smiles, telepathically stating, "Remember that dumbass answer we laughed at for like, 1 hour? It's his." <i> </i><br />
<br />
But the highlight was the POM exam, which made all students realize that the M in the name actually stood for Memory and not Management, contrary to popular opinion, as that was what they had essentially tested. Well, how else can one justify asking us to write the fourteen principles of *forgot, will soon check*, when the only time we correctly answered ten things in the right order was when our relatives asked us the name of our college? But the best part of the paper was the Case Study of a guy called Rohit and his TDC boss Ashish, which looked like lyrics lifted off some One Direction song, a paragraph in which went like this:<br />
<i><br /></i>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>He smiled to himself when he thought of how Ashish would react when told about his several possible solutions to the problem. He was sure Ashish would be happy with him, having put in so much effort into the project, right from day one. Rohit was daydreaming about all the praise that he was going to get when Ashish walked into the office. He waited for him to go into his workplace, and after five minutes, called him up, asking to see him. Then Rohit went to his office, where, after a long awkward silence, </i><i>they eventually made out. </i></blockquote>
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Well, sorry! I made up the making out part (Ob) but the rest of it is for real! And I bet the paper would be a lot more interesting if they had ended the questions that followed, like this:<br />
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Q. What can a team leader do to ensure <i>high levels of motivation</i> among his/her team members?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtQJQO26a_0rA2ID6bP06EFYaUlKHRnFy9R1UpseNCQd__iSXXWPjrLtdnyPT7MYPXLtu9jaNQI-tv80FGTBCnTaw36Y9YWPl8kgvxJ9uSuVVEQfuPXDbVxbps_IOQ91cZi7PfeFJy5cy/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtQJQO26a_0rA2ID6bP06EFYaUlKHRnFy9R1UpseNCQd__iSXXWPjrLtdnyPT7MYPXLtu9jaNQI-tv80FGTBCnTaw36Y9YWPl8kgvxJ9uSuVVEQfuPXDbVxbps_IOQ91cZi7PfeFJy5cy/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, yes, I have now officially given up on Compre and can't wait to splash my ignorance towards worldly matters like <i>Heat Transfer, Mass Transfer, etc</i>-coz-I-don't-remember-the-rest, all over PS too.<br />
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And if any of the readers are feeling bad for relating with this post, well, chill! At least, you are not going to Ramagundam (avg-summer-temperature=45<span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;">°C</span>), to work at a Thermal Power Station, in peak summer; thus abbreviating PS to 'Pain in the S'. (Assuming that those going there for PS, are too busy cursing their <i>karma</i> for eating a barbecue chicken once, to read this post.) <br />
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So, wishing you Happy-PS/vacations depending on whether you are going to be completely jobless. Or, at home. And to the rest, see you at Bhilai! <br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-84416590544761452082013-04-19T15:57:00.000+05:302013-04-20T01:48:26.360+05:30Inspiration & Stuff<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, I was busy lazying around this one month trying to realize my purpose and goals in life. Seriously. It has been my most unproductive semester in the campus with no electives, valley-low attendance and scuba-diving C**A. Yes, it sucks, when you say "CDCs" and people think you are stating your mid-sem grades. And when that too is, unfortunately, true. So, somehow I tried to get out of this sulky mood and started watching inspirational videos on DC. Now, here are the reasons why you shouldn't watch inspirational videos when you are desperately in need of inspiration:<br />
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<b>(a) Zero relatability-</b> : "Holy Trinity! When that one-legged black guy, with partial paralysis and traces of cancer, with a side dish of herpes, whose wife divorced him, twice, leaving him homeless in two installments, can skateboard through a turbulent tornado by directly cutting across a rainbow and bouncing off a volcano, why can't I study for my test which is in like, fifteen minutes?", felt no one ever.<br />
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<b>(b) Background music-</b> So the inspiring guy in the video starts with a narration of his sad beginnings. There are violins and flutes playing. Good enough. He lays the foundation of his success story. Violins and cellos again. Okay. He encounters many hurdles and overcomes all. The damn flute makes a guest appearance amidst the violins and cellos this time. Damn!. Then comes the dramatic climax and the hero finally steals the show. Violins. Cellos. Flutes. Again. Now where the hell are the bass guitars when we really need them?<br />
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<b>(c) Temporary Arousal- </b>Sometimes we do feel motivated but that phase lasts for only about 59 seconds after watching the video. Just like the way you feel like screwing bulbs into every damn socket visible, for a day after watching Swades or how you dream of repeatedly pushing Abhishek Bachhan into all waterfalls and canyons, for a month after watching Raavan. But after sometime you'll be back to your usual/useless self.<br />
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I don't know much about the inspirational books as I have read just one "You can win", and yes, it surely helped to score in my board exams. I used it to write an essay on a book I had recently read and learnt nothing from. I still think I should have read something else to feel high and happy, but then, "Fifty Shades of Grey" wasn't yet published. <br />
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So how to come out of this illogical depression and get your act together to do something worth doing? Well here are some tips I have recently learnt (Okay I hate writing philosophical stuff, still):<br />
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<b>(a) Avoid Assholes Always. </b>Assholes come in all shapes and sizes and live camouflaged around you. But there's a reason nature considered only one of it enough for survival. Assholes are just like black-holes, only that instead of matter and light, they totally suck out your positive energy until you are degraded morally, and start taking <i>lite </i>in all matters. Hence stay as far from them as possible; and never give anyone a chance to bring you down. Even if it is an elevator. Because it shows how frigging lazy you are to not walk to the floor below. <b> </b><br />
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<b>(b) Know your Strengths. </b>Yes, you might have heard/read many times about knowing your weaknesses. Well, screw it. The society has already been doing the job of reminding us of our drawbacks quite well. So it's time to concentrate on your pros and show what you're a pro in, rather than being conned into despair by your inadequacies. So the next time some discouraging soul acts like a pain in the neck, shove your awesomeness so deep down his throat, he wouldn't even be able to puke without praising you.<br />
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<b>(c) Forget Time Tables. </b>We all have in our lives tried out laying out detailed schedules of the activities to be done the following week, which we have miserably failed to follow. But things should be done, when you really feel like doing it, to get the most productive results. Besides deadlines and due-dates, you need not always stick to a plan and extinguish the spur of the moment. And you know what, even the Joker feels the same.<br />
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<b>(d) Give it a Shot. </b>Anything good is definitely worth an attempt. As life is too long to fear a petty failure and too short to not do your liking and regret later. And even if you fail, hide the sad story until you succeed. Then, you can use it to spice up your Oscar Winning Speech or in your autobiography or in an interview or... okay whatever, just remember the damn thing.<br />
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<b>(e) Be Positive. </b>Enough said.<br />
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And with this I would like to close the scroll and promise never to preach again. As for the Compre, we'll anyhow manage it as always; and in the meanwhile, join the Pool Party Facebook Event, even if you haven't come, just to look cool in front of your friends from other colleges. Yes, you may study now. </div>
Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-15372900683783192472013-03-17T22:06:00.002+05:302013-03-18T10:13:24.628+05:30Batons & Baltis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yeah, it's that time of the year again, when the 3rd year people dust off their responsibilities and let the juniors get dirty. So, 'Passing on the batons', as they call it, is basically the act of turning few core-members into coordinators, helping them accomplish their long-held dream of dining at VGH wearing suits; while the borderline-fortunate are granted posts like Hypothetical Head, Nonsensical Head, Psychological Head, Empirical Head, Ironical Head etc And the rest are given an imaginary <i>balti</i> to cry over while they ponder upon the futility of their lives.<br />
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Well these selections happen in various ways. Interviews are involved in most cases and so are SOPs (Statement Of Power-hungriness) In the SOP, you are asked to write what you have done/ pretended to have done/ accredited to yourself what someone else has done, for the department/club. And also, why you feel you are the only deserving person in the Milky Way and the neighboring Andromeda region, capable of holding that post. The second question is obviously answered in the most honest and sincerest way possible, with the applicant humbly recounting all his/her virtues and merits, real and probable. In short, if egotism wiped off, SOP would be its toilet-paper.<br />
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Then comes the interview part, where the applicant is questioned by the previous coordination committee on his ideas, opinions, interests, cuisine preferences, views on liberalism, religious beliefs, past medical history and so on. Here is an excerpt from one such interview I eavesdropped into-<br />
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<b>Senior-</b> So, what has been your contribution to the department?<br />
<b>Junior-</b> I've devotedly attended all the 5 outings and have contributed Rs 200 for my food and transport. But seriously I'm too bored of always going to Bogmallo for the outings now. Seriously. It has been so many times, that nowadays whenever John sees me entering his shack he is like, 'Dude! Not you again.' But the chicken lollipop there is incredibly awesome. Anyways, what was the question again?<br />
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<b>Senior-</b> Where would you like to see this department in the future?<br />
<b>Junior-</b> Utorda. I mean it is the most awesome white-sand beach I've ever seen. And did you eat at Zeebop? It's amazing. Yeah, we'll go there next time when I'll give my chief-coordinator treat. *wink*wink*<br />
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<b>Senior- </b>Tell us why you feel that you are best-suited for the posts of Chief-co, Waves-co, Spree-co, Quark-co, Zephyr-co, I-have-no-clue-why-this-post-exists-co, *Insert-a-stylish-sounding-word-here*-organizer, *Another-one-just-for-you*-manager, and 52 other randomly generated posts.<br />
<b>Junior- </b>I have the potentiality, the capability, the caliber, the capacity, the talent, the aptitude, the competence, the faculty, the... Okay I've run out of all the synonyms now. What's the next question?<br />
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<b>Senior- </b>Who would you like to remove from the department, if you could?<br />
<b>Junior- </b>That jerk named XYZ. I mean he's such an asshole he almost looks like one. But I only wish he could keep his shit to himself. LMAO. What? Didn't get it?<br />
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<b>Senior- </b>C'mon now! You don't get brownie points for being a bitch. And what's your CGPA?<br />
<b>Junior- </b>Dude! CGPA seriously? What are you? My mom?<br />
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<b>Senior- </b>Let me give you a hypothetical situation, in which a girl from some outside campus comes to our fest, Waves, gets kidnapped, is released in BITS Hyderabad on-stage in a fashion-show, and gets all famous on FB, and gets some 873 likes on her pics. Now, how will you prevent our department from earning a bad reputation for this incident?<br />
<b>Junior- </b>I would totally take her to Waves-ball and write a story about us on BITS Confessions. I just love hypothetical situations.<br />
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<b>Senior- </b>Who of the other applicants do you think, should be given those posts you have applied for?<br />
<b>Junior-</b> Well, throw me a title and I won't give a damn even if the rest of the posts are allotted via a game of musical chairs, played using Reshmaiyya's discography, on a broken gramophone. But as you are asking let me figure out. Okay choose one of these fingers. Yeah, make ABC Spree-co and PQR Quark-co. Now choose again. What? It was your question!<br />
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<b>Senior- </b>Okay. We are done.<br />
<b>Junior- </b>Smoking Amazeballs! I'm the chief right? Wait I'm calling up my mom.<br />
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Well, I'm surely a racist when it comes to life. I want it to be fair. But sometimes we fail in getting what we want. Some feel infuriated and blame others, some feel defeated and distressed, while some accept it and rectify themselves. But the trick is to move on. With optimism and dignity. And if we contemplate on a philosophical plane; whenever it seems like the world is not responding to our pleas in a... HOLY SHIT! The video I clicked on yesterday has finally buffered. Catch you later. Bye!<br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-25330101391409848532013-02-27T17:25:00.002+05:302013-02-27T19:54:02.125+05:30Confessions, Compliments, Custard, Whatever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
These days, there has been a disease that's rapidly infecting the campus, making the students involuntarily spray their stupidity all over the Facebook. Okay, that's basically what FB is for, but wait, now we have specific pages for that, reading which may leave your brain in a comatose state of WTF (what's this foolishness?) Of course, this trend too has reached the campus via the same age-old traditional route of ,"I actually started at some American University, that makes me unreasonably awesome by default, then IIT spotted me and went bananas and nuts, and then stepped in, the BITS, thinking,'Okay, what exactly are <i>we </i>waiting for?' and so on..."<br />
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So the page that is in the spotlight is called 'BITS Confessions'; it consists of numerous outpourings of students' <i>darkest</i> secrets (as only a retard would dare to do those things in broad daylight) which obviously are very true, in the same way as I'm true, when I say I go to C-Mess, for its mouthwatering dishes. And the confessions can be roughly divided into these categories below-<br />
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<b>(a) I am amazing- </b>No, seriously. I mean, how else could I force my Prof to give me an <b>A</b>, by claiming to be a zombie with moderate make-up and threatening to eat him alive otherwise? Or when I smoked heavily in front of a Security Guard and silently escaped vomiting and swaying, while he wondered whether ghosts could puke! And did I tell you about, how I had written my own recommendations, while my Profs wrote my exams, in exchange of some false medical-prescriptions? And someone else is doing my MS in MIT by the way. So, in short, I am awesome.<br />
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<b>(b) I have an adventurous love-life- </b>Yes. Me and my partner are so <i>into each other </i>that we frequently go behind *censored* and continue with *parental advisory: explicit content* ending it with a final touch of *rated R* and then return to our hostels. In fact, I am not a human. I am a blob of testosterone walking. Hence, at the end of my college-years, the probability of me getting gonorrhea is greatly greater than me getting graduated. But in my defense, why should only the boy take all the blame?<br />
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<b>(c) I rock at revenge- </b>I am known all over the campus for my temper, which is, like my various other attributes, very short. So, I instantly got irritated when my neighbor continued spamming in DC and FB about some stupid event, and thus set fire to his laptop and later, to him. And the wonderful thing is, he still doesn't know who killed him. But it indeed was a very funny incident. (But I still can't understand why our warden couldn't see much humor in it!)<br />
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<b>(d) I am a <i>Die-Hard</i> despo- </b>I am a total chick-magnet; only that, magnets, unfortunately, also repel. I have till now proposed 95 different people with feminine nicks in DC main chat. And sadly got rejected there too. I tried calling girls from my phone-contacts but all of the numbers seemed to dial up Liam Neeson from Taken. (Or were they the annoyed fathers?) Seeing my starved condition, even my friends left me saying, 'Sorry bro. But we can still be frien... Shit!' Sadly, my laptop too has been infected by Dropper and various other viruses so many times, that even a 'performer' from Las Vegas would find it too filthy to use. In short, if you find me hanging somewhere, think twice before touching the suicide-note lying nearby.<br />
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<b>(e) I am confused-</b> I, actually, was about to spam on FB, about how attending these fest-nights would change your life forever, for a price of Rs 250 of course, or of Rs 200, depending on whether you'll order those two shirts, a jersey, a petticoat, a doormat, a tissue-paper, a used sock etc on SWD. But on seeing this link, I posted my plea here. I also wanted to praise someone, but owing to my vocabulary, which is so poor even a Somalian would feel posh in comparison, I've posted that too here, instead of doing so on the BITS Compliments page. I sometimes feel that even the teachers should start making announcements here instead of sending Farmville requests, for instance:<br />
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Confession #420<br />
All you Chemical people may/may not have a surprise-test/assignment in the lecture/tutorial class of Material Science/Mass transfer. So do attend all the classes. Teehee!<br />
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#keh-ke-lunga<br />
#sadis\m/<br />
#FB>>>Photon<br />
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And there are other weird categories too, like the one where a person anonymously replies in his confession, to another confession made by some other anonymous person. I mean,what's this? Omegle?<br />
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And worse is the page, 'BITS Proposals' where-<br />
<b>(a) In case of girls- </b>A <i>someone</i> proposes a girl, thus increasing her self-esteem exponentially, making her famous and proud, without any point, as he still remains incognito. So, in a way it's like, you conducting a vigorous PR Drive for the fest of some college you aren't even a part of. In short, useless. But if you <i>really</i> want to compliment, then post it on BITS Compliments. At least it looks neater there.<br />
<b>(b) In case of boys- </b>Dude, chill! It's just your slightly gay friend making an advance at you.<br />
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I still didn't get the point of BITS Abuses. Yet I think it's okay, for those who think that throwing expletives on someone, while safely hiding in a pit themselves, is mature enough. But on a whole, it's all good, as these pages are at least trying to stimulate the creativity of the frustrated souls in the campus, as they desperately try to pen down a power-packed Sunny Leone movie (Yes. Movie.) into a paragraph.<br />
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So seriously guys, grow up. And if you'll excuse me, I have to go propose myself on BITS Proposals.</div>
Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-71905228608000246972013-02-12T00:11:00.000+05:302013-02-13T02:02:46.183+05:30Will you be my...?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"Dogs bark. Bitches friendzone."</div>
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- Aristotle, on canine behavior</div>
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So, it's that time of the year again when we start feeling as desperate as that poor Tyrannosaurus Rex, which hid under a tin shed to prevent getting wet due to heavy rains. Sadly, it was raining asteroids and it died.<br />
Yes, tomorrow is 14th February; that esteemed day, when the Dutch Drees government presented its plan to build 30000 houses, in the year 1949. And also the Valentines Day. Meh.<br />
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So, now there's an inflow of cheesy apps like Love-calculator, Love-simulator, Love-refrigerator, Love-alligator, Love-thermoregulator, Love-superadministrator etc all over the net. (One of which calculated a 100% compatibility between me and Mayawati. (No I didn't enter any surname)) <br />
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And this day, like diarrhea, comes with various symptoms before finally squeezing the shit out of people; namely-<br />
07/2 - Rose day<br />
08/2 - Propose day<br />
09/2 - Remember the slap you got yester-day<br />
10/2 - Stop stalking her FB profile (and her!) from to-day<br />
11/2 - Damn! Why is it Mon-day?<br />
12/2 - WTH! The street dogs are celebrating Kiss-day<br />
13/2 - Shit! I'm again with my pet octopus on Hug-day<br />
14/2- Say 'Valentine' again and I'll bloody hammer your brains. Yeah; day<br />
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But if you believe in directly coming to the point instead of wasting money on Teddy bears and gummy bears, here are some tips for all you single-helplessly-waiting-to-mingle to make this day an unforgettable memory. These are some acts you have to perform to successfully change your relationship-status on FB from "single" to "it's complicated (coz I accidentally lifted few relationship tips from some evil loser's blog)"<br />
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So here goes the list, with the success-probability and difficulty-level increasing, as you go down. *Drumroll*<br />
<u><br /></u>
<b style="text-decoration: underline;">Level I</b>- Wear a rose (or roses, depending on your budget) on your shirt permanently for the whole day. It is also cheap, as you may use that unused rose from the Rose Day. Yeah, it looks odd and weird. But it totally helped Nehru '<a href="http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://rupeenews.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/Nahru-Edwina-and-Mountabatten.jpg&imgrefurl=http://rupeenews.com/2009/11/edwina-nehru-affair-was-sexual-catherine-clement/&h=552&w=468&sz=77&tbnid=abYGWe49PQm92M:&tbnh=90&tbnw=76&zoom=1&usg=__Sa5klZ3wH7IQX-ozlni3iIO8o1k=&docid=V-dFXG8-6tuWXM&sa=X&ei=85oYUeKkNsKmrAfQyoCYAQ&ved=0CDMQ9QEwAA&dur=897">mount his baton</a>'.<br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">Level II</u>- Go guitarist. Come on, we are all engineers, and our first and foremost duty to our nation is to play that godforsaken 'Godfather' theme on the goddamned guitar. So take that wooden stringed instrument wherever you go and keep thrumming it periodically. The guitar, I mean. And you may add a medley of songs like Bruno Mars' 'Grenade' poisoned by a sadistic potion of 'Sheela Ki Jawani' and 'Jeena Yahaan Marna Yahaan' and end up driving all the musically-challenged girls crazy. But it works only if you are called Gajendra Verma and you are playing in an auditorium. <br />
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<u><b>Level III</b></u>- Act blind. Wear your goggles, take a stick and walk coolly, until your crush comes and you abruptly fall on her. Now, there are two possibilities:<br />
(1) She may pity you and sympathetically ask, 'Are you blind?' Reply, 'Yes' Now, gauging her emotion, gently add, 'And so is my love.'<br />
(2) She may freak out and shriek out, 'Are you blind, asshole?' Reply, 'Yes' Now, without gauging her emotion, cuttingly add, 'And so is your grandma.'<br />
In case something good eventually happens, (the probability of which would be as less as ethics in GTA) you can suddenly drop in the Titanic's classic line, 'I <i>see</i> You', one fine day and open her eyes too. (And stop giving me those cheap looks. I'm doing social-service here.)<br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">Level IV</u>- Tell tales. Things needed- few trustworthy friends and an armor, preferably shining. Wear the armor and roam around your crush with your friends when she is alone. And when she is suitably shocked by your unearthly appearance, she will yell, 'What the hell is that costume?' Your friends will now step in and act like you are just wearing the same clothes that you initially planned to give for laundry a month ago. Now, when she goes out of her wits and shouts, 'Why does it look like an armor to me then?', your friends will casually suggest, 'Perhaps, because, he is your knight-in-shining-armor'. Now it's time for you to act royal, which you've never been in your whole life, and live the tale. Note: If you lie anywhere below the Tropic of Cancer on the map, smoothly add, 'And you can call me... the Dark Knight.'<br />
<u style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></u>
<u style="font-weight: bold;">Level V</u>- Play gay. Now this is an interesting one. You have to come out of the closet even if you don't have one and tell about it to your crush. It'll be highly awkward at first but will turn easy and comfortable gradually. And then, when the time is perfectly ripe like a yellow banana, go back inside your imaginary closet. Convince her with a <i>straight</i>-face that her presence has dramatically changed your mindset and you are <i>Khushi</i>-wala-gay now, but not the mushy-wala-gay. Heck, you may even become a celebrity by joining and publicizing Ramdev Baba's quest of 'curing' gays via Yoga. *Happy Ending* *Claps*<br />
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<b><u>Level VI</u></b>- Pick-up positively. When it comes to pick-up lines, I position myself at very high ranks just like Laden positions himself in the list of Nobel Peace Prize nominees; as the only pick-up line I know immediately gets you a handshake, but unfortunately, can be used only once a year. Because it's 'Happy Birthday!' And a humble request to all the CS guys- stop using 'Hello World' as a pick-up line. That isn't the correct syntax. And EEE/ENI people, you can use this line- 'I thought the <i>DC</i> is the most electrifying thing until I met you.' Don't know about the rest, but if your crush is a Chemical Engineer, the ideal one is, 'Are you placed?' Because when she asks why, you can romantically reply, 'Coz you are one in a million.' Despite looking easy, this act is placed at the 6th position because just like the snake-reborn-to-take-revenge stories, it works out only in the movies.<br />
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<b><u>Level VII</u></b>- Be You<span style="font-size: x-small;">*</span>. This is the most difficult one. Seriously. Because try however you may, there is always the actor within you who forces you to pretend, to feign, to fake. But in the long run, being yourself ultimately helps you emerge victorious. Yeah you can wipe those tears now.<br />
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If you found the whole content to be directly opposite to the word 'useful', do remember, that I promised to help you make this day 'an unforgettable memory', nothing else. And that I guarantee. If you have any better and safer ideas, do drop them in the comment-box and take part in this noble and altruistic activity. And who knows, that might make some lonely writer somewhere lucky. So everyone reading this, wishing you an advanced Happy Solo-people-hiding Day and for all the girls, 'Happy Birthday!! :P :D :F :W'<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">*No this isn't a publicity article for any sort of an awesome conference, but if you've been lazy enough to not register still for something called <a href="http://www.tedxbitsgoa.com/2013/">TEDx</a>, here goes the link, <a href="http://10.10.10.120/">http://10.10.10.120/</a> And yeah there's a shirt too. Yeah that black one, which doesn't look like a copied football team's jersey. Signing out. </span><br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-65663852332539568632013-02-06T20:19:00.002+05:302013-02-07T22:10:53.382+05:30Bunking may cause Cancer*<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Yeah, it's a statistically proven fact well documented by a very esteemed and responsible news channel, India News. (Keeping aside the fact that, it has also once reported, with accurate astronomical evidence, obviously, that 'Hell' is actually a planet between Mars and Jupiter; but come on, telescopes with dirty lenses are to blame.)<br />
<br />
So that night, exactly at 23:41:05 hrs IST (GMT+5.5), I over-ambitiously set the alarm at 5:45 am, after searching that rarely-used app for about half-an-hour in the phone, switched off the lights and then flew and fell on the bed strewn with all the clothes I would wear the following month. It was then that a rascal knocked at my door and shrieked, "Night Mess!" An hour, a Rs.35-debt and a sandwich later, I was back in my room and wondered whether going to an incomprehensible class the following morning was worth getting into rare (and sometimes cool) psychological disorders triggered by sleep-deprivation.<br />
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I had always suspected that alarms were crafted with the art of black-magic to be used as a tool to torture the mankind by waking them up from their sweet slumber at the oddest times possible. Yeah, my phone was damn punctual in its sadism and 'alarmed' me sarcastically.<br />
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Half-an-hour (or was it an hour-and-a-half?) later...<br />
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Here I was, after one month of educational hibernation, stepping into the lecture theater. I don't know what was so brutal in the way the professor glared at me, that he started resembling a 'Trespassers will be prosecuted' board. I ignored the sudden creepy silence, the burning stare of the students and wondered what had gone wrong and checked if I had my pants on. Or perhaps, it was just due to me being bag-less and interrupting the class, by being 15 minutes late. I quickly walked to the farthest corner possible and dissolved in the seat with utmost silence.<br />
<br />
There were so many symbols and alphabets on the board that if Dan Brown would see it, he would get enough material to write 7 different sequels to The Da Vinci Code. But no! The professor was actually teaching Thermodynamics, which had now elevated to such a high level that if a NASA scientist would plan on landing a rover on its face, he would first systematically calculate all the transitions, trajectories, tangents and finally, backed by sufficient scientific proof, conclude- "Abey, lite ley"<br />
<br />
After sometime (which was 10 seconds), I checked if I had dozed off, but the AC had taken care of my lack of sleep, by being OFF and letting the sweat pour from every pore. No, the professor wasn't tired at all and felt reluctant on leaving before he completed the 50 precious minutes of his lecture.<br />
<br />
Anyways, I drifted back into my daydreams, and imagined an octopus riding a dragon, flying across the theater, gobbling up all the nerds and spitting spectacles everywhere and waving an eight-handed 'Hi' to me. And I pretty much deserved this friendly gesture as I had always been a die-hard fan of Oswald.<br />
<br />
(And this vision just got my blog a U/A certificate from Pogo for disturbingly portraying its cartoon in a surrealistic imagery.)<br />
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But, I have to admit that, however hard you may try to ignore, the topics being taught in the class always leave an impression on your imagination. Like that time, when the prof was teaching about "French Revolution", and I was imagining a conversation between The Eiffel Tower and The Leaning Tower of Pisa (after contemplating Paris Hilton, of course)<br />
<br />
E.T. - "Hey, L.ToP, I am straight. How about you?"<br />
L.ToP- *hell-bent on not responding*<br />
E.T.- "coz I heard you have some strange inclinations!"<br />
<br />
Or when the Maths prof was trying to prove the controversial equation- '1 2 ka 4, 4 2 ka 1' (strategically incorporated in the Anil Kapoor song, 'My name is Lakhan') by the method of Contradiction, and then adjusting his tie screamed- "This is gonna be Legen...wait for it...dre's equation!" Or was it just another day-dream? You will never know.<br />
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And have you met one of those students infected by this miserable disease of perpetually making notes of what all the teacher does? They don't even bother looking at the teacher, as their heads are eternally pinned to the notes. Take this excerpt from the notes of one of my nerdy friends, for example- <br />
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"...so I was stressing the importance of Entropy which is a major issue in running a machine *coughs* Because it lays the foundation of Second Law. Hey, wake him up man! *pauses* And these laws are to be followed for energy to be profitably transformed. Why is he still sleeping? Hey! Good Morning to you too! Get out. *sends me out of class*..."<br />
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Yeah, Profs love eye-contact! So better give them some.<br />
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Now let's get back to the Thermodynamics class. (That kept trying to keep up to its name by continuously frying my brains.) The digital clock now indicated that I had to keep my delicate mental-balance for a one hour long minute more. It almost felt like watching an atom-bomb ticking its countdown, only that this bomb would explode, spraying chocolate and Miami beaches in all directions. I closed my eyes as sweat trickled down my face and the theme 'Rise' from TDKR played in the background. And finally, the miracle happened. The clock struck independence and I came out feeling like the hero from the 'Shawshank Redemption' after he prison-breaks. There was confetti falling from the sky, people exchanged hugs and handshakes with moist eyes and trumpets merrily farted. At last, I was liberated....<br />
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Oh wait! What was this post about?<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*This post was actually written in the last semester but has been posted now as I couldn't find sufficient time to mock Quark owing to my excessive sleeping sickness. My apologies.</span><br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-78975001519879069012013-01-31T17:09:00.003+05:302013-02-02T11:25:34.668+05:30On Air Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"...and then Wilbur was all like, 'Dude, did you get the stuff? Let's get <b><i>high</i></b> bro' and then it all began. But bringing the ladies to serve was my idea. But I still don't understand why he was so shocked when I brought spanners, screw-drivers and wood to the place.." -Orville Wright in an interview.<br />
<br />
So, after lying jobless at home for almost a month, I had a dramatic change of mind and returned back to BITS. And now I lie jobless here. It was <b>Jet Konnect</b> that helped me in reaching this holy abode of 40 inch LEDs and yeah, education, of course.<br />
<br />
It was my FFE (fifth flight experience) and I'll recount some facts about this hyped mode of transport.<br />
The most important part of a plane is the air-hostess. I say 'part' because they are definitely clones/droids/transformers and definitely can't be considered Homo sapiens. These are the reasons-<br />
(a) Smile is their <b>only</b> expression. They will smile the hell out of you and keep on smiling even after you kill yourself of Paranoid Schizophrenia.<br />
(b) Their accent is American; the American being the Terminator; which is due to their vocal-cords having been replaced by the Automated Voice Response System that you hear in the Customer Service phone calls. <br />
(c) There is a thin line between make-up and plastic surgery. And unfortunately they are playing Kabaddi across that thin line. <br />
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But despite all these reports from various conspiracy-theorists it has been proved that they are humans too. And below all those layers of cosmetics and plastic smiles lies a delicate heart; which wants you to buy that exorbitantly costly coffee worth Rs.60<br />
<br />
At the beginning of the journey, you are explained the number of ways in which you might fail in completing the journey. They tell you what to do in case the plane lands on water, on a volcano, on Mars and all the other places in the universe except the airport where you initially planned to reach, before involuntarily registering into Space-Tourism. But none pays much attention for the obvious reason of not being Saif Ali Khan from 'Cocktail'. But it certainly hurt the sentiments of an old woman sitting beside me who at last growled, 'Kuchh toh shubh-shubh bol kalmuhi!'<br />
<br />
And then starts playing low volume music with pianos, saxophones and violin, which seems classy and elite at first but after few minutes you feel like asking the hostess, 'Do you have Honey Singh? The non YoYo one?'<br />
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The window seat is amazing though. But only the first time. Because only once can you feel excited and elated on watching towns looking as tiny as your CGPA and the land looking like Abstract Modern Art, which doesn't make any sense unless you are thoroughly stoned. And in case of the clouds surrounding your window, these are the respective reactions-<br />
<b><u>1st time you watch a cloud:</u></b> Oh! The divine froth materialized by the holy endeavors of His hands that made the flowing rivers, the rising waves and the growing seed. I bow to Thine supremacy. Alas! My eyes took so long to realize this magnanimous beauty of such celestial nature and heavenly intensity. Pardon me for such a brutal sin Lord. Amen.<br />
<b><u>2nd time you watch:</u></b> Yeah, it's very lovely and pretty and white. And I am an agnostic actually. What are your views on the world mythologies?<br />
<b><u>3rd time:</u></b> What's the time? I don't think this plane is even moving. Isn't this tasteless sandwich I just ate complementary?<br />
<b><u>4th:</u></b> What's this irritating white thing I see all the time? Did some bird shit on my window?<br />
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Meanwhile the air inside the plane keeps on entering and leaving your ears without any rhyme or rhythm finally giving you a slight headache. Just like a CDC lecture basically. Simultaneously, the air-hostesses tempt you with various products, which you should profoundly avoid unless you want to land bankrupt. Because the rates are certainly <i>sky-high</i>. (Now I had to use that, didn't I?)<br />
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After some staring and boring moments, we finally land and are thanked by the crew for choosing their airlines, or in other terms, clicking at their name which was placed topmost in Yatra.com for being the cheapest airlines in that route and are bid goodbye with the same tormenting smile.<br />
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But airports always make me nostalgic, as the large foreign population there reminds me of those childhood-days when I used to shriek 'Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!' whenever I saw a hairy white man. Now I have turned a full-fledged Pastafarian and believe only in the Flying Spaghetti Monster, so it's no more a problem.<br />
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And so, I end narrating my experience with a noise-making flying-box that frequently roars above the campus teaching us a very valuable lesson of life- 'Brrrrrrrrrrshhhhhh......' <br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-58222353058277313692013-01-14T20:45:00.001+05:302013-01-15T11:35:49.967+05:30Aata Majhi Satakli<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yes. That's precisely what 'Epidural Hematoma' is called in Marathi.<br />
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In case you don't know what EDH means, it's what happens just inside your skull when it falls in love with a hard thing and then falls on it with the speed of light. And I am talking about it as a boy I knew had it, who two days later in half-forgetfulness discovered he was myself. Wait... *Brainfart*<br />
<br />
So, it all began after... Well, I don't remember much of it, except the MedC, two other hospitals, strangers poking my veins, friends making guest-appearances, ambulances and making sense of the annoying urine-bag that stalked me everywhere. But the one thing I surely know is, how and why I fell is still a matter of medical mystery. So let's silently blame the cause of my fall on alien abduction and experimentation.<br />
<br />
Reportedly, the three weirdest things that I did in the inactivity of my consciousness were:<br />
(a) Trying to talk some sense into a Punjabi friend. That too in Telugu.<br />
(b) Banging my injured head against the CT Scan machine thinking that the doctors were sealing me off.<br />
(c) Explaining a fellow neurological patient that we don't call a barmaid 'Chemical Engineer' in BITS Goa<br />
But then, it all felt justified after I came to know that I had once replied 'Ammeter Rheostat' on being asked 'How are you feeling?' by a doctor.<br />
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But the 'Blunder of the Year' award should certainly go to the SMRC hospital which planned on conducting an unnecessary neurological surgery on my brain. And the thing with an unnecessary neurological surgery is, it's even worse than passive smoking. Because both are harmful to health, but passive smoking at least has the decency of being FREE. <br />
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But in all these odds, I must admit, it was the all-comforting company of my friends in the Goa Medical College that kept me going, with their highly encouraging comments like, 'You look very smart in your CT Scan' and 'You are all right. See that patient. Is that brown thing his brain?' <br />
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Though the highlight was, acknowledging me regarding the free services provided by the GMC including the glucose and saline drips, in these words, 'Abey ek aur bottle ghusane bol. Free ka hai!' And obviously my hungry wrists obliged.<br />
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Yes, the days were very strange as was my face, with hair so irritatingly fuzzy that even my comb went- 'lolwut' So, facially I looked worse than Joker from TDK and physically I was worse than Bruce Wayne from TDKR. But of course, the <i>Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham</i> moment happened when my parents entered the scene and hugged me, as opposed to my expectations, in which I imagined them to break in 'Holy Smokes! Our son is <i>special</i> now!' slow-motion scene.<br />
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Then I was shifted to the MedC, which is the best place that one can get in BITS because the AC actually works there and your routine is something like- Sleep. Eat. Sleep. Eat. Shit. Constipation? Sleep again then.<br />
Moving on to the menu. It too is quite exotic, with fascinating options like- Warm Khichdi, Cold Khichdi, Warm Khichdi being cooled and Die hungry.<br />
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On the flip side, you have nurses attending you the whole day. Let's leave aside the fact though, that the most killer pick-up line you can manage is only the- 'No mam. I didn't vomit today *innocent smile* ' But then you are supposed to be 'patient', aren't you? (Though I sincerely regret not using the line, 'I <i>fell</i> for you', anytime.)<br />
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But speeches are where mothers are. And thus, I became a victim of the vast maternal oratory in which every sentence ended with- '... and that's why you fell down' Well, she accused events ranging from the Portuguese influence on Goan culture to my low CGPA for my fall and I being left with no options of debate or discussion, continued with my silent slumber.<br />
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The doctor then wrote me off for a month of hibernation at home, with a hearty request for a haircut, with belief in the saying that one should have a good wrapping at least, if the gift is bad. And thus, I now rest at home with two hours of computer-time a day, officially bunking classes. Now, when I come to think of all of it philosophically, I feel that it's just a nature's mysterious way of saving me from the tortures of ERP, this semester. <br />
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The whole last week came with a moral for me- that you should always have good number of calories in diet and good friends by your side, because they will be the ones saving you, when you fall. And yes my friends did save me. And so did Dr Raghu sir, my warden sirs and my dear hostel-assistant sir.<br />
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An ending advice- Don't forget to take care of that huge chunk of meat in your head because, believe me, it can ache in a hundred different ways and subtly show who's the boss, if it wants to.<br />
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Signing out!<br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-63604751854749063982012-12-29T19:18:00.002+05:302012-12-29T20:04:59.337+05:30The Vacation Cancer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Do you feel hungry and bored all the time? Do you want to learn new things but still continue in the inertia of 'velaness'? Do you miss the campus but on further contemplation find out that it's just the Oreo-shake that's making you nostalgic? Do you wake up at 2:00 am to eat and have cold-coffee only to find people staring oddly at you? Does your family make you feel uncomfortable by interrogating you about the sensex-ual curves of your CGPA? Do you reluctantly bath daily under parental and societal pressure?<br />
<br />
Yes. You have been diagnosed of the vacation-cancer.<br />
<br />
When I entered my home I was greeted with 347 different versions of the line, 'Kitna patla ho gaya hai!' and since then, have been continuously stuffed with every edible thing available in the house like a Thanksgiving turkey. My relatives commented that the 'educational burden' might be the reason for my supposed weight-loss and almost killed me of guilt. I have countless times narrated my weekly-4-course-mess-menu in different houses at different gatherings on different occasions for different reasons. And believe me, the menu really sounds interesting when described in the right tone with the right gestures.<br />
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The cold in Chhattisgarh is biting like a rabid dog. (Yeah, I live there and contrary to popular opinion, am not a Tribal or a Naxalite.) #Bonus Chhattisgarh Fact: People here do wear clothes and sweaters.<br />
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In other news, those mischievous Mayans turned out to be legendary trolls and their calendar has been nominated for the 'Best Practical Joke Cracked Before Christ' award. 'Aaj Tak' and 'India News' together made a record of being proved wrong 10001 times. And thus apocalypse has been indefinitely postponed without further notice.<br />
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As it miraculously happens every year, my birthday this time too, coincided with the winter vacations. And I feel lucky for having it out-of-campus for the intense fear of the brutal ceremony of throwing the B'day Boy in air and kicking his ribs till he can count all the vertebral bones individually by the pain each one causes. I always wonder why such an evil ritual has such a cute name- 'Birthday Bumps', which should be actually called something like- 'Banging the bladder out of that blockhead till he turns black and blue'.<br />
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This tradition also gives much scope for revenge. Take this dialogue for example-<br />
B'day Boy (mid-air with a shoe penetrating into his back)- Do you know that guy who just stabbed me in my chest and said 'Happy Bithday Bro' ?<br />
Friend (yes, it is his shoe)- No. But you once told me that you got a mark more than him in Thermo in the 1st sem<br />
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But I surely missed that chocolate cake that my friends would affectionately buy and then dramatically forget that mouth is the hole anatomically assigned for food intake, and end up smearing the cake all over my face.<br />
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I have successfully aged beyond my teenage and have already started giving you-undisciplined-arrogant teenagers-look to the younger people. I also have with great maturity switched my loyalties from Dexter, the cartoon-scientist to Dexter, the serial-killer. I am now capable of solving critical problems of life like, 'Shahi or Night-mess?' and have also, with great mental labor, figured out that I am not supposed to write- 'Nothing Much :P' when FB asks me 'What's going on, Suprabhat?' instead of asking, 'What's on your mind?' But yet, I sometimes feel that I still am just a sweet innocent kid deep inside (who laughs at vulgar jokes)<br />
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Moving on, there have been other misfortunes happening in the society. Yes, I am talking about that Delhi incident that is splashed all over the news, where a guy confessed that he thought R.I.P. written on the graves actually meant 'Raping In Paradise'. To cut the long story short, we, sadly, have not been respecting Darwin much, lately.<br />
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But before I break into a melodramatic moral speech, let me cut-short with the message- 'Enjoy your Holidays', or as the CS guys say: learn C++, C#, Java, Python, CSS, XML, HTML, ASP, Django, Javascript......<br />
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Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-41310845892571364132012-11-23T23:38:00.000+05:302012-11-23T23:38:28.316+05:30F******K! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Have you read that paper they give you at the end of the classes nowadays with jokes scribbled all over it?<br />
If not, you better take a look (which you eventually will) because this is the most hilarious thing I have seen in the campus, after the CSA-election agendas of course.<br />
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Yeah! You got it! Give yourself a hi-fi! (Even if that's weird.) I am talking about the "Feedback" forms. But I am one of the rare ones who have been trusted with the deeply buried secret of what they are going to do with those poor papers. These manuscripts, carrying explosive truths, will be shredded into microscopic pieces, then rotten by lustful and sadistic bacteria till they turn into bio-gas, which will be finally sealed off mercilessly in a cylinder and blasted to blue flames to roast a chicken in a smoldering oven in our cafeteria.<br />
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Or I have been watching too many animes lately.<br />
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But seriously who cares? I mean, the administration. The nerds would be merry even if Wall-E were teaching. (And I'm sorry for that inappropriate reference because Wall-E is way more expressive, entertaining and enthusiastic than half of my teachers, but then, it thinks about garbage all the time!) And the rest of the students would anyway attend all the classes. Provided the teacher distributes doughnuts, drinks and droids at the end of each discussion.<br />
<br />
Now, for the sake of those who didn't get to see the form; it consists of 18 one-liners that are provided with 6 circles each, to rate the humor-quotient, ranging from NA to 5. And for all who want to pictorially depict your affection and respect for the instructor, there is a blank frame provided at the end where you can draw your instructor sitting on a unicorn, riding over rainbows over the B-Dome, and drawing clouds and thunder with chalk. Or you can just write a classy Yo-mama joke. And for all the obvious reasons one can find in this universe, you are not asked to write your identity.<br />
<br />
Now, here are some questions, in random order, I would like to highlight-<br />
<br />
Q.) Lectures are interactive, questions are encouraged and doubts are effectively clarified.<br />
A.) Absolutely yes. Like the time I asked my Maths Prof how to solve the partial differential equation, involving spatial dimensions and time, governing the free undamped oscillations of an elastic beam, clamped at one end. And he was all like, "Oh boy! My five-year old son can solve it using separation-of-variables method!" Or perhaps he was simply referring to his mathematically enhanced genes which even have the chromosomes looking like the variables 'x' and 'y'.<br />
<br />
Q.) Instructor communicates effectively. (consider grammar, clarity and audibility)<br />
A.) Firstly, I didn't know that these many things are to be 'considered' while speaking as the only concern, we below-poverty-line-in-grammar people have while we speak, is making every sentence sound cool. Like when my friend asked me, "Hey bro! You wanna hit mess dude bucks shit yo?" <br />
<br />
Q.) Instructor uses presentation tools (blackboard, slides, models where applicable) effectively.<br />
A.) *thinking about FTV*<br />
<br />
Q.) Lectures are interesting and engaging, arousing curiosity in me to learn advanced topics.<br />
A.) Excuse me Mam.... Mam, where is the "I laughed so hard I probably will never be constipated again" option?<br />
<br />
Q) Instructor is enthusiastic and original in his/her presentation and problem solving approach.<br />
A) Enthusiastic? Yes, like I am, about my compre-exams. Original? Yes, like I am, in my open-book exams. <br />
<br />
Q.) % of classes attended by you.<br />
A.) I didn't count but I swear it's around 100.<br />
<br />
Q.) Difficulty level of the questions asked in the evaluation components is commensurate with what is taught in the class.<br />
A.) LOL! ROFLMAO! What's 'commensurate' ?<br />
<br />
Q.) I look upon the instructor, as a capable counselor with regard to academic, career and personal matters.<br />
A.) I get nightmares of doing stand-up comedy in the Placement Office, while the company people laugh hysterically. Oh wait! I am actually reading my CG card to them. (No. I wouldn't like to share this with my Prof.)<br />
<br />
Q.) The instructor's overall professional conduct is worthy of emulation.<br />
A.) Well such an instructor is like Kasab's hanging. Most of us didn't see it. <br />
<br />
Q.) Evaluation is fair and transparent.<br />
A.) Yeah, totally. In fact '0' is the most transparent numeral ever invented! <br />
<br />
There are many other questions but obviously I have no clue about those, as I failed to attend many classes due to the time-taking psychology-project I am working on, that involves analyzing the contradictions to the Aristotelian logic displayed in the trailer of "Khiladi 786" and making a detailed report on, why killing the movie's story-writer, music-composer, actor and singer, Himesh Reshammiya, would get Obama a second and more deserving Nobel Peace Prize.<br />
<br />
On a totally unrelated note, I would also like to add that I deeply respect and honor this noble profession of teaching. Because teaching is like a miniature version of Big-Boss: being in a closed room surrounded by a bunch of arrogant idiots; assault and murder isn't allowed; and there is some bigger ass sitting somewhere, continuously supervising you. So, it really requires a lot of patience and determination to teach us dumb people, constantly fighting the strong urge to hack and kill. Hence respect teachers and pay attention in the classes and be serious and silent while the class is being taught. If you don't want to end up dead in some gutter, that is.<br />
<br />
And yes, fill the Feedback Form seriously. It's fun! </div>
Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-79702663975499480392012-11-16T01:11:00.001+05:302012-11-18T01:15:57.829+05:30The Whole E-Matrimony<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The big things in life are <i>free</i>.<br />
Just like my fake account in Jeevansathi.com<br />
<br />
So, one day my friend barged into my room and said, "I am sufficiently tired of being 'friends' with total strangers and now is the time to quit screwing around in FB and do something thought-provoking, something real, something more mature." And then we created my fake profile. But, I don't want to give free publicity to this <i>match-fixing</i> site so, me being a chemical engineer, let's call it A1sathi.com.<br />
<br />
I am very proud to mention that my profile has got 89 views, which is like 89 times the number of views my blog has got. And, this matrimonial alter-ego of mine, named 'Supramanyam', has got a BE Chemical degree (yeah, I never lie about my roots) and an ME in I.S. (Information Systems) from Stanford. But, I can bet on the cheesy looking couple on the website (that look so glad, as if the husband owns a Kingfisher villa and the wife owns a make-up box, the size of the villa) that ladies are going crazy just over the I.S. part.<br />
<br />
Anyhow, it's quite obvious, isn't it; because of the love people have for the things starting with the letter '<b>I</b>' (subconscious egocentrism, maybe). Some justifying examples here are- <b>I</b>.I.T, <b>I</b>.I.M, <b>I</b>.T, <b>I</b>.A.S, <b>I</b>.Q, <b>I</b>MAX, <b>I</b>-series-Intel-processors, <b>I</b>-whatever-shit-Apple-makes, <b>I</b>-pill... oops, that came out wrong (no, that isn't a tagline, perverts!)<br />
<br />
And, I did one more extraordinarily clever thing; that is, didn't upload my photo. Now, that doesn't mean I am bat-shit-ugly, but, why not let their imaginations run wild! Especially when in this age of obesity, imagination is the only thing that can venture running. I also filled out various other details like my salary, hobbies, caste, creed, dimensions etc with slight exaggeration, as the final output is a person, who looks as big as Big-B, is a thinner and richer version of Lord Kuber, indulges in philosophical stuff like reading Bible, Gita, Koran etc and also preaches that these books essentially say the same thing- we suck!<br />
<br />
Now, this one particular day was the turning point in my life, when my profile got its first hit and I got a mail saying, "XYZ, who is ethnically-blah-blah-blah, is interested in you." I was so overwhelmed that I melted into tears and sobbed with ecstasy, because, the last time the humanity seemed <i>interested</i> in me was when I got a game-request of 'Ninja or Nun' on Facebook.<br />
<br />
So, I started reading the profiles of various <i>didis</i> and <i>aunties.</i> (Yes, I do respect women even when I am stalking their matrimonial profiles)The search-tool for profiles in this website is quite similar to Google. Now, I am not saying this because, when I typed "girl who acts like a girl", it replied with "Do you mean a Southie chick?" but because, the lesser the page number, the better the search-results.<br />
<br />
Let me explain: the age of the females in the profiles gradually increases from 25 to eternity as you go from page 1 to 100. And I always have this weird vision that if I ever dare to, as much as, click on the 100th page, a shivering and wrinkled hand will reach me from the laptop screen and I'll hear a shaking voice saying, "B...b..beta mere Karan-Arjun nahin aaye beta! Now, I want a new f..f.....family beta!" And yeah, that's very creepy.<br />
<br />
Some profiles have been written by the fathers, some by the daughters (I mean, the profile-owners), and some have been co-written. The profiles in the last category always have incredibly smooth transitions to avoid confusion and misunderstanding. <br />
<br />
An example, ".....My daughter is a respected, highly educated, good natured and well-mannered girl who is, by a rare celestial coincidence, also very beautiful. She has been brought up in a very good cultural background and with high moral values. I can also cook 5 types of pasta and 11 types of pizza and regularly hit gym to be in perfect shape, which isn't round, LOL. I also am very broadminded as I never care about the cheap comments my colleagues pass at me for having simultaneous love-affairs with my boss, who commands the call-center and my driver, who carries me to the call-center. I also....." <br />
<br />
See? You just can't detect that there were two authors to this literary piece.<br />
<br />
And then there are profiles that have girls whose qualities-list consists of playing piano, violin, mrudangam, cello, nadaswaram and some 50 other instruments. So, basically in this case, I don't marry. I become the manager of an alternative Carnatic rock band. Now, imagine a daily household conversation-<br />
<br />
Me- Honey! I am home. What's for dinner tonight?<br />
She- Raga Hamsadhwani<br />
Me- *speechless, with flute in the background*<br />
She- Now the tabla won't play itself, will it, dear?<br />
<br />
And then the scene cuts to the music-room where I am frantically playing Tabla with hunger-fits.<br />
<br />
But sometimes I start feeling guilty and sorry; my conscience gets on my nerves, for committing this cheap act of not creating a fake profile featuring a woman, too. Then I would also have an overview of the male profiles in the website and things would be more fun. But it's okay. Supramanyam is managing quite well. <br />
<br />
Now, I, being an engineer, have always respected multiple choices even when I had no idea what each of those choices meant; just like this website scenario, where an array of women check out a matrix of men and get <i>interested</i> in each other, quite dramatically. But in these times, when, even the faces that we see outside are masked with hypocrisy and insincerity, how can we believe in a profile pic and description on a random website which could have been created by some weirdo. (Like my friend, for example.) But then, it all boils down to a matter of choice and chance.<br />
<br />
And who knows? Supramanyam might eventually land up with a 'sanskari stree' (value-added woman).<br />
*The post ends with a Shehnai melody*<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-48813210221286174122012-11-09T16:42:00.001+05:302012-11-09T23:10:21.508+05:30Disc- Jockey, Rupa, whatever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Life is a bunch of weird and forgettable experiences. And I had a specially weird one recently. <br />
<br />
It's called DJ Nite.<br />
<br />
DJ Nite <b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-size: 13px; white-space: nowrap;">/ˈdēˌjā,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-size: 13px; white-space: nowrap;">nīt/</span></span></b><br />
Noun : A modernistic cultural program led by a person, standing on a high podium with a torture weapon <br />
called 'turntable', who uses it to repeatedly and mercilessly assault on the fragile eardrums of victims<br />
who have fallen prey to the tyrannies of electronic music, and calls himself/herself DJ<br />
<br />
If you have attended these earlier, you might have spotted an overwhelmingly awkward person staring cynically at the rest of the swaying humanity around and simultaneously doubting the reason of his existence there. Well, that's me.<br />
<br />
So, this DJ Nite, (Yes, it's Nite, not Night, because Nite is cooler as it looks 75% like Lite) I am talking about, was so jam-packed with zombies swinging in simple-harmonic motion, that my lungs had to extract O<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">2 </span>from CO<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">2 </span>to avoid asphyxiation. (On a historical note, Hitler's concentration camps were nothing but only-Jews-get-the-passes DJ Nites, conducted in ill-ventilated halls.)<br />
<br />
The crowds here are a pervert's paradise, because, the delight of a pervert joyously making a way through the throng, is comparable only to the ecstasy of a child who is lost in a chocolate-cloud, with Pokemons and Doraemon circling him, in Noddy's car, driven by Harry Potter. <br />
<br />
And this is also a problem for the righteous souls because this high density audience here, may lead to a person catching AIDS, merely by trying to keep his head from fusing into the neighbor's armpits.<br />
<br />
Now, coming to the music- I have always, since infancy, fantasized about hearing a robot rape a piano, tuned to high bass in a loudspeaker. It seems, they have now given a name to it. <i>Skrillex</i>. It's almost an aural holocaust, hearing the same tune being played over and over again until your auditory neurons, thankfully, break the loop and you end up deaf. In fact, amputating and stitching together totally unrelated songs seemed more justified to me after hearing this insanity called 'Electronic Dance Music'.<br />
<br />
Anyways, to camouflage myself in this musical apocalypse, I desperately tried to dance and ended up looking like a polio patient showing his moves, after being overly inspired by watching Step Up 3D, three times. Then, I slowly disappeared from the place displaying my amateurish ninja-skills and later poured coolants in my ear to dissolve the atrocities faced by it before.<br />
<br />
And finally tried my last chance at luck to regain sanity by listening to Coke Studio. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040363915025451328.post-29980907463344659932012-10-25T14:31:00.000+05:302012-10-27T23:49:01.275+05:30Train (of thought) II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
......continued<br />
<br />
I stumbled and fumbled with an intent to follow her as as she walked past me towards the vestibule and turned and went to a place where it would be plain illegal for me to follow. And I just stood there shocked and awe-struck. To be frank, she completely ignored me as I stared unsociably at her.<br />
<br />
What? Were you expecting a Bollywood-ish hero-heroine intro sequence. Well, then let me remind you once again- I am an engineer (awkward). And I am a blogger (x1000).<br />
<br />
Yeah, exceptions exist everywhere and there are various un-printable and fun-speakable titles to honor them, starting from the affectionate "Tharki" to complex ones like "#@%^&!%# " which involve various Freudian aspects. But let's put them aside.<br />
<br />
Moreover, we male engineers never have much hormonal activity going on; unless there's a laptop involved. Introduce a laptop in the scene, and then there's a spike... In the hormonal activity.<br />
<br />
And that's precisely the reason why girls fake being offline, because we boys, supposedly, sit huddled, like a group of hungry salivating falcons with tongues lolling out and intent eyes piercing the laptop screen, in search of a prey, which is an online-random-'friend'- girl, to swoop at the chat box and dig her brains out by 'boring' conversations.<br />
<br />
% Myth-buster: We satisfy our urges and surges just by 'stalking', and during the process, accidentally 'liking'. (The reason for now-20-years-old you, getting a 'like' on your fifth-birthday-cake-pic, with a comment- "awww so sweet :):):):):)" ) And so don't require chatting.<br />
<br />
I recently heard a girl saying, "Oh my god! Shameless stalkers. Thank heavens, I get notified every time someone 'follows' my profile." Well, chill out girl. That's called Quora.<br />
<br />
Also, as opposed to various rumors floated by Aaj Tak, Software Engineers have not been successful yet in devising a way for crawling through the LAN cables and emerging into someone's laptop screen like an emergency pop-up window. So, feel safe being online. It's a friendly neighborhood.<br />
<br />
(This ad, featuring Morgan Freeman's voice, has been issued in the public interest. Conditions applied.) %<br />
<br />
There was a person sitting on a berth far off in the other side of the compartment with a bespectacled face and almost bald head staring into his Macintosh. Holy Shit! Steve Jobs. But shouldn't he 'drop out' of the train or something ? I approached him timidly.<br />
<br />
He was running a media player as well as a reader side-by-side watching "Hello" (no, you don't know this) and simultaneously reading "One night @ call center" (yes, you know this)<br />
He- "What a disgusting movie!"<br />
Me-"No offense, but the book was crap too!"<br />
He- "Still! This movie is downright diarrhea"<br />
And we giggled at this poop-joke for 5 minutes.<br />
(And my sincere apologies to the readers but, Chetan Bhagat totally looks like Steve Jobs from one rail-coach distance. You can check if you want.)<br />
<br />
He- "Engineer, kid?"<br />
Me-"Yeah! Chemical Engineer."<br />
He- "Shit man! The last time I met a Chemical guy, he was all like, 'Bhaiyya. Yeh davaai iss dukaan mein nahin milti!' LMFAO"<br />
Me-"Hehe. Yeah. Chemical Engineers and Chemists are totally interchangeable."<br />
He- "Just kidding, bro. Chill out. I meant no offense. Lite. But, on a serious note, what alternative career options have you considered? Coz, you gotta eat something, right?"<br />
Me- "I don't know. What's your secret of success? I mean, you had put your fingers in so many pies and then you blotched tissue papers with your smeared hands and... voila! the Indian 'paperback' king."<br />
He- "See, I didn't know what I loved, so I did everything, courses and degrees and jobs, and shortlisted what I hated and bingo! I got my real calling."<br />
Me- "Writing?"<br />
He- "No. Being a housewife."<br />
Me-"*Sigh* They call even you people Home Engineers these days."<br />
He- "When they can call YOU engineers! LOL. ROFLMAO. This shit is so funny!"<br />
Me- "Okay. But seeing today's trends, almost every engineer is vomiting a novel every alternate day about his oh-so-awesome-I'm-totally-nailing-it engineering life that includes various interesting and thought-provoking elements like mess-food, semester-backs, bunks-and-flunks, placement-heartbreaks and below-poverty-line-CGPA. That's how sad it can get. And there you are, playboy-ing in your college-stories."<br />
He- "Who said so?"<br />
Me-"You yourself. I saw your interviews!"<br />
He- "Exactly. *wink* Dude, I was an IITian. I rest my case."<br />
Me-"*speechless*"<br />
He- "You are, what you write. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll write another novel about this train-meeting, which people will again needlessly go bananas over."<br />
<br />
<br />
I was just flowing in the reverie when a ground-nut seller hawked the soul out of me.<br />
"Babu, ek idhar dena", I said.<br />
"Who the hell is 'babu'?", the seller scowled.<br />
"What the hell?", was the smartest response I could come up with.<br />
"What?", yeah, he said.<br />
"I... I don't mean anything derogatory towards this noble profession and indeed it plays a key-role in the Indian economy, but why, I mean.... you seem educated. And ground-nut seller?", I zipped my mouth, finally.<br />
"Ground-nut seller? Bitch, I am an entrepreneur", he said, shoving a packet in my trembling hands.<br />
"Huh! Oh!", I said and continued being lame.<br />
To avoid any further awkwardness, I added-<br />
"Well, entrepreneurship is indeed a tough 'nut' to crack" and winked.<br />
He didn't respond.<br />
"And an entrepreneur has to be well-versed with the 'nuts' and bolts of his business" and winked again.<br />
He didn't respond.<br />
"In fact, I sometimes feel like a 'nut' for not trying my hand at start-ups till now"<br />
He responded finally ending the pun-fest saying-<br />
"How would you like your nuts? Salted? Or broken?"<br />
<br />
And, I did what I do my third best, slipped away.<br />
<br />
Now, this word 'Entrepreneurship' has always confused me. No, not the spelling. (Ignoring the fact that I got it correct the seventh time.) The whole concept is warped in itself. Everyone is an engineer nowadays. But at least it requires a certificate. But entrepreneurship? No, it's too cool for that. And the trouble is, it has infected all the professions and spheres of life.<br />
<br />
Let me throw some light on a doctor-patient conversation I recently eaves-dropped into, to justify my point-<br />
<br />
Doctor- Sorry to say, but, my scheme, 'Oh patient, Be patient' doesn't cover the treatment of your overly-fragile heart condition, but you can have a free sugar check-up benefit-voucher by donating your sperm at that counter<br />
Patient- *facepalm*<br />
<br />
Finally, shaking off all the cluttered thoughts, I wondered why engineers go into all different places starting from one common point; what is so repelling in our syllabus that alters our thought-processes; whether Engineering is more of an eye-opener towards actual interests rather than a course and whether the trailer of "Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola" made sense.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<h3 class="r" style="display: block; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-overflow: ellipsis;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">But, let's-face-it, we humans have this inclination to eventually neglect what we have in our hands and gape at the opportunities around (no twisted interpretations please) and I am probably exaggerating a simple phenomenon to a much higher level. And who knows, even I might end up doing something other than Engineering. (Considering my grades, which are skydiving more gracefully than Felix Bumgardener)</span></h3>
<br />
And shortly afterwards, I toppled from my bed into a fresh new morning at 3 pm. <br />
<br />
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</div>
Suprabhathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03520243655139424203noreply@blogger.com4