HIT THE.. never mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Signing out.

 



      
   



   

First Anniversary

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

#time                       

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

     

   

  

 

          

   

Times Now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ta-ta.

   
   








 




     

     

Hello '13

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 'fees' in this 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.  

Well, two years have passed, since I hit the educational lottery on 1st July, 2011, when I received the 1st Iteration confirmation letter for pursuing "B.Pharmacy at BITS-Pilani", or as the Quorans querying about BITS-Goa call it, "doing drugs". 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-

Neil:       That's one small step for man. One giant leap for mankind.
Edwin:   Dude! Talk like a jerk once more and I'll start those Arm-strong jokes all over again.

Neil:       They were recording it man!
Edwin:   What? Couldn't you say something cool like, "The view has left me out of breath" or "These things happen just once; on a blue moon" or "Nobody can understand the gravity of my situation" or a simple "I'm over the moon" ?
Neil:        Okay. But tell me, how could I wink through a helmet?!
meanwhile in the command module...
Michael: Signed up for moon. Didn't walk on it. Life is one real Bitch!

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 had 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.)

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? AXN Survivor?

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?"

Also you 13-ites might have discovered by now, that sober people do 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.
(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.
Pros: You get to act like a self-righteous asshole every time someone takes a shot.
Cons: The pros exist only until your friends find out that the real reason for your abstinence is saving money.)

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 into engineering.

And before I wind up, one last piece of the most common and yet the most neglected advice- Do Attend Classes. 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.

Signing out.



Nah, I won't badmouth the messes. I've lost the appetite for all food-jokes.  

Card Attack

Or going by the medical terminology- 'Card-yuck! Argh-est', 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. (Southies: 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'. Northies: Childhood is that stage of... Meh! You won't get it. You were winking at a nurse from your foetal sonogram.)

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.

Mom: The hell! An E?
Me:    (in the tone of that annoying Parle-G ad) Mom, E mane Excellent.
Mom: Beta, that joke is so ancient, BITS used to be a non-profit organization then.
Me:    What? I heard it for the first time at our college orientation! Anyways when was the last time you made an            original joke?
Mom: If my memory isn't bad, back on 24th December, 1993 I guess.
Me:    But that's my birt..
Mom: Exactly.

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 garam masala into your wounds and steaming out your self-esteem. But again, 'asshole' is a relative term. I prefer using it for my relentless relatives.

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 returns is a dull wannabe-engineer who rebounds home from PS every weekend.
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.

( On the flip side, the Scholarship might 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.)

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-

Trips?  Nope. Can't afford.
Tours?  Nope. Can't afford.
Drugs?   Nope. Can't afford.
Drinks?   Nope. Can't afford.
Smokes?   Nope. Can't afford.
Girlfriend? Are you even listening?

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.

So basically, these times are sad, and to be accurate, as sad as the jokes that go something like-

 Year AD hona chahiye.

BC toh tu bhi hai 

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 I AM running a risk of getting karate-chopped.)

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- It's simple. We kill the postman.
  

Go Bhilai Gone

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.

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-Pians. 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'. 

Anyways, let's desert 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°C ) on the first day. The sign-board, hiding amongst a clutter of shitty safety slogans, at about 0.5km from the main gate, said "Coke Oven and CCD  3.5km". 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.

He:  Aap kaunse college se ho?
We: BITS Pilani, Go.. (owing to previous experiences) BITS, Sir.
He:  Achha! Ye kaunsa NIT hai?
We: (uncomfortably long awkward pause) Private hai Sir, ye NITs mein nahin aata.
He:  Branch kya hai?  

We: B.E. Chemical Engineering, Sir.

He:  Chemical Engineering? (guffaws) Chemical kyun liye?
We: Liye kya Sir. Mila. (no, that's what we thought, we actually said->) Bahut scope hai Sir.
He:  Achha! Mein bhi Chemical Engineer hoon. Mera kya scope hai?

We: (a 2 minute 'What the...' moment, then a sensitive Chemical guy aggressively responds) Kyun nahin hai  
         Sir? Petrochemicals, polymers, biotechnology, nano-materials, pharmaceuticals, synthetic textiles... aur     

         Research mein bhi scope hai.
He: (still unconvinced as ever) Ab yeh to apna-apna choice hai. 

And 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-

He:  Koi doubt hai?
We: Sir, yahaan CCD kahaan hai?
He:  Arey aaj jaana nahin hoga.
We: (with choked throats) Kyon Sir?
He: Aaj Coke-oven and Chemical Department ke DGM nahin aaye hain.

Complete. Pin-drop. Silence. Except for a clock hauntingly ticking in the background.

Moral of the Story: Chemical Engineering mein scope hai.

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.)
Let me elaborate:

(a) 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!)

(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?

(c) Lastly, some are proclaiming to have an amazing PS. Now 'amazing PS' is an oxy(you)moron! Get with it.

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*

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:

(a) 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.)

(b) You get so high by passively smoking beedi after beedi, you might as well freak your wits out seeing outside the window saying, "Holy Shit! The trees are running!"

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.

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:

Safety At Plant 

For

    Safe Tea* At Home    

*No, I didn't add the underline. 

  

 

Done With It.

Ignorance is bliss.
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.

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.)

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? That 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."

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."    

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:

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, they eventually made out. 

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:

Q. What can a team leader do to ensure high levels of motivation among his/her team members?

So, yes, I have now officially given up on Compre and can't wait to splash my ignorance towards worldly matters like Heat Transfer, Mass Transfer, etc-coz-I-don't-remember-the-rest, all over PS too.

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°C), 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 karma for eating a barbecue chicken once, to read this post.)    

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!