Thursday, 27 December 2007
Day: A typically dull Saturday in 2005
I wake up to realize that I have a project meeting with 3 other groupmates and Mr. Venky, GM at L&T at the L&T campus at 9:30 am and the only way to reach there in time would be to airlift myself. Since, 3.5 years in engineering in general and mechanical engineering in particular, had taught me the principles of a concept, more robust and powerful than JIT, a concept which is still helping me and millions of other Mumbai University students and pass-outs, a concept called S.H.I.T (SomeHow In Time).
I catch the 9:45 baara dabba fast local to Thane and then change to a slow local to Kanjurmarg and reach the station at 10:20 a good 50 minutes late already and still we have a bus to catch. As I get down from the train, my eyes frantically search for Santo in that crowded station and at the same time, my brain is working at double the speed to come up with a new believable excuse for coming late on the 89623489623120th time in my life.
Ah! Found my saviour! He has been my trusted lieutenant throughout my college life from 11th Standard to BE, 6 long years; he has served me, in times difficult and tough, in moments happy and sad, in situations challenging and simple. He has been my Brahmasthra, my armour, my trump card, my Michael Bevan. He is
‘There was some technical fault in the train. It stopped near Kalwa for 25 minutes. So, I am late. Sorry!’
Santo gave me a knowing grin. I think he secretly counted how many times I used that excuse. But then, little do I know that he got down from the same train just two compartments away from mine.
Moving on, we pass through Huma theatre, which is currently a swanky multiplex, but back in 2005 it was a different the‘A’tre. We catch a pretty crowded bus and somehow cling on to the rod as it moves and turns swiftly over the Powai Hill.
‘L& T, uthro’, yells the conductor.
We get down and calmly walk towards Gate no. 6. Calmly because there is no difference between being 85 minutes late and 90 minutes late, and we might as well conserve our energy to handle the barrage of questions we will face from Amit, who would have reached there at 9:15 in spite of travelling double the distance travelled by us.
‘Hi Amit! Hi Abhi’
‘Yeh aane ka time hai kya? Maine Times of India teen baar padhliya’
‘OK OK! Ab time nahi hai. Chal ab phone karte hain.’ (Master of Brushing things under the carpet)
After futile attempts to remember the extension number and finally Amit finding it written at the back of a BEST bus ticket folded to the size of a finger tip, one of us makes a call.
‘Venky ne andar bulaya chalo.’
As we walk towards the building, Santo is explaining how Sehwag dropped a catch yesterday and laughing about it. Amit is asking Abhijit about whether he had sent the email to Dutta about the design sheet we were supposed to submit. I am thinking about my missed breakfast.
(to be continued)
Monday, 24 December 2007
I'm a Talent!
You're a risk-taker, and you follow your passions. You're determined to take on the world and succeed on your own terms. Whether in the arts, science, engineering, business, or politics, you fearlessly express your own vision of the world. You're not afraid of a fight, and you're not afraid to bet your future on your own abilities. If you find a job boring or stifling, you're already preparing your resume. You believe in doing what you love, and you're not willing to settle for an ordinary life.
Thus says the Talent, Lifer, or Mandarin quiz.
I don't know whether all that it has told about me is true or not. But then I like reading such nice things about me. Who wouldn't?
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Monday, 10 December 2007
Thursday, 6 December 2007
Why do I drink so much that I lose control?
Why do I drink so much that I puke?
Why do I drink so much that I have to stay back at someone’s place?
Why do I drink so much that I get a hangover that ruins the entire next day?
Why do I drink so much that I say things which I never wanted to?
Why do I drink so much that I sway around?
Why do I drink so much that I dance badly without any inhibitions?
Why do I drink so much that it screws up my relationships with people?
Why do I drink so much that I feel like dying?
Friday, 23 November 2007
4 months back.
Now, during my week long vacation.
The questions changed in 4 months, but they never change from people to people. It’s like they print a model questionnaire and circulate amongst themselves before they meet us. It’s unbelievable, how even the order of questions doesn’t change. Sometimes I doubt, whether they sell things like 'SSC: 21 Most Likely Question sets' for these sort of questions too. I should check Navneet publications' website now.
The most annoying part of all these questions and the conversations is their reference to the relatives or acquaintances staying or having travelled abroad. Somehow, this has become a status symbol nowadays. Stuff like 'I have my brother's wife's sister's husband's brother in US' have become commonplace, especially with Tam Brams.
The funnier thing is in matrimonial sites. I happened to see some profiles of Marwari girls for my friend. Some of the details in those profiles are:
- Bua settled in US with two kids
- Mother's brother (Mama) is a professor in UK (This is exactly how it was written in a profile)
This sounded ridiculous. There is no mention of any other mama or chacha, only those settled abroad are mentioned. If I am going to marry a girl, why would I be interested in the fact that the girl's bua is settled in US or UK or even Pluto?
Enough said. We'll discuss it later. One more family friend has turned up at my house. Have to by-heart my answers quickly.
Haha! Somehow this reminds me of our childhood days. Do you remember, when we were kids, every Tom, Dick and Hari we met used to rag us by asking us to recite rhymes, shlokas and stuff?
'What do you want to be when you grow up?'
'Tell me about Jack and Jill'
Questions like these were usually followed with a conditional bribe of a goodie. 'Only if you answer me, you'll get the chocolate, else Uncle will eat it himself'
Some things never change.
Monday, 19 November 2007
Four days had passed by after my tennis court misadventure. The bandage on my chin gave me Amitabh Bachchan’s white beard look in Kaun Banega Crorepati. Still the gully cricketer inside me did not die and I played in the Combos Cricket match with my bandage on.
Next day. I had to get my stitches removed. Everybody was surprised to hear this, since they thought that nowadays doctors use dissolvable stitches. I had no clue about the medical advancement in this area. Maybe this stemmed from my dislike of blood and the resultant indifference to the medical profession.
My parents had wanted me to become a doctor. But, once when some nail had gone into my thigh, the doctor had to use some acid to remove the nail and the resultant lesion. I vomited and then passed out, just by seeing blood ooze out from my thigh. There ended my parents’ dreams. ‘Ivan urupadavey maattan’
I asked Khetan to accompany me to the hospital. He was just learning to ride a bike. So, he wanted to take me to the hospital on a bike. But seeing my face, he decided against experimenting with a weakling and took me in an auto instead.
On reaching the OPD, I saw a crowd had gathered outside the room. The doctor seemed to be in a hurry and asked me to lie down on the bed in one corner of the room. There was a team of doctors around the other bed in the room. The guy on the bed was bleeding from all over his torso. From the murmurs around me, I came to know that he was stabbed 17 times by his business rival and his condition was very serious.
The scene looked straight out of a Bollywood climax, where the hero gets injured and the doctors and nurses run around here and there. Finally, the doctor removes his glasses and says ‘Inhe dawa ki nahi, dua ki jaroorat hai.’
But this is real life. I could feel the tension amongst the doctors. Only one doctor was free and hence, he was removing my stitches. I was all the time trying to peek at the other guy. Once, I actually pushed the doctor aside as if he was a hindrance. He got annoyed and then pushed the curtain and blocked the view.
The job was over and I could leave now. I hurriedly, pushed the curtain back as I left and glanced at the other bed. There was some activity amongst the doctors. As I went out, I could hear the doctor telling the people who had gathered there, that they could not save the guy since there was too much internal bleeding.
Amidst some loud crying by the relatives, me and Khetan went to the first floor to pay our bills. We walked slowly with a heavy heart silently mourning for the person whose name we did not know, but what we definitely knew was that he was very young and should have lived longer.
The first floor was also filled with tension. There was a group of people sitting on a bench and we could see tension in their faces. As we moved to the billing counter, a nurse walked out of a room and said to the people on the bench,
“Congratulations! It’s a male child. Both mother and child are safe.”
Life goes on.
Sunday, 18 November 2007
Monday, 12 November 2007
A floodlit cricket match, going on between two teams on the hard tennis courts. I was fielding at the edge of the court. Quandi hit a cover drive, in my direction. However, it was moving away from me. Since, it was a close match, the spirited gully-cricketer in me, who has grown up watching Rhodes, Gibbs, Ponting dive around and glamorously stop the fast moving ball, momentarily got inspired, forgot that he was a paunchy, unathletic, muggu, bespectacled waste and dived for the ball.
This is not the lush Lord’s, this is the hard tennis court. Small birds were flying and chirping around my head, a la Tom and Jerry. I had directly landed on my jaws like an aeroplane whose front tyres refused to come out.
Now I looked like Anil Kumble in two ways. Firstly, I dived and still let the ball go through me as if I was ‘hollow man’ (or Anil Kumble at gully doing Namaskarams to the ball. Don’t tell me you don’t know about his fielding style!), and then I had a bleeding jaw. The match stopped immediately. But the blood didn’t.
My chin was bleeding profusely, for a second it looked like I had a red ‘goatie’. I was not feeling anything in the lower teeth and jaws. I was barely muttering. Everybody converged around me and looked at my chin like seeing a live biology specimen. Soon, Lifty took me to Amrit, who was a doctor. Till then, I had a belief that it was just a scratch. But when I was about to leave the tennis court, I started to panic a bit. What if I had broken my jaw? What if my teeth had become loose? What if I am unable to speak after this? Lots of insane thoughts muddling my mind!
Amrit suggested I should get stitches on my chin. Me and Lifty left for the hospital immediately. On the way to the hospital at 3:15 am, we saw an autorickshaw and a bike collide and skid, a scene straight out of the final scenes of a typical ‘action’ Bollywood movie, where vehicles are tossed around aimlessly to show the effect of bombs exploding and the hero walking next to them unscathed. But here? I was already numb, both physically and mentally. I thought, “Whose face did I see first, today morning? Main usko maar daalunga kal!”
When we reached the hospital, I was rushed into the casualty ward. The doctor looked at his watch and gave me a smirk when I said I was injured while playing cricket .It was 3:30 am. The he saw my wound and talked some technical stuff which I had no idea about. It reminded me of my mother’s face when I used to explain nanotechnology to her. Then, slowly, the tailor, err..the doctor went abouot stitching my face. Whenever he was pulling the thread out, it felt like he was pulling my imaginary beard. (‘goatie’)
Finally, the job was done, and me and Lifty returned back to campus.
Next day: My request on the institute message board for requesting movies
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
“ABCDEFGHI….JKLM..NOP..QRST,..UWX..YZ…I love you!!"
What does ‘I love you’ got to do with alphabets, you might ask. Well, these are the lyrics of a not so recent Hindi song. Nice way to remember alphabets for kids I guess, just remember the song. As a kid, I was taught alphabets differently by different people. My mom taught me the typical A for apple, B for ball stuff, which was slisha boring. My uncle, who was in his early twenties then, had an interesting way of teaching alphabets. It went like this,
‘A for Anjali, B for Bharati,, C for Chitra, D for Darshini, E for Elizabeth, F for Freeda, G for Geeta, H for Hema, I for Indra, J for Jamuna, K for Kalyani, L for Lalitha, M for Madhumita, N for Nitya, O for Omana, P for Priya, Q for Quasar, R for Roja, S for Seetha, T for Tharangini, U for Usha, V for Vimala, W for Wahida, X for Xena, Y for Yamini,and Z for Zeenat’
It took me exactly one day to memorise this. Haven’t forgotten it still. Such is it’s power you see.
Well, these are just some of the questions that I went through before finally deciding to open an account. This, asking a lot of questions, is a typical strategy of two kinds of people, lazybones and armchair critics. Lazy people ask questions to avoid work, armchair critics ask questions to avoid questions about their inaction. And I am both. So, I guess you can understand this turmoil in my mind about blogging.