It is one hell of a sexy evening in Delhi and since my DoCC report is nowhere remotely close to a point of completion I am at Cyril’s home listening to FM (the radio for Christ’s sake and not my favorite subject : D ) and thinking about what should go in the report.
I had experienced it before and it still holds true. If it rains on an evening in Delhi and you happen to be in the city you should thank your lucky stars cos it’s the best life can offer you on earth. It’s got a very earthy feel but it makes you believe heaven must be similar. And since typing a sad report wasn’t exactly my way of spending an evening like this I ventured out for a walk.
The drizzle, the breeze and the wet road! Truly truly romantic. Kinda wished someone were close and then shut it out. Couldn’t boil down that someone to one person ;)).
So what better way to spend an evening like today’s than devouring a couple of Samosas? My destination became the nearest sweet store and while I was feasting on them with a 7-Up in hand, a teenaged guy walked into the store and bought ten eggs. And suddenly I was taken back to my days in Ghaziabad when I used to buy Samosas by the dozens on such evenings and the entire family would sit at the dining table and wipe the plates so clean that they required no Scotch Brite.Hero, my dog would add to the fun by running around the table and end up not having dinner for a couple of days after such a feast.
Damn man... I was missing home! I have been in and out of home since the last 5 years and the last two years have been particularly bad in this regard. My calculation tells me in the last two years since May 2003 I would not have spent more than 30 days at home. Worse than an Army Officer maybe. The Samosas unexpectedly lost their punch and the 7-Up was no longer keeping me cool.
And then another guy walked in. This time a working executive on his way back from office- it appeared from his formal dressing. And he ordered – “Bhaiyya ek Samosa pack kar dena”.
“Life’s not bad”, I said to myself .And I smiled. The spicy punch in the Samosas was back.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Silent Valley
I grew up listening to stories of Kashmir at home. Words like Insurgency, militant occupation, the Hurriyat, Kargil, Nuclear tests, Benazir Bhutto, Nawaz Sharif used to be buzzwords in conversations over coffee and dinner ever since I remember. They used to resonate in the drawing rooms of the houses I stayed in because Dad always took a keen interest in the happenings of that region .He used to be very vocal in discussions with his friends and relatives and for me Dad gradually became the symbol of the Great Indian Middle Class.
The Great Indian Middle Class (GIMC for purposes of this post) is the group that rules in India yet suffers the most. This group can unsettle politicians and cricketers alike. They are simple people, pay taxes regularly and more importantly stay away from ‘jhamelas’. In essence they follow the simple “Live and Let Live” policy in letter and spirit. And probably that’s why every time Dad heard of a bomb blast at Anantnag or Srinagar he would be a little disturbed. And this class can only think, talk, hope and pray that things be peaceful. They are found in the “Letters to the Editor”, on television chat shows and in drawing room discussions in homes like yours truly. And lemme also add they are the people who can rattle Indira Gandhi at her peak and more than two decades down the line allow her daughter-in-law to rule our nation when every opinion poll in the country thought otherwise.
Around 2000 Vikram Chandra (of NDTV) wrote a book called “The Srinagar Conspiracy” and we bought it. That made things easier for me to understand. The author had used a fictional plot to sketch Kashmir’s history and since then even I began to follow the saga called Kashmir in papers and news magazines. Soon I read my second book on Kashmir “A Soldier’s Diary”, an account of the Kargil War by Harinder Baweja, an India Today journalist and sooner than I realized I became the partner for Dad to discuss our country’s politicians tryst with Kashmir. I was glad at the promotion from a bystander to a participant in those discussions.
And then I left home in 2003 and whenever I went back home for a week or so we never found an opportunity to talk Kashmir. Things were relatively peaceful in the last couple of years compared to the tumultuous years before. However I and Dad did watch the results of the historic elections in J&K together and that was the last we spoke on Kashmir I guess.
And today a bus carrying 21 passengers from Srinagar and 29 passengers from Muzaffarabad set forth to Muzaffarabad and Srinagar respectively. The event was telecast live on all Indian news channels and since I had to work on my presentation I was at home fortunate enough to see the passengers from either side of the Loc across a Bridge painted in white at Salamabad. A truly momentous occasion cos for some for some of the passengers this was a trip after 57 years of separation. The two passengers from Pakistan who knelt and kissed the Indian soil symbolized the very fact that all this while this piece of land on the other side of the bridge had remained elusive for reasons unknown to themselves and their friends, relatives and acquaintances on either side of bone of contention called Line of Control.
Separation must have hurt some of those passengers. And when they heard of this bus service they would have thought - “You never know when either India or Pakistan would condemn each other and would call this off. Let’s book a ticket anyway. I might catch a glimpse of some of my nephews who have grown up to be grandfathers since I saw them last or (did I?)”
And so a handful of people on either side of the divide booked tickets and on our side we even had a hotel booked on the eve of the departure of bus for the tourists. And then some people for the cause of ‘freedom’ chose to bomb those very people whose cause they were purportedly furthering. Of course they thought in a minute would come the condemnation by India and the rebuttal by Pakistan and the engines of those two buses that were scheduled to leave the next morning at 11 from Srinagar and Muzaffarabad would remain cold forever.
So the Great India Middle Class again thought and talked and asked.
“Would the bus service go ahead?”
And a gentleman voted recently as the best parliamentarian ordered his men.
“Aye”
And a general from the other end reverberated. And so did his Deputy in between the border.
“Aye”
And the passengers on either side of the border said
“Aye”
And finally they arrived. They met their long lost brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, uncles and aunties and wives (Okie that’s a metaphor!) and they celebrated.
And the GIMC celebrated too by thinking, talking and writing to the editors.They don’t get enough reasons anyway to do all of that with a smile on their faces.
The last I heard from my sister was that Dad was on phone talking about it and watching every news channel of every fathomable regional language.
The Great Indian Middle Class (GIMC for purposes of this post) is the group that rules in India yet suffers the most. This group can unsettle politicians and cricketers alike. They are simple people, pay taxes regularly and more importantly stay away from ‘jhamelas’. In essence they follow the simple “Live and Let Live” policy in letter and spirit. And probably that’s why every time Dad heard of a bomb blast at Anantnag or Srinagar he would be a little disturbed. And this class can only think, talk, hope and pray that things be peaceful. They are found in the “Letters to the Editor”, on television chat shows and in drawing room discussions in homes like yours truly. And lemme also add they are the people who can rattle Indira Gandhi at her peak and more than two decades down the line allow her daughter-in-law to rule our nation when every opinion poll in the country thought otherwise.
Around 2000 Vikram Chandra (of NDTV) wrote a book called “The Srinagar Conspiracy” and we bought it. That made things easier for me to understand. The author had used a fictional plot to sketch Kashmir’s history and since then even I began to follow the saga called Kashmir in papers and news magazines. Soon I read my second book on Kashmir “A Soldier’s Diary”, an account of the Kargil War by Harinder Baweja, an India Today journalist and sooner than I realized I became the partner for Dad to discuss our country’s politicians tryst with Kashmir. I was glad at the promotion from a bystander to a participant in those discussions.
And then I left home in 2003 and whenever I went back home for a week or so we never found an opportunity to talk Kashmir. Things were relatively peaceful in the last couple of years compared to the tumultuous years before. However I and Dad did watch the results of the historic elections in J&K together and that was the last we spoke on Kashmir I guess.
And today a bus carrying 21 passengers from Srinagar and 29 passengers from Muzaffarabad set forth to Muzaffarabad and Srinagar respectively. The event was telecast live on all Indian news channels and since I had to work on my presentation I was at home fortunate enough to see the passengers from either side of the Loc across a Bridge painted in white at Salamabad. A truly momentous occasion cos for some for some of the passengers this was a trip after 57 years of separation. The two passengers from Pakistan who knelt and kissed the Indian soil symbolized the very fact that all this while this piece of land on the other side of the bridge had remained elusive for reasons unknown to themselves and their friends, relatives and acquaintances on either side of bone of contention called Line of Control.
Separation must have hurt some of those passengers. And when they heard of this bus service they would have thought - “You never know when either India or Pakistan would condemn each other and would call this off. Let’s book a ticket anyway. I might catch a glimpse of some of my nephews who have grown up to be grandfathers since I saw them last or (did I?)”
And so a handful of people on either side of the divide booked tickets and on our side we even had a hotel booked on the eve of the departure of bus for the tourists. And then some people for the cause of ‘freedom’ chose to bomb those very people whose cause they were purportedly furthering. Of course they thought in a minute would come the condemnation by India and the rebuttal by Pakistan and the engines of those two buses that were scheduled to leave the next morning at 11 from Srinagar and Muzaffarabad would remain cold forever.
So the Great India Middle Class again thought and talked and asked.
“Would the bus service go ahead?”
And a gentleman voted recently as the best parliamentarian ordered his men.
“Aye”
And a general from the other end reverberated. And so did his Deputy in between the border.
“Aye”
And the passengers on either side of the border said
“Aye”
And finally they arrived. They met their long lost brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, uncles and aunties and wives (Okie that’s a metaphor!) and they celebrated.
And the GIMC celebrated too by thinking, talking and writing to the editors.They don’t get enough reasons anyway to do all of that with a smile on their faces.
The last I heard from my sister was that Dad was on phone talking about it and watching every news channel of every fathomable regional language.
Wednesday, April 6, 2005
Summer of '98
Preface: This post is dedicated to the storm that unleashed its fury while I and Gaurav were cycling on our way back after our evening net practice and the cell diagram that I and Jaydeep drew as a part of our Biology internal exam for our standard X Boards. It’s also dedicated to the ‘Versatile’ Vijay, the computer geek called Ajith and a lady who can play my mother, sister and girlfriend all through my life-Ritika. Ritika is studying hard for her CA exams and I would not be able to refer anything about her without exceeding permissible lengths of writing on a single post hence this post will be restricted to the first two names listed above.
Prologue: All the proper nouns in the paragraph above are those of my friends during the summer of ’98. We had shifted to Ghaziabad in 1996 and I was admitted to the eighth standard in St. Mary’s School, the best school of that district. A district that was more popular for the exploits of its law breakers than anything else. This was the 3rd school that I was studying in that particular year and I decline to comment now the circumstances that led to me being the Rolling Stone for that year. It was in that very year of 1996 that I first spoke to each of these guys.
April 2nd, 2005: Nine years down the line I found myself walking on the same streets with Jaydeep and Gaurav, sitting on the same cycles that we used to race with, eating Aloo Ki Tikki and sipping ‘Chuski’ at the same Chaat Center, still talking about Sachin’s batting and wondering how on earth Deepti Dutta turned mother at the age of 22.
Deepti Dutta was then popularly referred to as “Metro”- a pun on her initials D.D. And the reasons for her popularity well…. I guess it should just suffice to say that she was my first crush in that school. Deepti’s marriage was something that I had laughed off when Gaurav told me in a mail about it but her becoming a Mom did catch me numb for a couple of minutes.
This was a snippet of the weekend that just went by here in Delhi. Had been to Ghaziabad after four years and I realized that some things just don’t change in life and you feel good when they don’t. It was one of those days when you want to thank your Lord for giving you friends who seldom “keep in touch” but don’t let you drown in the crowd, friends who argue with venom and compete with disdain and yet at the end of the day share that all of them did have a soft corner for “Metro” in the same good old Chaat Center called “Husband and Wife”.
Some things just don’t freakin’ change!
Gaurav is still the sophisticated simpleton while Jaydeep is still the firebrand aggressor. And I still play the moderator in the debates on the streets. When I left Ghaziabad on a sunny morning in the summer of 1998 Jaydeep, Gaurav and Vijay were at the door of my house at 7 in the morning to see me off. Gaurav had bought me a copy of “The Art of Fast Bowling” by Dennis Lillee as a souvenir for the trips that both of us had undertaken to parts of U.P. like Guldher, Sanjay Nagar,Roorkee,Muzzafarnagar and numerous other obscure places for playing cricket matches. I remember seeing all three of them in tears that day and I was moist eyed myself. It scared me to think what if I never see them again. And today as I write this I can only thank my Lord for blessing me with their presence in my life cos even today I am a lil scared of never being able to see them again in the rush of this mad mad world.
But for now I am only wondering how to convince them that my cricketing skills haven’t eroded in the last nine years. They seem to think otherwise after a couple of matches we played this last weekend on the same street that I used to rule as a champion.
Why do some things have to change?
Epilogue: Jack Nicholson in the movie “A Few Good Men”- “Wanna tell you something and listen up cos I really mean this .There is nothing sexier on this earth, believe me gentlemen, than a woman that you have to salute in the morning. Promote ‘em all, I say cos this is true. If you haven’t got a b*****b by a superior officer you are just letting the best in life pass you by. ”
Issac M. John in the post “Summer of ’98”- “Wanna tell you something and listen up cos I know this. There is nothing more precious on this earth believe me ladies and gentlemen, than your friends you have grown up with. Never leave them, I say cos this is true. If you haven’t come back with your decade-long friends on the same streets you used to once cycle with your childhood sweetheart with a ‘Chuski’ in hand you are just letting the best in life pass you by. ”
Prologue: All the proper nouns in the paragraph above are those of my friends during the summer of ’98. We had shifted to Ghaziabad in 1996 and I was admitted to the eighth standard in St. Mary’s School, the best school of that district. A district that was more popular for the exploits of its law breakers than anything else. This was the 3rd school that I was studying in that particular year and I decline to comment now the circumstances that led to me being the Rolling Stone for that year. It was in that very year of 1996 that I first spoke to each of these guys.
April 2nd, 2005: Nine years down the line I found myself walking on the same streets with Jaydeep and Gaurav, sitting on the same cycles that we used to race with, eating Aloo Ki Tikki and sipping ‘Chuski’ at the same Chaat Center, still talking about Sachin’s batting and wondering how on earth Deepti Dutta turned mother at the age of 22.
Deepti Dutta was then popularly referred to as “Metro”- a pun on her initials D.D. And the reasons for her popularity well…. I guess it should just suffice to say that she was my first crush in that school. Deepti’s marriage was something that I had laughed off when Gaurav told me in a mail about it but her becoming a Mom did catch me numb for a couple of minutes.
This was a snippet of the weekend that just went by here in Delhi. Had been to Ghaziabad after four years and I realized that some things just don’t change in life and you feel good when they don’t. It was one of those days when you want to thank your Lord for giving you friends who seldom “keep in touch” but don’t let you drown in the crowd, friends who argue with venom and compete with disdain and yet at the end of the day share that all of them did have a soft corner for “Metro” in the same good old Chaat Center called “Husband and Wife”.
Some things just don’t freakin’ change!
Gaurav is still the sophisticated simpleton while Jaydeep is still the firebrand aggressor. And I still play the moderator in the debates on the streets. When I left Ghaziabad on a sunny morning in the summer of 1998 Jaydeep, Gaurav and Vijay were at the door of my house at 7 in the morning to see me off. Gaurav had bought me a copy of “The Art of Fast Bowling” by Dennis Lillee as a souvenir for the trips that both of us had undertaken to parts of U.P. like Guldher, Sanjay Nagar,Roorkee,Muzzafarnagar and numerous other obscure places for playing cricket matches. I remember seeing all three of them in tears that day and I was moist eyed myself. It scared me to think what if I never see them again. And today as I write this I can only thank my Lord for blessing me with their presence in my life cos even today I am a lil scared of never being able to see them again in the rush of this mad mad world.
But for now I am only wondering how to convince them that my cricketing skills haven’t eroded in the last nine years. They seem to think otherwise after a couple of matches we played this last weekend on the same street that I used to rule as a champion.
Why do some things have to change?
Epilogue: Jack Nicholson in the movie “A Few Good Men”- “Wanna tell you something and listen up cos I really mean this .There is nothing sexier on this earth, believe me gentlemen, than a woman that you have to salute in the morning. Promote ‘em all, I say cos this is true. If you haven’t got a b*****b by a superior officer you are just letting the best in life pass you by. ”
Issac M. John in the post “Summer of ’98”- “Wanna tell you something and listen up cos I know this. There is nothing more precious on this earth believe me ladies and gentlemen, than your friends you have grown up with. Never leave them, I say cos this is true. If you haven’t come back with your decade-long friends on the same streets you used to once cycle with your childhood sweetheart with a ‘Chuski’ in hand you are just letting the best in life pass you by. ”
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Delhi Tides
Finally I get to blog once again.
Now an IBM R50 does not come with a FDD or a CDRW so what it implies is that unless I have a detachable USB memory device I would be left stranded to decide as to how the hell can I transfer a document from my dearest, cutest, sweetest, nicest lappie to another comp in the Cyber Café. And since I am staying at a friend’s place here in Delhi hogging all the way from dawn to dusk asking my hosts to pay the phone bill for my sojourns on the net is the something that does not appeal to my senses yet. But today I found a Cyber Café the owner of whose has configured my lappie to his LAN and here I am.
Friends, Indians, Countrymen today I intend to speak about a very delicate topic. Its sensitivity cannot be exaggerated and its importance in the life of a fledgling MBA professional is paramount. It’s a topic very close to my heart and lemme at the very outset tell you all that I have attained a high degree of skill in this trade that I will touch upon very shortly.
It is a skill that I shall try and map on a scale called the “Bated Breath” Index. And what brings me to speak on this is the experience of a lifetime. Well simply put what I am referring to here is the skill of waiting for someone or something to arrive. And to further simplify things the lower you are on the “Bated Breath” Index the more proficient you are in waiting .The waiting could be for a phone call that does not arrive even after a dozen messages or a date who is yet to show up but the movie has begun and the sherpa at the hall lets you know that “Agla show to do ghante baad hai Shaaphji”. It could be also be for the IAS official who has to sign his name on a paper and is not in office even after confirming his presence.
.
As you would have guessed by now few skills help you across IAS officials and Girlfriends alike and hence the significance to know how to score as low as possible on the “Bated Breath” Index. Scoring low on the Index lets you relax, tells you how to be not restless even if you have to wait from dawn to dusk. It just lets you go to the loo when you have to and not every now and then simply becos it is an activity that kills the waiting time.
I recently had the distinction (dubious if you like) of having the “Shortest First Day at DoCC” in SPJIMR history. And that’s exactly when the genesis of this post took place. The waiting time that day was two hours and five minutes to be precise. I was there at the headquarters of an NGO called Prayas at 9:25 a.m. and was sitting rooted in a chair at the reception till 11:30 a.m. expecting a certain Ms. Anupama to grace the office.
And this was again only one of the many occasions when I have displayed utmost skill in waiting with as less of a bated breath as possible. And at this moment of time I feel competent enough to pen a few tips to score as low as possible on the famed Bated Breath Index.
1.) Carry a bag always: You can carry something to eat and read. Though eating might not always be acceptable yet some situations give you a room to yourself as was the case when I went to meet an IPS officer in Mumbai for a signature on a certain verification form. This was the longest I had to wait for anyone and I luckily had a few cakes and an Aquafina in my bag. I could not have left the room for a second lest the officer come, pick his tiffin box and leave.Oh yeah I had made a rapport with a peon and was told that “Saab tiffin box chhod ke gaye hain.Waapas aayenge”. Flimsy as it might sound now at that point of time such bits of information from reliable sources offer a new lease of life and hope
2.) It might be prudent if you are stationed in a vocation that does require you to wait more than others (let’s assume you have an outsourcing firm that provides services like “Making getting signatures from Bureaucrats Easy”) to have a mobile service provider that allows you free outgoing SMS’s.
3.) I would also recommend not carrying anything to drink cos no matter whatever the office be it will always have a good source of water. After all bureaucrats need to drink pure water and stay healthy more than others.
4.) Read all instructions written everywhere on the walls. I have an interesting tale to narrate in this regard.
Having got bored of waiting for too long in the room that I just mentioned above I decided to go to the loo. This was less of a time killing tactic and more of a necessity. There was another gentleman in a creamy Safari Suit at the wash basin where I began a customary routine of washing my hands and no sooner than I had picked up the soap that he shot a stern glance at me.
“Sorry Sir, I dint know it was your soap”, I said.
The gentleman continued his glare almost to suggest that I was the underground criminal who had murdered his daughter. And while I was wondering vulnerably looking at him as to what could allay his apprehension of some infected human having spoiled his unadulterated soap he finally spoke after what seemed an eternity.
“Did you not read the instructions on the door” a gruff voice boomed.
Now I have been to many loos before. And afaik restrooms/toilets/loos whatever you call them seldom had instructions on the door. They sure did have a figure resembling a bald man or a girl who had her hair in two knots. This restroom did not have these pictures but I was sure I had entered the one that said “He”. Further proof of the same was the presence of this man himself under the same roof as I. So what the heck was wrong?
I spent the next two seconds mumbling something in the nature of “No Sir, I did not read anything.”
“Its written in pure Marathi and you couldn’t even read that”. The venom in his voice was growing by the word.
Damn. How was I supposed to know that the two sentences I did see indeed on the door of the restroom were instructions and not endorsement one liners in Marathi for 502 Pataaka Beedi?
“This is meant only for employees here.” Oracle spoke again.
I was just glad it was not the issue with the Soap and walked out sheepishly.
5.) And probably the most relevant .Always let the other person know through a call that you are coming. Regardless of whether you still find him there or not it’s important to let him know if you can.
Punctuality is something that I have learnt from my Dad. To the minute. And I can say with a fair bit of pride that I have inherited that trait of his to the T. But as Anurag has said in his blog just like the best of babes roam with the shittiest of guys, the most punctual of us stand outside the bureaucrats offices.
Happy Waiting!
Now an IBM R50 does not come with a FDD or a CDRW so what it implies is that unless I have a detachable USB memory device I would be left stranded to decide as to how the hell can I transfer a document from my dearest, cutest, sweetest, nicest lappie to another comp in the Cyber Café. And since I am staying at a friend’s place here in Delhi hogging all the way from dawn to dusk asking my hosts to pay the phone bill for my sojourns on the net is the something that does not appeal to my senses yet. But today I found a Cyber Café the owner of whose has configured my lappie to his LAN and here I am.
Friends, Indians, Countrymen today I intend to speak about a very delicate topic. Its sensitivity cannot be exaggerated and its importance in the life of a fledgling MBA professional is paramount. It’s a topic very close to my heart and lemme at the very outset tell you all that I have attained a high degree of skill in this trade that I will touch upon very shortly.
It is a skill that I shall try and map on a scale called the “Bated Breath” Index. And what brings me to speak on this is the experience of a lifetime. Well simply put what I am referring to here is the skill of waiting for someone or something to arrive. And to further simplify things the lower you are on the “Bated Breath” Index the more proficient you are in waiting .The waiting could be for a phone call that does not arrive even after a dozen messages or a date who is yet to show up but the movie has begun and the sherpa at the hall lets you know that “Agla show to do ghante baad hai Shaaphji”. It could be also be for the IAS official who has to sign his name on a paper and is not in office even after confirming his presence.
.
As you would have guessed by now few skills help you across IAS officials and Girlfriends alike and hence the significance to know how to score as low as possible on the “Bated Breath” Index. Scoring low on the Index lets you relax, tells you how to be not restless even if you have to wait from dawn to dusk. It just lets you go to the loo when you have to and not every now and then simply becos it is an activity that kills the waiting time.
I recently had the distinction (dubious if you like) of having the “Shortest First Day at DoCC” in SPJIMR history. And that’s exactly when the genesis of this post took place. The waiting time that day was two hours and five minutes to be precise. I was there at the headquarters of an NGO called Prayas at 9:25 a.m. and was sitting rooted in a chair at the reception till 11:30 a.m. expecting a certain Ms. Anupama to grace the office.
And this was again only one of the many occasions when I have displayed utmost skill in waiting with as less of a bated breath as possible. And at this moment of time I feel competent enough to pen a few tips to score as low as possible on the famed Bated Breath Index.
1.) Carry a bag always: You can carry something to eat and read. Though eating might not always be acceptable yet some situations give you a room to yourself as was the case when I went to meet an IPS officer in Mumbai for a signature on a certain verification form. This was the longest I had to wait for anyone and I luckily had a few cakes and an Aquafina in my bag. I could not have left the room for a second lest the officer come, pick his tiffin box and leave.Oh yeah I had made a rapport with a peon and was told that “Saab tiffin box chhod ke gaye hain.Waapas aayenge”. Flimsy as it might sound now at that point of time such bits of information from reliable sources offer a new lease of life and hope
2.) It might be prudent if you are stationed in a vocation that does require you to wait more than others (let’s assume you have an outsourcing firm that provides services like “Making getting signatures from Bureaucrats Easy”) to have a mobile service provider that allows you free outgoing SMS’s.
3.) I would also recommend not carrying anything to drink cos no matter whatever the office be it will always have a good source of water. After all bureaucrats need to drink pure water and stay healthy more than others.
4.) Read all instructions written everywhere on the walls. I have an interesting tale to narrate in this regard.
Having got bored of waiting for too long in the room that I just mentioned above I decided to go to the loo. This was less of a time killing tactic and more of a necessity. There was another gentleman in a creamy Safari Suit at the wash basin where I began a customary routine of washing my hands and no sooner than I had picked up the soap that he shot a stern glance at me.
“Sorry Sir, I dint know it was your soap”, I said.
The gentleman continued his glare almost to suggest that I was the underground criminal who had murdered his daughter. And while I was wondering vulnerably looking at him as to what could allay his apprehension of some infected human having spoiled his unadulterated soap he finally spoke after what seemed an eternity.
“Did you not read the instructions on the door” a gruff voice boomed.
Now I have been to many loos before. And afaik restrooms/toilets/loos whatever you call them seldom had instructions on the door. They sure did have a figure resembling a bald man or a girl who had her hair in two knots. This restroom did not have these pictures but I was sure I had entered the one that said “He”. Further proof of the same was the presence of this man himself under the same roof as I. So what the heck was wrong?
I spent the next two seconds mumbling something in the nature of “No Sir, I did not read anything.”
“Its written in pure Marathi and you couldn’t even read that”. The venom in his voice was growing by the word.
Damn. How was I supposed to know that the two sentences I did see indeed on the door of the restroom were instructions and not endorsement one liners in Marathi for 502 Pataaka Beedi?
“This is meant only for employees here.” Oracle spoke again.
I was just glad it was not the issue with the Soap and walked out sheepishly.
5.) And probably the most relevant .Always let the other person know through a call that you are coming. Regardless of whether you still find him there or not it’s important to let him know if you can.
Punctuality is something that I have learnt from my Dad. To the minute. And I can say with a fair bit of pride that I have inherited that trait of his to the T. But as Anurag has said in his blog just like the best of babes roam with the shittiest of guys, the most punctual of us stand outside the bureaucrats offices.
Happy Waiting!
Thursday, March 17, 2005
In and Out!
"Jeez ....Comprees are over and I am finally home" I said to myself on the doorstep of my home on 15th night.
They say Heavens are hard to reach
They say Heavens are nice to be in
They say Heavens are meant for good people
Well I say ... Heaven must be a home.
Drat!!!!
Chuck the poet in you Issac .Its not even there for that matter.
48 hours later : A very short and sweet stint at home.Too short maybe.
Out of SP Jain and still on the move.
Off to Delhi tumro for a DoCC Project .
Woooohoooooooo!!!!
They say Heavens are hard to reach
They say Heavens are nice to be in
They say Heavens are meant for good people
Well I say ... Heaven must be a home.
Drat!!!!
Chuck the poet in you Issac .Its not even there for that matter.
48 hours later : A very short and sweet stint at home.Too short maybe.
Out of SP Jain and still on the move.
Off to Delhi tumro for a DoCC Project .
Woooohoooooooo!!!!
Monday, March 7, 2005
Heavy Heavy Fuel
1st March, 6:40 p.m. -Started FM Preparation for End Term
2nd March, 4:40 a.m-Done with FM.Off to sleep. Unprepared as ever.
2nd March,8:00 a.m.- Alarm rings.Preparation for FM End Term Second Phase.
2nd March, 10:25 a.m.-At the exam venue. Cool as ever
2nd March,12:40 p.m. - Exam over. Shitty as ever.
Phew ...that ended 4 tortuous days of exams coming in the midst of an onslaught of assignments and group works.And the first thing that comes to my mind after the exam is my bed.That beautiful furniture that stays littered with - as I see now a water bottle,a Prasanna Chandra piled over 4 past issues of Cricinfo, a couple of blank CD's (strictly not for what way Naina thinks boys use blank CD's for),a laptop bag, a pair of jeans and a cell and a laptop charger. Time to run to the hostel,order a plate of Schzewan Noodles and sleep like there's no tomorrow.
2nd March, 1:20 p.m-In my hostel room all set to fulfil my ruminations
2nd March,1:40 p.m. "Lets go out for lunch to Arfa", asked Aditya
"Umm.. Errr.. okie lets go"
2nd March,3:20 p.m. Back after a heavy lunch .All set for a siesta."Lemme check my mails before I sleep"
2nd March,4:10 p.m. - "Dude, we got to see the Aviator.Its a sexy movie",said Nikhil
2nd March, 5:45 p.m. - Watching "The Aviator"
3 rd March,12:10 a.m. -Back to the hostel.Vivek lurking near my room
3rd March,3:25 a.m. -Still chatting with girls on Ip and doing a double team with Vivek to fool around on Ip.
3th March, 11:00 a.m.- Planning for Farewell in Aranyak's room.
3th March, 2:00 p.m. - Plan of Action prepared.
3th March, 6:00 p.m.- Fresh after a sleep .
3th March, 9:30 p.m.- Out for dinner.
4th March, 12:05 a.m.-Beginning work on the farewell presentation with Sameer.
4th March, 5:45 a.m. Still working on the presentation.Partners in Crime-Abhi,Anurag,Martin,Aranyak and Madhu
4th March, 9:20 a.m.- Martin wakes me up.Partners unite again in ten mins for the presentation
4th March,5:15 p.m-Still working on the presentation
4th March,6:25 p.m. - Farewell Program begins in Bistro.Me doing a 100 meter sprint back to the insti after a quick shave and a round of deos.
4th March,10:45 pm- Dinner with partners in crime.Best time of the day.No Kulfi in stock but mirth and laughter all around.
5th March,12:20 a.m.-Bliss......zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!!!!
5th March, 11:30 a.m. -Up from sleep. OM,FM and IB pending
5th March,1:45 pm.- Ironing T-Shirt for the Knoplfler Concert
5th March,9:20 p.m.- God sings "Romeo and Juliet"
5th March,10:45 p.m.-Lady in the white top and denim skirt exchanges a glance for eternity( read approx 4.7 seconds)
6th March,01:40 a.m. -Begin work on FM assignment.
6th March,03:45 a.m.- Sleep ...Finally!
6th March, 9:30 a.m.- Submit FM and begin work on OM assignment.
6th March ,3:00 p.m.-Submit OM assignment and off for lunch
6th March,5:40 p.m.- "No,Sir House Full for 6 p.m.Next show at 9"- Guard at the Prithvi theater.
6th March, 9:00 p.m-Seated in Prithvi
6th March, 10:20 p.m.- Jameel Khan acting like no body's business
6th March ,11:45 p.m.-Begin IB assignment
7th March ,3:20 a.m. - Submit IB assignment.
Insane is one word , hectic is another but paranoid come closest to describing the events in the last 4 days. Its been one heck of a rollercoaster ride in the last 9 months and as the dying moments of PGP-1 fade out day by day I am reminded of an array of grades , great friends , staging a play, making presentations,dancing with orphaned children,group works and somewhere along the way also fighting for Harsha's spot...it had everything.
This post is only a reflection of a what we at PGP-1 have gone through the whole of the last month and its been a pleasure to be riding that wave.
6 more exams and all 148 of us would have survived and as I think of the first four days that we spent here I cannot help but think ....
"This too shall pass" : )
2nd March, 4:40 a.m-Done with FM.Off to sleep. Unprepared as ever.
2nd March,8:00 a.m.- Alarm rings.Preparation for FM End Term Second Phase.
2nd March, 10:25 a.m.-At the exam venue. Cool as ever
2nd March,12:40 p.m. - Exam over. Shitty as ever.
Phew ...that ended 4 tortuous days of exams coming in the midst of an onslaught of assignments and group works.And the first thing that comes to my mind after the exam is my bed.That beautiful furniture that stays littered with - as I see now a water bottle,a Prasanna Chandra piled over 4 past issues of Cricinfo, a couple of blank CD's (strictly not for what way Naina thinks boys use blank CD's for),a laptop bag, a pair of jeans and a cell and a laptop charger. Time to run to the hostel,order a plate of Schzewan Noodles and sleep like there's no tomorrow.
2nd March, 1:20 p.m-In my hostel room all set to fulfil my ruminations
2nd March,1:40 p.m. "Lets go out for lunch to Arfa", asked Aditya
"Umm.. Errr.. okie lets go"
2nd March,3:20 p.m. Back after a heavy lunch .All set for a siesta."Lemme check my mails before I sleep"
2nd March,4:10 p.m. - "Dude, we got to see the Aviator.Its a sexy movie",said Nikhil
2nd March, 5:45 p.m. - Watching "The Aviator"
3 rd March,12:10 a.m. -Back to the hostel.Vivek lurking near my room
3rd March,3:25 a.m. -Still chatting with girls on Ip and doing a double team with Vivek to fool around on Ip.
3th March, 11:00 a.m.- Planning for Farewell in Aranyak's room.
3th March, 2:00 p.m. - Plan of Action prepared.
3th March, 6:00 p.m.- Fresh after a sleep .
3th March, 9:30 p.m.- Out for dinner.
4th March, 12:05 a.m.-Beginning work on the farewell presentation with Sameer.
4th March, 5:45 a.m. Still working on the presentation.Partners in Crime-Abhi,Anurag,Martin,Aranyak and Madhu
4th March, 9:20 a.m.- Martin wakes me up.Partners unite again in ten mins for the presentation
4th March,5:15 p.m-Still working on the presentation
4th March,6:25 p.m. - Farewell Program begins in Bistro.Me doing a 100 meter sprint back to the insti after a quick shave and a round of deos.
4th March,10:45 pm- Dinner with partners in crime.Best time of the day.No Kulfi in stock but mirth and laughter all around.
5th March,12:20 a.m.-Bliss......zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!!!!
5th March, 11:30 a.m. -Up from sleep. OM,FM and IB pending
5th March,1:45 pm.- Ironing T-Shirt for the Knoplfler Concert
5th March,9:20 p.m.- God sings "Romeo and Juliet"
5th March,10:45 p.m.-Lady in the white top and denim skirt exchanges a glance for eternity( read approx 4.7 seconds)
6th March,01:40 a.m. -Begin work on FM assignment.
6th March,03:45 a.m.- Sleep ...Finally!
6th March, 9:30 a.m.- Submit FM and begin work on OM assignment.
6th March ,3:00 p.m.-Submit OM assignment and off for lunch
6th March,5:40 p.m.- "No,Sir House Full for 6 p.m.Next show at 9"- Guard at the Prithvi theater.
6th March, 9:00 p.m-Seated in Prithvi
6th March, 10:20 p.m.- Jameel Khan acting like no body's business
6th March ,11:45 p.m.-Begin IB assignment
7th March ,3:20 a.m. - Submit IB assignment.
Insane is one word , hectic is another but paranoid come closest to describing the events in the last 4 days. Its been one heck of a rollercoaster ride in the last 9 months and as the dying moments of PGP-1 fade out day by day I am reminded of an array of grades , great friends , staging a play, making presentations,dancing with orphaned children,group works and somewhere along the way also fighting for Harsha's spot...it had everything.
This post is only a reflection of a what we at PGP-1 have gone through the whole of the last month and its been a pleasure to be riding that wave.
6 more exams and all 148 of us would have survived and as I think of the first four days that we spent here I cannot help but think ....
"This too shall pass" : )
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Something on my mind
I dont react much.. I dont express much .. I never let the other person know what I am thinking.. And I succeed day in and day out..
But I just saw the semi finals of "Harsha Ki Khoj " on ESPN about 5 mins back.. and I am not angry .
I am not sad.
And I am not frustrated.
I was only doing my IB assignment .
And I am just......
"Aaaaaarrrrrrrgggggggggggggghhhhhhhh......."!!!!!!!!!!
Happy Days will be back again!!!
But I just saw the semi finals of "Harsha Ki Khoj " on ESPN about 5 mins back.. and I am not angry .
I am not sad.
And I am not frustrated.
I was only doing my IB assignment .
And I am just......
"Aaaaaarrrrrrrgggggggggggggghhhhhhhh......."!!!!!!!!!!
Happy Days will be back again!!!
