so..
paying 10000 bucks to bits pilani for letting me practice schooling once more was the sad choice i had to make for these summers. though i usually do not have a very jaundiced view of life but still the activites this summer didnot go as always planned, there were no lying around times the most integral part of the summer holidays. as the rest of the bits entourage reached with some unexpected zeal and rather unnerving enthu like they were goin to tour the hell out of goa( which they of course did) . after 2 months they all left the beach paradise and i left the morbid humid goa.
goa wasnt all bad to me, the nicer parts though came in flashes( like the trailors in the movie, but it is the movie u pay to watch, not the trailors) .
my goa stay as i remember :
- missed the champions league . was a blessing in disguise though because man u won
- the hostel 'ass'istant ( the goan version of a pilani chowkie, who by the way was the first of the many to come obstreperous creature in my way. with an uneven growth of eyebrows -in an ugly way- was a tiny fellow with a barbarian's attitude which faded away in front of the mongolians from pilani).
- one of the nicer thing about goa , ppl love football. great football field!! i realised that as i was settling in. after a quick swapping of rooms with a person called goonjan mall or 'maal' ( who was raped by the insensitve and indignant pilani boys in the common room-- prior to every ball the crowd went roaring " MALL CHAKKA" "MALL CHAKKA"),.
-goa is a place full of smiling cab drivers. maybe the laugh at the fact that they get to overcharge us like crazy. 'lijjo' the man who drove us to the first day, a master of his trade, with a radiant smile, he pushed, pulled and stacked 14 of us in a sumo and said ' Ok guys, i dont have a license, i am carrying 7 more than i am allowed to but dont worry' and he smiled again. wt we didnt know was that this packing and stacking against each other was goin to be a routine for us.
-the banana ride brought in the wow factor. so did the temporary tatoo.
-the beaches - mostly overcrowded. the typical indian crowd showed up every day. the beaches which god meant to be trodden by the beach babes was being molested by ugly , beer bellies who probably thought tht jockeys were a valid swim wear.
-the buses were small. the front size was as large as a sumo and had a height of 6 feets. the sign at the front read 27 sitting, 11 standing. the count usually went upto 27 sitting, 27 standing. no one standing in the aisle held the metal bar above- for one you couldnt and secondly there could be no movement what so ever because the humans were so exquisitely placed by mr. conductor as if they were dummies. the posteriors touched (inevitably and sometimes deliberately).
- the 20 second rains were frequent. they came crashing down at angles more than 60 degree.
-goa is a haven for drunkards. every other shop is a bar. the maria maria songs were seldom heard. i guess, for once bollywood painted the right picture.
-goa- expensive, non- posh( you wont find the regular complexes and multiplexes and etc) , hilly, small for a state, poor local people.
-hitch hiking--> very common.
-goa offers beef... o o my god! crabs were good to. the local food sucks though, with everything cooked in a cocunut base.
P.S.-i would have written sthing about the atrocities i under went at my summer training but supposedly the dean is readin our blogs and is already upset with a few ppl. so it is all hush-hush.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
away
i m away .....
away from all the A's and B's . away from all the ave's. away from the mind numbing, spirit crushing games played by people to demolish your self confidence just to get a moment's upper edge. the life where u dont know wt u r fighting for . the consequences of a victory or a loss can never be estimated but u must fight coz everyone else is fighting too.
away from all the hopelessly pathetic system of evaluating a student in which he or she is molested every fifth 8 am (on an average) . with a whopping 75 tests per semester students in bits pilani are gearing up for mass suicides. by the way , i dont see the point in this shitty common base for everyone theory of bits. i had to do some awesomingly boring and rather non useful courses in these 2 years. may be i ll the use later. MAYBE.
all i get is a 6 day break before i head towards another bits. this time the goa campus for another stupid course. the 1st internship where i m supposed to be exposed to the organizational culture of a company , like i didnt get enough dose from POM.
bear with me if i sound churlish... i have had a rough sem...
away from all the A's and B's . away from all the ave's. away from the mind numbing, spirit crushing games played by people to demolish your self confidence just to get a moment's upper edge. the life where u dont know wt u r fighting for . the consequences of a victory or a loss can never be estimated but u must fight coz everyone else is fighting too.
away from all the hopelessly pathetic system of evaluating a student in which he or she is molested every fifth 8 am (on an average) . with a whopping 75 tests per semester students in bits pilani are gearing up for mass suicides. by the way , i dont see the point in this shitty common base for everyone theory of bits. i had to do some awesomingly boring and rather non useful courses in these 2 years. may be i ll the use later. MAYBE.
all i get is a 6 day break before i head towards another bits. this time the goa campus for another stupid course. the 1st internship where i m supposed to be exposed to the organizational culture of a company , like i didnt get enough dose from POM.
bear with me if i sound churlish... i have had a rough sem...
Monday, January 21, 2008
encounters on a monday morning
well this blog canbe very well be named as "ghotu's day out" or "how to stop living & become a ghotu". but i think its too early to confer upon myself the title of a ghotu as its just been 2 weeks of gruelling classes which i have assidously attended. 2 weeks of venting all the frustration on a badminton shuttle. 2 weeks of plain tardiness which has so ostensibly crept into the body. 2 weeks of no philosophical chinwags. 2 weeks of no cinematic relief from the gnawing peer pressure. 2 weeks of no whining except on the fact that after about 2 years for the first time it seems that 24 hours are way too less to fit in all the lucubration that we want to do. so after a relatively calm sunday comes a monday, my monday.
in order to free myself from the sluggish slumber in the subzero temperatures of pilani, i always place my alarm clock and my cell at a distant range from where their tocsins can irritate me till i have had enough. finally i wipe off my face from the excessive drooling and my subconscious dreams which though weird, are strangely very relevant and profoundly related to my myriad daily activities. the success or failure in the belligerent act of putting aside the warm the blanket will decide the prospect of my day.as i step outside in the cold and dark verandah where the chilly winds slap me on the face, it is precisely at that moment that it strikes me, the day has begun.
BANG, BANG , KNOCK, KNOCK. the mumbles come from the other sides. i know they are not up yet. so BANG, BANG, KNOCK,KNOCK. now comes a much more +ve response. in 10 minutes all are outside, jogging our way to sac. after 1/2, 1 or 2 hours at the badminton court and gym depending on the time constraints, i hurriedly rush to my room.
i am one of the few ones who have the luxury of owning 2 buckets. when many other face the abulia of whether or not to go for a bath, i dont. 2 buckets means a lot of hot water, though fetching it from the back tap ushers into my mind the thought that i am living in a pre-medieval era. as i get ready i smile at myself for having packed my bag last night before going to bed like the most diligent and obedient school boy. last time i did that was when i was in 4th grade. Ah! those were simpler days. waiting for the school bus with mom making it so much easier. Damn You - self discipline..
heading for the mess i realize i have got exactly 10 minutes which i will have to judiciously divide so that i can have a nice breakfast. should i go for the boiled egg? should i go for the omlette? should i go for a regular dark coffee or tea? should i try the pongal thing tht seems to be working the southies. damn, i need more time for this. after having wasted 2 precious minutes standing in line, watching others pass away with their prized possessions of a half fried or a full fried, i decide that its high time for a policy change. so i go from back and ask for a boiled egg . now the guy who controls the egg department is as usual singing his marwadi folk songs. i have to wait for his song to end as it is almost impossible to decode his wrinkly expressions. after about 30 seconds, he says no boiled egg left. to top it all his song wasnt tht good either. tht pongal thing looked pretty much like the diet for a diseased fellow with a weak bowel. so i go for the emergency bread and butter solution. there is no bread left. only crumbs are left after the umpteenth thorough investigation by other fellows in which they look and hold every single bread piece in their hands which drives me nuts. i head for the kitchen to get hold of some fresh ones. the cooks arent their. after a minute one of them comes in and gives us some bread. i rush back to the refrigerators for some butter. its locked. that mess manager is one of those guys who are never there when u need there and always there yammering stories about the hills of uttaranchal when u dont have any business with the. after a similar jam situation i sit down peacefully to swallow whatever i could accumulate. infront of me sits daga, dipping a butter piece in his milk and chewing it plain. what surprised wasnt his choice of combination but the question that how did he get one of those butter pieces.
after all this i head for my morning classes. so much for knowledge.
in order to free myself from the sluggish slumber in the subzero temperatures of pilani, i always place my alarm clock and my cell at a distant range from where their tocsins can irritate me till i have had enough. finally i wipe off my face from the excessive drooling and my subconscious dreams which though weird, are strangely very relevant and profoundly related to my myriad daily activities. the success or failure in the belligerent act of putting aside the warm the blanket will decide the prospect of my day.as i step outside in the cold and dark verandah where the chilly winds slap me on the face, it is precisely at that moment that it strikes me, the day has begun.
BANG, BANG , KNOCK, KNOCK. the mumbles come from the other sides. i know they are not up yet. so BANG, BANG, KNOCK,KNOCK. now comes a much more +ve response. in 10 minutes all are outside, jogging our way to sac. after 1/2, 1 or 2 hours at the badminton court and gym depending on the time constraints, i hurriedly rush to my room.
i am one of the few ones who have the luxury of owning 2 buckets. when many other face the abulia of whether or not to go for a bath, i dont. 2 buckets means a lot of hot water, though fetching it from the back tap ushers into my mind the thought that i am living in a pre-medieval era. as i get ready i smile at myself for having packed my bag last night before going to bed like the most diligent and obedient school boy. last time i did that was when i was in 4th grade. Ah! those were simpler days. waiting for the school bus with mom making it so much easier. Damn You - self discipline..
heading for the mess i realize i have got exactly 10 minutes which i will have to judiciously divide so that i can have a nice breakfast. should i go for the boiled egg? should i go for the omlette? should i go for a regular dark coffee or tea? should i try the pongal thing tht seems to be working the southies. damn, i need more time for this. after having wasted 2 precious minutes standing in line, watching others pass away with their prized possessions of a half fried or a full fried, i decide that its high time for a policy change. so i go from back and ask for a boiled egg . now the guy who controls the egg department is as usual singing his marwadi folk songs. i have to wait for his song to end as it is almost impossible to decode his wrinkly expressions. after about 30 seconds, he says no boiled egg left. to top it all his song wasnt tht good either. tht pongal thing looked pretty much like the diet for a diseased fellow with a weak bowel. so i go for the emergency bread and butter solution. there is no bread left. only crumbs are left after the umpteenth thorough investigation by other fellows in which they look and hold every single bread piece in their hands which drives me nuts. i head for the kitchen to get hold of some fresh ones. the cooks arent their. after a minute one of them comes in and gives us some bread. i rush back to the refrigerators for some butter. its locked. that mess manager is one of those guys who are never there when u need there and always there yammering stories about the hills of uttaranchal when u dont have any business with the. after a similar jam situation i sit down peacefully to swallow whatever i could accumulate. infront of me sits daga, dipping a butter piece in his milk and chewing it plain. what surprised wasnt his choice of combination but the question that how did he get one of those butter pieces.
after all this i head for my morning classes. so much for knowledge.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
busy choosing life
Trainspotting
John Hodge
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family.
Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars,
compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good
health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed
interest mortage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your
friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a
three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing
game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose
rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable
home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up
brats you spawned to replace yourself.
Choose your future.
Choose life.
John Hodge
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family.
Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars,
compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good
health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed
interest mortage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your
friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a
three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing
game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose
rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable
home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up
brats you spawned to replace yourself.
Choose your future.
Choose life.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
halfway between the gutters and the stars
It was another day in jas' 9 to 6 life. He was smiling but he could feel the pang, that it was fading, his smile was fading. Day after day, his heart was sinking. sharing the 3-hk flat in mohali with two other guys who worked in the same mnc, he had started wondering when was the last time he had been unpredictable. When was the last time he had done something out of the way. He feared being normal and dreaded becoming something else. He was aging,already 30, unmarried. His parents had been pursuing him for years now but he just wasn't ready to take the plunge and indulge in any more mundane activities than he found himself already drowned in.
Sitting there in the lounge of his office, he was smiling in a conversation with a team mate but his mind was in fetters, his thoughts confined to the thoughts of the dreams he had once envisioned. Choices that he wanted to make but didn't or rather didn't have the opportunity to make any. He missed his college, missed his friends, missed the late night philosophical conversations but most of all he missed the dreams he had seen during those years, which were the essence of his college life for him. He never wished to live the new age indian dream. Be useful to some one and the life's debt is paid. You make some one's future and your past is forgotten. Thats what he believed. But life had its own set of groundrules.
A financial crisis in his father's company shelved his entrepreneurial plans. A software company hired him and he bailed his family out of the crisis at the cost of his meticulously crafted dreams. The sudden turn of events did not offer him much of a scope to pay off his debts to the society. He was once again stuck with his usual lonely moments, the ones he had been running away from. The moments which only brought gloom along with the effacing blows on his self esteem. It was in these moments that he realised that he always was a failure. He had never been on the top. In his childhood, never the topper. In his competition days, never the success. In his college days, neither the nerd nor the dude. But he was the master of his dreams and he seeked solace through them. He thought that he could be the one who changed the destiny of a few if not many poors and that would have been enough for him. Life though had other plans. "hye jas, your phone's ringing!!where are you?"
"hello, about time that one of us called. huh?. how are you?" it was aneesh, a friend of jas' since college. They hadnt talked for about an year now, ever since aneesh had opened the first branch of his venture. Aneesh had followed the road that jas too wanted to trod and aneesh knew it and he also knew about his will to serve. Thats why he had called. 'I need a favour from you. i want you to help some one. i know that you will want to help this guy out too.' thats all he said and passed on a Chandigarh address. The discussion sparked an anticipation in him. Jas took the local bus to sector 34 the next day. Asking for directions he came closer to his destination. Amidst the rants of vegetable sellers, he asked for a mr. ravi. "Yes?"A middle aged man extended his neck and inquired. His face wrinkles defied his swift moments and the panache in his sharp voice with which he was directing a twenty something guy to control the shop as he was getting ready to leave for somewhere. Jas quickly told him about his reference. With a large lump in his throat, ravi began his side of the story. On the way to the pgi hospital, ravi told him how about half an year ago it had begun with his son fainting at school. How he started complaining about incessesant pains, only to later revealed to be as a kidney failure. They were not comfortably middle class and with the child's condition, they found themselves in a tight spot. After a wait of 3 months , he had been able to gather enough for the kid's operation. Surrounded in debts, he had to sell his larger shop. "His medicines cost us 19000 every month, i have asked each one of my acquaintances, some of them dont even pick my phone any more.With 4 months of medications to go, god bless that kid". Jas understood the gravity of his situation. He could feel the honesty in his tone. Jas promised to help with whatever he could.
2 months and 3 cheques later jas was light headed that he had been able to help some one. The money was not much but enough to pull them through a couple of months. A look in his bank statements swept his thoughts into a whirlpool. The cheques had never been encashed. He confirmed and began wondering about the possible reasons. That evening after work he straight went to ravi's shop only to find it closed. He did not have his home address so he moved towards the next shop. As he uttered the name ravi, the man frowned. With raised eyebrows and a sigh, he told jas that the shop was sold last month by ravi's wife who now worked as a housemaid nearby. " Why? where is ravi now?" . "Ravi died. a bus left his head spluttered all over the road". Jas took their address and left without any word. He was numb enough to say or feel anything. "hye man, your phone is ringing",the person sitting next to him on the bus said. It was his mom, "so when are you going to have a family?"
"i have one now, mom", jas said and switched it off with a faint smile and a twinkle in his eyes, ready for the journey that he always wanted to make.
Sitting there in the lounge of his office, he was smiling in a conversation with a team mate but his mind was in fetters, his thoughts confined to the thoughts of the dreams he had once envisioned. Choices that he wanted to make but didn't or rather didn't have the opportunity to make any. He missed his college, missed his friends, missed the late night philosophical conversations but most of all he missed the dreams he had seen during those years, which were the essence of his college life for him. He never wished to live the new age indian dream. Be useful to some one and the life's debt is paid. You make some one's future and your past is forgotten. Thats what he believed. But life had its own set of groundrules.
A financial crisis in his father's company shelved his entrepreneurial plans. A software company hired him and he bailed his family out of the crisis at the cost of his meticulously crafted dreams. The sudden turn of events did not offer him much of a scope to pay off his debts to the society. He was once again stuck with his usual lonely moments, the ones he had been running away from. The moments which only brought gloom along with the effacing blows on his self esteem. It was in these moments that he realised that he always was a failure. He had never been on the top. In his childhood, never the topper. In his competition days, never the success. In his college days, neither the nerd nor the dude. But he was the master of his dreams and he seeked solace through them. He thought that he could be the one who changed the destiny of a few if not many poors and that would have been enough for him. Life though had other plans. "hye jas, your phone's ringing!!where are you?"
"hello, about time that one of us called. huh?. how are you?" it was aneesh, a friend of jas' since college. They hadnt talked for about an year now, ever since aneesh had opened the first branch of his venture. Aneesh had followed the road that jas too wanted to trod and aneesh knew it and he also knew about his will to serve. Thats why he had called. 'I need a favour from you. i want you to help some one. i know that you will want to help this guy out too.' thats all he said and passed on a Chandigarh address. The discussion sparked an anticipation in him. Jas took the local bus to sector 34 the next day. Asking for directions he came closer to his destination. Amidst the rants of vegetable sellers, he asked for a mr. ravi. "Yes?"A middle aged man extended his neck and inquired. His face wrinkles defied his swift moments and the panache in his sharp voice with which he was directing a twenty something guy to control the shop as he was getting ready to leave for somewhere. Jas quickly told him about his reference. With a large lump in his throat, ravi began his side of the story. On the way to the pgi hospital, ravi told him how about half an year ago it had begun with his son fainting at school. How he started complaining about incessesant pains, only to later revealed to be as a kidney failure. They were not comfortably middle class and with the child's condition, they found themselves in a tight spot. After a wait of 3 months , he had been able to gather enough for the kid's operation. Surrounded in debts, he had to sell his larger shop. "His medicines cost us 19000 every month, i have asked each one of my acquaintances, some of them dont even pick my phone any more.With 4 months of medications to go, god bless that kid". Jas understood the gravity of his situation. He could feel the honesty in his tone. Jas promised to help with whatever he could.
2 months and 3 cheques later jas was light headed that he had been able to help some one. The money was not much but enough to pull them through a couple of months. A look in his bank statements swept his thoughts into a whirlpool. The cheques had never been encashed. He confirmed and began wondering about the possible reasons. That evening after work he straight went to ravi's shop only to find it closed. He did not have his home address so he moved towards the next shop. As he uttered the name ravi, the man frowned. With raised eyebrows and a sigh, he told jas that the shop was sold last month by ravi's wife who now worked as a housemaid nearby. " Why? where is ravi now?" . "Ravi died. a bus left his head spluttered all over the road". Jas took their address and left without any word. He was numb enough to say or feel anything. "hye man, your phone is ringing",the person sitting next to him on the bus said. It was his mom, "so when are you going to have a family?"
"i have one now, mom", jas said and switched it off with a faint smile and a twinkle in his eyes, ready for the journey that he always wanted to make.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
crappy new year
one wise man said carpe diem == seize the day. a wiser man said carpe scrotum== to heck with the day. another crappy year comes to an end. maybe my saddest so far. i m left with many unanswered questions.
how many of the ppl will actually have a happy new year? and how many of those billions of wishes flying out thick and fast these days have true feelings behind them? just another formality for the new age urban man? r we losing our identity? when the not so cool "natkhat nikhil" (whom i m dying to tell that the kool radio jockey thing isnt really working for him or for any of his partners like bubbly barkha or love ki peer deep,,, wt crap) on a hip fm radio tells me to make the last sunday of the year hot n happening, i really feel sorry for the identity of our society which we bargained for some more commercialization.
when will i get a latest hollywood release in english in my town?? so that i dont have to painfully watch the posters of i am legend renamed as MAIN ZINDA HUN. that doesnt even make sense. the magic of dailogues is ruthlessly massacred during the translation. another artistic renaming is KHATARNAAK LOG ==x men. the terrorizing scene in jurassic park where a dinosaur chases the jeep was amazingly translated to "BHAAGO BHAAGO, BADI CHIPKALI HAMARE PICHE HAI. BHAAGO". in bruce almighty jennifer aniston asks if her boobs got any bigger, that is translated to " DEKHO KYA MERI KAMAR PATLI HOYI HAI KYA? DEKHO NA?" . i am guessin what will they name the devil wears prada -" CHUDAIL NE PEHNE SUNDAR KAPDE" .maybe. god bless this country.
when will pakistan get a day free from bombardment?? when will federer win a french open?? when will modi lose?? when will i get financial freedom?? when will anu malik learn music?? when will cloning process be made public??when will sensex crash??when will the nostril of himesh open up??when will some1 watch the much anitcipated ongc i league?? when will vhp stop burning things??when will the broadband speeds in india match with those in japan??when will google stop being the coolest thing around??when will i stop worrying about the number of profile views i get??when will the 40% indians below poverty line have a happy new year??
how many of the ppl will actually have a happy new year? and how many of those billions of wishes flying out thick and fast these days have true feelings behind them? just another formality for the new age urban man? r we losing our identity? when the not so cool "natkhat nikhil" (whom i m dying to tell that the kool radio jockey thing isnt really working for him or for any of his partners like bubbly barkha or love ki peer deep,,, wt crap) on a hip fm radio tells me to make the last sunday of the year hot n happening, i really feel sorry for the identity of our society which we bargained for some more commercialization.
when will i get a latest hollywood release in english in my town?? so that i dont have to painfully watch the posters of i am legend renamed as MAIN ZINDA HUN. that doesnt even make sense. the magic of dailogues is ruthlessly massacred during the translation. another artistic renaming is KHATARNAAK LOG ==x men. the terrorizing scene in jurassic park where a dinosaur chases the jeep was amazingly translated to "BHAAGO BHAAGO, BADI CHIPKALI HAMARE PICHE HAI. BHAAGO". in bruce almighty jennifer aniston asks if her boobs got any bigger, that is translated to " DEKHO KYA MERI KAMAR PATLI HOYI HAI KYA? DEKHO NA?" . i am guessin what will they name the devil wears prada -" CHUDAIL NE PEHNE SUNDAR KAPDE" .maybe. god bless this country.
when will pakistan get a day free from bombardment?? when will federer win a french open?? when will modi lose?? when will i get financial freedom?? when will anu malik learn music?? when will cloning process be made public??when will sensex crash??when will the nostril of himesh open up??when will some1 watch the much anitcipated ongc i league?? when will vhp stop burning things??when will the broadband speeds in india match with those in japan??when will google stop being the coolest thing around??when will i stop worrying about the number of profile views i get??when will the 40% indians below poverty line have a happy new year??
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