Expectations = 0

Exams over.Now you being very courteous since birth ,will ask "Oh , how did they go ?".And I being not so courteous since birth, will change the topic abruptly and ask about the weather.And my response is expected to be like this when I went to watch a movie at the INOX ,right in the middle of the exam week.We went to watch "DUS".There was this Mega Bomb which if goes off in Canada can frizzle your uncle's hair in Calcutta.The hair all over Uncle's body I mean.

And Abhishek Bacchahan has to prevent a lot of hairs from frizzing by getting rid of this bomb.After a lot of shouting and yelling and crashing cars and zooming airplanes , AB manages to drown the bomb in a lake,which then explodes underwater, harmlessly, saving Uncle's hair.The hair all over Uncle's body , I mean.

And just then my pal sitting to my left wakes up with a start and murmurs"huh..uh..wat was that sound?".I patted the poor lad on his head and leaned in and whispered "Someone must have shot the bloody director of this bloody movie , sonny boy."

Infact the movie was just that,a movie.A thing can not be bad by itself , can it be ? What made we guys call it "Bad" and "faltoo" in unison, and the guy to my left doze off was our "expectation" from it before watching it. Expectations .

I expected her to be happy with me.She cries around 1.6 litres of tears with me around.Where can I find some cheap and effective poison to eat ?

I expected the guy in the next room to use my Windows XP CD with care.He spills coffee on it and then spills some coke on it.where can I find a nuclear bomb to drop on his room ?

I expected the girl who sent me those sweet emoticons on yahoo messenger , to ask for my phone number.She asked if I would attend her wedding next month.Where can I find comfortable rail tracks to lie down on ?

I expected the food at the mess to be delicious.It tastes like the graveyard of 8 dead cockroaches.Where can I find the mess secretary to vomit on ?

I expected another girl who sent me some more sweet emoticons on yahoo messenger , to ask for my phone number.She turned out to be a guy.where can I find a knife to plunge into the guy who invented yahoo messenger ?

I think most of the heartburns of my life were due to my expectations from others and sometimes myself.

I think my life would be more cool if I minimise my expectations from people.I think I should give it a try.It may turn out to a kind of dry and bland existence.Like a 6 day old toast which has been lying in the sun for the last 8 days.But I think it can be worth trying.

Do not expect.Do your best and be happy ,but dont expect anything from anyone .This is expected to be my mantra for some days to come.

Oh , its the media guys again

First of all , the dark clouds have gone to Siberia and I am back to my sunny disposition.But thanx a lot to all you people , for urging me to study.I plan to study right after a little nap.

But can someone ask these journalists to leave me in peace ? I mean , how much fame can i handle at a tender age of 23 ? The Telegraph guys quoted me and this blog in their paper today-
http://www.telegraphindia.com/1050709/asp/weekend/story_4949699.asp

I tell you , its tough being a celebrity. But though I have to wear dark glasses and a monkey cap to avoid being recognised and mobbed , I am thankful to all you people for spending some time reading what I write and then spend more time wondering what was it all about.

Anyways , I have to leave now .Another press conference.Duh.

*******

Amidst all this fooling , i think it was foolish on my part to miss thanking Miss.Nilanjana Roy who actually noticed this fool's blog and found it a place in the paper.Thank you Miss.Roy.

Study!!

I have my mid term exams from monday.I have to study for them.But can anyone tell me how will a better grade help my life ? I am sure I will study now.But how it will help my life ? I can put in my brains in studying for them.but I need this answer to put my heart in it.What drives you to study for an exam ? Cut out the recognition from this world jazz.I stood last , and the world ridiculed me.I stood first , and they were jealous of me.People who loved me before IIM happened still love me and those who hated me still hate me.Cut out the prove it to myself jazz.I have had enough of exams I have struggled through.I know myself.How will a higher grade help my life ? Damn.I will study.Damn.

Empty

When I was a little kid ,I thought adults lead the most cool life.I never saw my dad learning multiplication tables of 2 to 16.I never saw mom have to learn about the Maurya empire and the guys they screwed in wars.Parents could watch TV whenever they want.They could be awake till late night.And being a doctor's son has some lovely downsides to it.We had a ready collection of injections at home.A minor neck sprain was seen as a brain haemmorhage in making.Every little nick on my knee was seen as a tetanus case in making and my shorts pulled down and one of the injections pumped in as I pleaded innocence.So i wished i would grow up fast to stop them from pulling down my shorts whenever they want.

But in spite of shorts pulled down , there is something very cool about being a kid.When you are a kid , life is like an unopened box.You dont know what will come out of it.Maybe chocolates , maybe spiders , maybe rabbits , maybe a little doll ,maybe toilet paper.And that gives a very beautiful sense to a kid - a sense of wonder.It is not the same as worry.The kid is still not old enough to worry about if his future son would smoke marijuana or about his future wife's beauty parlour expenses.So he does not view any situation and runs a little mental calculator and think -"hmm.so this would increase the income tax i pay by 2354 bucks".A kid is just a kid.He has no forlorn memories and no worries of the future.He just views the fun going around him with awe and amazement.A ride on daddy's shaky red scooter amazes him.A fly on the table amazes him. Cigarette butts lying on the street attracts him.Atleast I was attracted by them when I was a kid.

And he aint an mba or doctor or engineer or fashion designer or a gangster or a barber yet.A kid can imagine he would grow up and be anyone.He can imagine becoming a firefighter and rescuing young girls from a girls hostel on fire and then walking off into the sunset will all of them.He can imagine becoming a cricketer and hitting 147 off 93 balls and then grab 5 wickets for 11 runs to help India win the world cup.He can imagine becoming a Bill Gates and wipe his running nose with dollar notes.All that I can imagine now is working my smooth ass off at some airconditioned office , and come home to watch some late night movie on HBO and crashing to the bed.

Im living like im watching a jim carrey movie for the 21st time.Im enjoying it , but I know whats coming next.Or maybe I am not interested in whats coming next.The life box has been opened and I know life is nothing more than an alternation of sweet chocolates and awful medicines.I have had heartbreakingly difficult times.Like the time that itchy brown stray dog on my street chased me along the length of six houses and finally bit me.Ive seen amazingly good times.Like the time our colony maintainance guys grabbed that itchy brown dog and and took him away in a truck .Its like a sagacious attitude has descended upon me like - I know what life can do to me.Its like I feel every victory or defeat is trivial.Because life is just a prime time slot given between birth and death.whatever we achieve here aint so important , is it ?

All the boyish things which seemed fun to me some time ago seem ...well...boyish to me now.All this pretension and jealousy and ego around is making me turn away from some people.I am turning more and more of a private person.I spend hours in my room with music.I was never after material things.I never had any dreams of flat plasma televisions with surround sound or those long black cars which have six doors.All i used to dream was of a happy and close family life.But lately I am starting to see all relations as a source of attatchment and misery in the long run , and thats a scary and empty feeling to have.I love my parents and sister and a few other people.But I feel too much attachment causes pain to all.I care a lot for them but I dont want to possess anyone now.I would give my life for them , I dont want to own their lives.I just want to let go.I just dont want to cling to anything.Maybe I fear losing it.Sometimes I feel I have forgotten to love.Sometimes it seems I have found what true love is only now.People say I am turning away from them.I feel I am turning in to myself.

Some people spend their lives searching for what they want.Some people spend their lives searching that what it is that they want.I just live each day and dont even want to search because I feel I just do not want anything.

Life is peacefully empty.I do not know if I want it to change.Something needs to be different maybe.I am not sure,Maybe I need to shake up the kid in me.The life box needs to throw up something i dont know.I need to redisover the sense of wonder .I think ill start by redeveloping an interest in cigarette butts lying on the street.

Hey girl , lets talk !

Hi Girls ,

Well ,11.56 in the night is not a perfect time to talk to girls but we havent talked much over the last 23 years of my life, have we ?

First Let me make clear what bunch i am talking to.Girls=Girls.Exclude mothers and grandmothers and grand grandmothers and...i think anyone higher would be dead by now.Right.So girls=girls.If you still are confused about what I mean by girls ,its ok.Girls are supposed to be a little dumb.

My earliest memory of your clan- my younger sister pulls my hair.Painful.Digs her nails in my cheek.Painful.And then runs to mummy to complain that I hit her.Not a perfect start.
I went to a defence school.We were small and carried water bottles and small bags and crayon boxes. You girls colored silly color books.You did not shout much.You did not spill food while eating.You played stupid games during the games period where you became a mother and someone became your daughter and someone became your mother.

By class 2nd , I had formed a mental banner which declared in a glowing and blinking neon sign - GIRLS ARE STUPID AND BORING.School progressed.Class 6th.Class 10th.

The font size in the neon sign kept getting bigger and bigger.You people never took any interest in me.And I was equally indifferent and snooty about you people.I was of the back benchers gang.I was not too good in studies.I was a regular at being thrown out of class.I was the guy girls should not talk to.You people stayed with the boys who wore clean clothes , combed their hair,shared their tiffin with you , spoke softly, took notes and did well in studies.

College.First day , seniors pick me out for ragging.They point at a group of fresher girls and tell me to call one of them.I walk upto her and ask her to come.She does not care to reply and looks away.I lean in and growl "Look lady.You may be pretty.Guys may swallow a lizard if u order them to.But I have 0% interest in you and your friends here.You understand how much is 1 - 1.It's 0.Thats the interest I have in girls.Those seniors want you , not me.So just move."

She came along ,I proposed to her and then We sang "Aati kya Khandaala".It lasted for some ten minutes.I swear on your grumpy neighbour , that was the longest interaction I ever had with a girl in my college.Through these four years of engineering, most from your clan saw me and mumbled "MCP" under their breath.One yelled "MCP" at me loudly in the college canteen.MCP stands for My Cute Pal.Ok.It stands for Male Chauvinistic Pig.All the hormonal developments were on track.I was not gay.But I got into another of those all-guys-brats-bunks-bikes types group which was too busy in having fun by themselves and considered girls as a waste of time and energy.We were a sunny bunch of happy-go-lucky chaps at college.

The appereances of girls definitely changed in college.You know what ,please do not on use too much of make up.Then your face looks like you have been sleeping in a paint tumbler and your mouth looks like you have eaten 3 bars of lipsticks.And please think about those long earrings which hang like earthworms from your ears.They look wierd.And make you look wierder.And you do not need to let your hair loose all the time.They cover your ears.If you tie your hair up you can actually hear better.And all that hair keeps falling in the plates around when you eat.Please consider tieing it up.Its hygienic.

Anyways , that was the way it was.Till 'she' breezed into my life.

She had a sense of humor.She had similar thoughts.She was mature.She was responsible.She was silly.She was simple.She was very human.For the first time , I sensed that girls have a "lipsticks-n-eyeliner" free brain.That they think of something beyond that.That they are as good human beings as anyone.Every tear I have caused her has left a streak on my heart.I thank the guy whom she is with now.He did not give her much time to feel hurt and alone.

Thinking more calmly and having more girls as friends has helped realise some of you are mature.Some of you think deeply , think good thoughts and are really sensitive and introspective .Some girls are really good human beings. All in all , you people are not so stupid as I thought.You dont have the IQ of a cheese burger.You people are as mature as any human being and probably a lot more sensitive than guys.

And know what is the best part about being a girl ? You will be a mother some day.However stupid and stubborn and irritating you may be right now , being a mother is being capable of some kind of divine love, of being closer to god.One day you are going to create life and nurture it with such unconditional care which makes you all the more respectable.

But some things about you people still beat me.Firstly , why do you people give so much importance to the way you look ?If you think every guy looks at you when you go down a street , catch the next lift down and come down to earth.Tom Cruise doesnt care about how you look.Hrithik Roshan doesnt care about how you look.Your dad doesnt care about how you look.And any sensible guy wont care about how you look.And if someone is attracted by your looks , he can only desire you , not love you.

Another thing.If I end up talking to you for anything over eight minutes , dont assume I am flirting with you.Being a girl or a guy is not so important.Please behave like a normal homo sapien.I hate being branded a girl chaser.Because I hate to be one.

I have always been an outsider in your world.The brat.Never too close.And after causing hurt to 'her',I intend to stay away from your world for a long long long time to come.After all , I was hurt too.I am plain scared to meddle in your world now.I am plain scared of again causing a lot of tears and hence have resolved to stay at a safe yet friendly distance from your domain.If earlier it was snobbish indifference , now it is a peaceful and quiet lack of interest.

Anyways ,it was good talking to you. I will take your leave and read some Jughead comic.And one last thing.If you drive anything more than a bicycle , please do not.Its sin to kill innocent walking on the street ,people not belonging to the Al-Qaeda.But if you have to drive , atleast keep a First Aid box handy.That was it.

The great Indian wedding

A sad horse.A more sad guy on the horse.Bright lights.Sweaty men dancing explosively to loud filmy songs on the street.Ladies wearing more gold than with the RBI.Smell of cologne in the air.Old women with 'dholak' singing songs which no one understands.Spending forty minutes in the cosmetic store to find the lipstick to perfectly match the color of the saree.Welcome to 'The great Indian wedding'.Its one of the most amusingly extravagant things I see in this funny world.

I dont know how weddings take place in Southern India or some other parts.I guess the weddings there are not very elaborate.I think they just make the groom wear some kind of small cap with some beads and plug some grass behind his ears and sprinkle some basmati rice on him.The bride is also very simply dressed , with not much make up and the thing gets over pretty easy.I went to the wedding of Uncle Menon's daughter.Dont remember much.But it all seemed perfectly human.

But attending a typical north Indian wedding leaves me pretty gasping and shaken.I take a couple of days to feel like eating after attending a wedding.But to go through the experience as a guest makes me wonder about the psychological scarring the people getting married have to go through during the process.

Imagine you have a maths test tomorrow.And all the Mrs.Malhotras and Mrs.Kocchars of the colony will ask your mum about your result when it is declared.And you have diarrohea and a running nose.And your neighbour is celebrating his irritating son's sixth birthday.So they have put up a huge tent in the street and the loudspeakers are playing Daler Mehndi songs right outside your window while you are trying to study differential calculus.You get the feeling.Thats the strange mix of desperation and frustration I feel when I recieve a wedding invitation card .Uncle Mehta's son ,who allegedly failed twice in class X and now runs coaching center for kids is getting married.My first move is to protest.

Me *ready-to-suicide-look*:Ma,papa,I dont wanna go.All that noise.All that lights.All those plastic smiles people.

Parents*ready-to-kill-look*:Munnu,you have to grow up (complan?).And if you dont go,who will care to attend your wedding ?

*Sidenote- Looks like my parents really want a lot of people to attend my wedding ,if it happens.So I will send out cards to all of you.Please turn up.Get along your families , neighbours ,old classmates , school principal,computer vendor,postman , milkman , anyone.Just build a HUGE crowd.*

So I have to go to that Mehta's wedding.I will have to check out if my "wedding uniform" still fits.I call it a uniform because there is mostly one outfit I wear at all weddings.Ouch.A little tight around the shoulders.But if I disguise my emotions well at the wedding, nobody will know how uncomfortable it is.Approved.Munnu does not need new clothes.Old is gold.

The D day dawns.The day when a man and wife would vow to tolerate each other and throw things at each other and spy on each other for the rest of their lives and a day when a few hundred fools ,including me,would cheer this amazing alliance by eating a lot.

The 'baraat' is to assemble near "Lucky Public School" and would proceed towards the "Just Divorced" farmhouse where the bride and her battalion would be waiting.I reach the spot near Lucky public school.Fat ladies with thick lipsticks,jewellery enough to pull down a weak man to the ground , half inch makeup layers,hair tied in super amazing buns.Big fat men.Loud laughs.Ill fitting suits.Hair swept back.Cellphones in hand.Young girls looking like cosmetic showrooms.Now being from the groom's side , I have to be a part of this "Baraat".Now this is the most depressing part.

The groom is made to sit on a horse.In the 21st century ,with people zooming along in swanky cars ,this guy sits on a "count-my-ribs" horse brought on rent.Infact a female horse.A 'ghodi' in hindi.Whats that called in english ? A horsess ? And a huge "Bunty Band" contingent starts beating drums and blowing trumpets.And they are super sonic loud.LOUD.George Bush in the White House would know that the 'Baraat' is starting from Lucky Public School.Real Loud.And the fat aunties and the fat uncles and the pretty girls and the young guys slowly start to slip into the area before the animal carrying the poor guy.They start with shaking sheepishly but before the poor animal knows whats happening , they explode into highly vigorous physical vibrations.All the loud band and the dancing people and the guy on the top of him makes the animal shit twice on his way to the farmhouse.

We reach the farmhouse where the bride is.My parents get busy with all the friends.The dancing party breaks up and promptly attacks the snacks area.I grab a tomato soup and look around.Soon people are pushing and falling over food.Looks like a UN relief camp.Someone introduces me to a girl of my age who is preparing for CAT.

Me *end-to-boredom-relief-expression*: "Hello ,Im Abhinav.How are you?"

She*dollar-dreams-expression*:"Hi.How did you prepare for CAT?"

Me*not-again-expression*:I jumped off a bridge.That really helps.Try it."

She*confused*:"Eh..he he..um..joke?"

Middle aged ladies keep coming to me and ruffling my hair.

Middle aged lady : "Recognise me munna beta?"

Me ( thinking to myself):She looks like Mayawati.

Me ( smiling to her) :"Aishwarya Rai?"

Middle Aged Lady (slapping my arm real hard) :"he he he...you wont change ever."

And all this bumping into people and grabbing ice creams and soups from hassled waiters goes on and on and on till the guy and the girl put garlands around each other necks and go around a burning stove.Finally the girl leaves crying on every shoulder around and it is time for me to go home.

A genuinely stupid and tiring day.We get home,unlock the main gate and I habitually check the mailbox before getting in.Aha,there is something in there.A wedding invitation card.Thapar uncle's son who as a kid,stole eggs from the departmental store and is a cop now , is getting married.Wedding after a week.My esteemed presence on this auspicious occasion is requested.Sigh.Life is B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L.

Brains.Yea.Heart.Nopes.

B.C Roy memorial Library , IIM C looks real big.They have got many dull books and journals in there.I think if we somehow use some kind of reverse engineering to reconvert all that paper in trees , we can have enough wood to make a zillion matchsticks.A couple of days earlier , as me and a friend were returning from the 'sales and distribution management' class , god decided to pee .It started to rain.Since no umbrella company's distribution channel reached the spot where we were caught , we had to run towards the library and get in there.I have watched a lot of hindi movies over my years.Escape the rain on a stormy evening and take shelter in a big ancient looking construction , there is a 72% chance you shall be greeted by a shaky lamp wielding "Ramu Kaka" who has been dead for the last twenty or so years.But not being in a movie , I was greeted by a grumpy watchman who looked at me like I was trying to smuggle three surface to air missiles and a couple of rifles into the library.

Anyways , me and my friend pretended like we were really interested in reading things like Harvard Business Reviews and got in and grabbed some glossy health magazines and fashion magazines to pass time.As a sidenote, this guy who was with me is a typical girl-chaser, desperate , dying to impress girls type of guy.If he goes to somebody's condolence meeting and meets the deceased's daughter there , he would tell her shes looking pretty in the white saree and ask for her telephone number and ask her out to a coffee.

And as we chatted in the library as the rain pelted outside ,he tells me he wants to move away from his parents after he gets married.He tells me parents have to realise that kids have their lives and flying away to better pastures is life.He tells me life is about enjoying and about pretty girls and luxury cars.He tells me all he wants is to enjoy life and grab all the luxuries of life.I should not have found it strange.In a way , he reflected a part of most of us.Anyways , the rain ceased , we got back to the hostel and the day ended without me getting murdered.

The next morning ,the Times Of India carried a news about a baby girl left crying on a Kolkata street while her mother boarded a city bus and left the poor child behind.The mother abandoned the little girl and the baby would be now taken in by some state welfare society unless someone adopts her.

And suddenly , all the talk in the library about being successful , rich , and corporate bigwigs came together with this news about an abandoned baby.And it was a restless combination.Imagine Rabri Devi and Laloo Yadav addressing a packed press conference.Suddenly Rabri stands up , throws herself into Laloo's lap, grabs him by the hair on his ears and kisses him passionately on his lips.If this is unsettling , I suddenly felt super-unsettled.

Now we guys cracked CAT and got into IIM Calcutta , so our collective IQ is higher than that of a bathroom slipper.After some years , most would be found in some air conditioned office , happily working on a laptop with a pretty secretary .Even I may manage an office with a rickety ceiling fan and a pentium II and a fat male secretary.Most of our lives may turn out to be about selling fairness creams which cause terrible skin burns to girls wanting to look like Nicole Kidman.

And in a way , we are so worthless and incapable.Now as a student of one of the nation's coolest business schools and a so called academic achiever ( not considering the one time i flunked in the class III hindi grammar test),that one cry of the little girl which must be resounding in some small room of Kolkata right now makes me feel so worthless.

We read about the baby in the newspaper over breakfast at the mess.We finish the tea , grumble about the potatoes in the dosa being half baked , wash hands and get back to room , listen to music,sing in bathrooms , attend lectures,do the assignments due for the next class , chat around , play table tennis in the evening and the next morning , the newspaper is thrown in a corner of the room.We are all brains who would pull out our hearts for smooth girls ,but not for a little wailing baby in need.

To be a leader in a true sense , we need a set of noble values more than a bright mind.A good heart than a fast brain.But the education system values a bright mind.The set of values is left behind in the little nursery books which carried innocent tales preaching love and brotherhood.The education system checks if you know how to light a bulb.It never checks if you WANT to fight the darkness.

If some person adopts that girl and takes care of her to help her grow into a self sufficient and happy lady, that man deserves to be in the papers more than the guys who pass out of business schools and spend their lives building soaps and condoms and shaving creams business. All I have done and achieved till now is for myself and my family.Will my sphere of contribution be limited to such a miniscule part of mankind ? I may have the brains to pull off a decent career, but when will I have the heart to move towards a meaningful life ?

Why am I unable to do anything to help her ? Maybe the fact that I am still dependant on my parents holds me back.Maybe I dont feel about it so strongly.Maybe I am just trying to fake how sensitive I am.Maybe all I want to do is write about it in this blog and slip the next movie in the CD player.I dont know.But any resemblance of meaning in this 'all brains no heart' life would appear only on the day I actually go ahead and do something to help such a baby in need.God.Sometimes all this seems as frustrating as having to watch Osama Bin Laden trim the hair in his nose.Someday Ill just have to break out and do what I want.

Hic.Hic.

Ok.You seen a lot of movies.You know how they jump back into the flashback sometimes.Jump into one right now.

_______________________________

FLASHBACK :
Venue :New Boys Hostel ( The hostel where Me stays )

Characters :

Me ( Age: 23 , The guy who writes this blog )

X ( Age: Looks like 33 , is 24 , Another IIM C student.Another New Boys Hosteller)

X : "Kya re , you dont spend long hours talking on your cellphone these days.Hope all is well between you and airtel guys ? "

Me : " Yeah I am just back frm a movie with the airtel CEO".

X : "Ok yaar seriously , we dont find you spending long hours roaming around the hostel , on phone with that shy smile pasted on your face .Is everything fine ? "

Me : "Yeah life is beautiful.I messed up things between me and her."

X (with the expression ramsay brothers would love to capture) : Oh shit.Shit shit shit.How did this happen ? "

Me:"Angelina Jolie proposed to me and I left her."

X : "Its ok man.Just come to my room some time.A chilled beer and you would feel better."

Me : "I feel fine.And I don't drink."

X ( Ramsay brothers expression recreated ) : "you dont still ! You are 23 kid ! And after what you have been through , you have to drink! ."

___________________________________________

OK.FLASHBACK ENDS.THIS IS NOW.

I do not drink.I do not drink.I do not drink.

You heard it right.A 23 year old boy who does not drink.But I am normal in other ways.I do not wear a pink skirt and I dont wear lipstick.I have a decently manly voice and a if I dont shave , you can see that I have facial hair too.Just that I dont drink.Then why am I branded a sissy Mama's boy for that ? Not that I have any problems with that.Just curious.

The first and only time ,I 'tasted' some vodka at my IIM C freshers party at the hostel.Allegedly,I sang loudly,danced vigorously to every C grade punjaabi song played , ripped my shirt away ,and danced till 4 in the morning till the sound equipment guys drove off with their stuff.

The next morning , I got up at noon ,picked up the cellphone , called mom , told her I drank , apologised for that, and since then not a drop of liquor has passed these lips.

Not that I go around being a walking "Say NO to drinking" poster ,preaching the ills of drinking and how it makes men beat their wives and drive their cars off bridges.But I dont drink because

I dont see any sense in doing that.I love my liver.I love being in control of my senses.

At the hostel parties , most guys drink a lot of booze.A guy got drunk , smashed a bottle on the floor, then jumped on a table to dance , then fell down from the table on the glass and cut his foot.Another guy here got drunk at 2 in the morning, and felt real romantically inclined after that , and then went to the girls hostel to confess how much he loved a particular lady , and the lady almost pushed him off the third floor and called in Calcutta police.Sounds fun but not if you are the drunk one.

But still , guys and girls drink.Why.Bollywood ? Yeh , the macho guys in the movies always drink.And additional bollywood points if they drink directly from the bottle.In the movies , they break up , and drink.They lose a job , and drink.Mom dies , and they drink.They are happy , they drink.Yeh , movies maybe.

Scientists in some lab found moderate drinking is good for the heart.You want to save your heart ? Eat less of those Bread Pakodas , run like a dog in the mornings , do not run after girls .

My uncle says a chilled beer in the summers helps him cool off.You want to cool off ?I will turn up the AC , I will put Ice packs on your head , I will put you in the refridgerator.

Devdaas said drinking helps drowning life's sorrows.Dear Dev ,(putting an arm around his

shoulder) ,we need a light and clean heart to drown them.You lost your K..K..Kiran, oh I mean Paro,and I lost mine.But you did not own Paro , and neither did I own her.Drop the ego.We came in alone , will go out alone.I know what happenned between me and her , and I dont want to escape from it.It happenned.She was there and still would be somewhere.She may be reading this , and I am happy I have learnt all attachements cause misery.You love , but have no right to own anyone's life.Life moves on.The sun still rises, frogs still croak , the internet still works , I still screw up my grades.So dear Devdaas Kumar Ahluwalia ,just step out ,smell the roses , listen to "sohniye" by Juggy D at mindblowing volume,laugh a lot , do good and realise that come what may ,life is a joy to be lived and spread love , not necessarily gain love.

So Why drink ? I dont wanna lose control.

I dont wanna actually get drunk and grab my finance professor by his collar and shake him and yell "Why did you give me a C , sir !!!."I dont wanna get drunk and grab the departmental store guy downstairs and shake him and yell "Why do you charge money from me when I buy something from you , buddy ?? " I dont wanna get drunk and run out on the street and grab the first girl I see and shake her and yell " See , my parents are doctors , I am their only son ,I am I am at IIM calcutta , and whoover you are , please marry me , miss !!!

But I may have missed something.There may be something great hidden within that bottle.A lotta people drink , and they feel good about it.My dad drinks , most guys at IIM C drink , my uncle who spent 11 days in hospital with a liver problem due to drinking drinks, a lot of IIM girls drink and Devdaas drank. So something has to be there.And if there is ,I can always lie to my mom.I can actually drink without letting her know. Then I may not spend the next hostel party sipping coke around quiet south Indian girls while drunk guys go around ripping shirts , falling off tables and kissing each other.Any purpose in drinking? Hic.Hic.

Listening to: Red Red Wine - UB40.( Talk about coincidence )

LOC : Life out of clothes

1912: Titanic sinks.

1945: Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombed.

1975: Indira Gandhi imposes emergency in India.

2005: Washerwoman at New Boys Hostel , IIM C goes missing.

Our washerwoman is missing.Its been more than a week now.She has not turned up at our hostel.

Dirty clothes lie crumpled in the plastic bucket just outside the door of my room , gathering dust.The wooden racks in the corridor which lovingly held freshly washed shirts and shorts , dripping water onto the floor , now stare at me with empty arms. I lie in my room , staring at the ceiling.Looking at the blades of the fan cutting imperfect circles.Reminds me of how the drier of the fully automatic washing machine at my home used to rotate in those gracious rounds.

I hear someone outside.Is she here ? Is she ? I jump out of the bed and step out in the corridor with an eager anticipation.Its a cat , trying to grab something from the plate kept outside , in which I had those incredibly shitty Maggi noodles yesterday night.She looks at me .Meows.Crumpled clothes in the bucket.Empty drying lines.I sneak back into the bed and stare at the ceiling.

My mind drifts off to those days.Seems like yesterday.Carefree.Covered bodies.Freshly washed clothes smelling of detergents.How happy I was.Used to carelessly fling the dirty pair of jeans in the bucket kept outside.And the next day it would be there.Washed.Neatly ironed.A few burns.But far from a burnt sandwich.Vintage days.

And now.I look at the shorts I am wearing.It a recordbook of my culinary exploits over the last four days.There is this fresh ketchup stain I pasted near the right pocket half an hour ago.Thats what happens when u try to dip a sandwich in a ketchup bowl kept in your lap while trying to catch a "mithun-da" action movie on the computer.They should have told me before mithunda yelled "Ma kasam!!!" so loudly that i spilled the ketchup onto my shorts.Oh , there is also this "Shahi Paneer" gravy stain on the left side.Or is it the cheese that fell from the pizza ? I have to scrape it off and taste it to know the answer.There must be many more footprints of what I ate ,all over my shorts.But I think you are already feeling full.

But the good part is that I dont see any stains on the tee shirt on my body.Because I dont see a tee shirt on my body. When your washerwoman is missing over the last seven days , dignity is something you put on the pillion seat of the scooter of life.Dignity can wait when you dont know what you will wear the next time u step out of the bathroom.

Just one light yellow chequed shirt lies in my wardrobe.That can cover me up for tomorrow.Day after tomorrow ? The question threatens me with an future projected scene involving semi nudity in the class.A topless me in the class, though hopefully appreciated by the girls , wont exactly generate a lot of accolades from the professors.I have to cover my top when going to class.That worries me.

I called home in the morning.Ma has told me something about putting in the clothes in a lot of water and letting the clothes stay in water for half an hour and then putting in a lot of detergent and then washing them hard and then taking the clothes out and wringing them and then letting them dry.Looks as easy as Bangladesh beating Australia.Oops.Now that they have actually beaten the Aussies, ill change it.Looks as easy as making Salmaan Khan keep on a shirt over an entire movie.Im sorry , but I am just too obsessed with clothes right now.

Ill have to come out of this inertia soon.Ill will have to carry out my debut "clothes-washing" innings soon.Otherwise I have an alternative plan.I will wrap around a newspaper.And since I am at a Business School , The Economic Times seems an apt one to cover myself with.Business Dressing ?

Listen Miss.washerwoman , I would smile on your sense of absentminded-ness if you burn a gateway through my favorite blue shirt.I would knowingly leave a minimum of five rupees in the hip pocket of every trousers i put in for washing.If i get the time , I will help you in washing on the weekends.I will get you the most wonderful detergents which will keep your hands as soft as a baby's bottom.I will give you extra cash on every diwali , christmas , Ambedkar Jayanti , Guru Nanak Jayanti, Makar Sankranti , Maha Shivratri , Holi and Hanuman Jayanti.But please come back.I need you.The new boys hostel needs you.

The Dove flies away

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Seduction ?

"hell, u r so artificial...trying to get one of your blog reader dames into bed with u, eh? "

This was a comment to my last post.I am smiling.sacchi.Actually this is the problem with our lifestyle these days.Achieve this.Grab that.Win it.A life of progress.A life where you are constantly judged and compared.Where the purpose of life is to be better than the others.And what stokes all this ? A single word which holds around 93% of life's problems and woes -

EGO.

I mean it friends.EGO.Why did our friend post the above comment.Because he wants to belittle
me.Because belittling me would make him relatively higher.Thats the problem.We are no more
content to be ourselves.We are always comparing and judging.

Live your life.Life is not a race.You dont have to be better than others.Just be what you are comfortable being.

And I am amazed by the technological assumptions the comment implies.How can a fellow female blogger get into my bed ? Does she e-mails herself and I download her and take her printout and put that in my bed ?

But I am really not angry.Life is too short to carry hate in our hearts.Infact I am sorry if my writings have sexually aroused you anytime.I just write to bring a little more joy in this world.

And another reason I am happy is that monsoon in Bengal is about to set in.Heat is costly affair.I have spent a lot on buying Real juices , frooti packs , coke cans , aquafina bottles after coming to calcutta this time .A lot of cash has flown out on them. My dad thinks im into buying drugs to spend so much.My ma thinks Im into buying booze to spend so much.ma,papa,its just juice ,coke and water.

But now that the monsoons are coming ,spending would relax.The campus looks great when it rains.The lakes look great with all the water falling into them.Lush green trees.All the birds.The cool breeze.All the water coming into my room through an open window. Me spending half an hour sweeping it out.Beautiful.

And I have started jogging in the mornings.Ok.Just two days since I have started.But I intend to
keep doing that.With the wonderful campus , its wasteful to sleep open mouthed in a dinky room
till 9 in the morning.Its like listening to radio when you are a Michael Jackson live show.

That reminds me,they are making small Michael Jackson toys in America , so that kids can play with him ,for a change.But seriously if MJ is innocent, the poor man is being too bugged.Its wrong to trouble him for being a celebrity.

Sweat dripping off the elbows.The wet tee shirt clinging to the back.The "Om" locket around my
neck flaying wildly as I jog.Its real good going jogging .And then I reach the little bridge over the lake.I plop down on its wooden planked floor and stay there before I decide to jog back to the hostel.And I see quite a few of our professors.In shorts.With their kids.Wives.Its good to see them as normal people with kids and a family.They aint just interested in flunking me in all the finance courses.I pass a professor on my way.He is with his little grandchild.He is showing him the flowers along the path.I say a hello.He smiles back.And suddenly , for that moment , we are not teacher and student.We are just two human beings at different stages of our lives , enjoying the bliss of mother nature.Its good to shed our roles and just come across as two natural human beings.

Oh,now I can see real dark clouds through the window .Baras Jaa pyaare Megha .( Non Hindi guys : Shed some water dear cloud ).

So now I have to study.Till later friends.Be good and do good.Life is beautiful.And I dont want to seduce you.I swear.

Peaceful and unbathed

I would say after thermal underwears and toilet papers , air conditioner is the most pleasant invention on the planet. The way the machine whirrs and spews cold air is pure bliss.The electricity bill aint.But you dont even need to fill it up with water like a cooler. There were no air conditioners at my home till 3 years back.I used to look out of the window of my school bus at all those air conditioners in the windows of the big houses on my way home.I used to look at them , then towards the sun setting at the horizon and pledge that someday I will grow up to buy an Air Conditioner. Papa decided it would be my good luck if I earn enough to manage a second hand rickety ceiling fan with a couple of blades twisted and a little rust.He did not take any risks and got the air conditioners himself.

And these wonderful gadgets purr in all the classes here at IIM Calcutta.So even if I sit between a fat girl with a hint of beard and a guy who allegedly tried to kiss another guy during the new year hostel party , attending classes is a pleasure .

These days I am beginning to spend a lot of time alone.I feel very peaceful and content these days.I am making a conscious decision to be what I am.And that makes me stay away from a lot of people with inflated egos I used to be with earlier just to be a part of the group. To be oneself , the most natural yet hardly followed thing. We got a total of seven lakes here at IIM C . We even got a little wooden bridge over one of them , just like those drawn in little nursery class books.The water is barely around 10 feet down from it.We even got ducks in the lake.I am beginning to spend a lot of early mornings sitting alone on the bridge and looking at the water , the ducks , the trees , hearing the sounds of splashing water , crickets and a lot more . Real lovely place , after a dance bar maybe. A couple of days back, me and a friend went over to the bridge after dinner and sat there for around two hours.We discussed a lot of issues ranging from degrading Indian culture to the lack of female professors to how appealing must Saddam Hussein look in a mini skirt. And I talked about "her" maybe for the first time after things broke up between us. I am not moping around.

But the episode has left me a lot more mature.I am no more the "Slurrp ! See a non-male goes there ! " type guy you tend to be after living through four years of engineering and one year of IIM . Thankfully , this experience has taken me further away from the type of people who fall for external attributes . I was reading this magazine earlier in the day where a guy comments he wont mind swapping girlfriends with his buddy ! Man , i pity you and your girlfriend.Romeo would have strangulated that guy . And even "she" was not a girlfriend to me anytime.I hate that term.

Simplicity and truth are the most treasured attributes for me and meeting people with such qualities is always a pleasant experience , especially if they are rich ladies . If you have seen Roja the movie , that kind of character , so innocent and simple , yet with an inner strength.

Simplicity in this artificial and plastic world. As common as condoms in a monk's shopping list.

Anyways , now that I am out of that thing with "her" , and even she has made it clear I mean as much as a music system to a deaf guy , I am feeling like before - content, single and gay.The tamil guy who moved into the next room looks real hot. You gotta check out his legs.

And I missed the strategic management class yesterday.I did want to attend it. I was waiting for my turn outside the hostel bathroom some 20 minutes before the class. A guy who must be around 6 feet , maybe more , walked up behind me and growled ,"See kid , I have to bathe first. The maximum I can do is to let you join me".

I had a pink bath mug in my right hand , a yellow bucket in my left.I was wearing just a towel around my waist.I looked up at him.To soap the back of a guy with dense chest hair and a gym membership sounds like an once in a lifetime experience , but I let him bathe first. Alone. So i got late for class. And hence I had to stay in my room when a heavenly AC was spewing paradise in Lecture room - 3 of the Academic block , IIM Calcutta.

Anyways , I really got to take a bath now before the 6 footer spots the bathroom before I get in. And in case that happens , I am carrying my nail cutter which has this little hidden knife to the bathroom along with the pink bathmug and the yellow bucket this time. So here I go. If I do not return , please drag that 6 foot guy with the thick chest hair and gym membership to the court. Let justice prevail.

Of sunny and Idli

I pasted newspapers on the window glasses this morning.Keeps the sun out.Its so hot and real humid here at Calcutta , slap the air and half a glass of water falls down.So the papers keep the sun out. And I just have to look at the window to know that Essar has lined up 1.5 bn $ for its telecom plan and to know that B.C.Jain Jewellers at Camac Street , Kolkata have a ensemble of dazzling solitaires at discounted rates now.

I have watched some three movies over the last two days.LA confidential , Van Wilder , Page 3.There is something very fine about watching movies on a computer rather than on a Television.

Arjun , the "imaandaar" son of an ultra "imaandaar" school teacher master Dinanath , has testified against Saleem Pistol ,who has risen from a rag picker to become a terrifying underworld baddy.To avenge the testification , Kareem Rifle , who is the big brother of Saleem Pistol , picks up his sword and takes off after Arjun. Arjun is standing in the queue at the local mother dairy to buy a litre of double toned milk.Kareem Rifle spots Arjun and charges towards him. Arjun spots Kareem Rifle running towards himself with a sword in hand.He panics , pees in his shorts, collects his milk polypacks and then runs.Kareem Rifle is after him.both running on a busy mumbai street.Panting.Sweating.The distance is closing between them.Kareem Rifle is too angry and charged up to let Arjun go and make a milk shake with that milk.Running over parked cars.vegetable carts.Arjun is tiring.Kareem Rifle is almost there.He makes a final lunge , floors Arjun, gets on him , yells horribly ,and pulls back his sword to chop down Arjun.

A baseball Cap wearing Sunny Deol tells me he wears "Jo pehne So comfortable" brand innerwear all the time because its 100% cotton and makes him feel like hes wearing nothing.Thats what commercial breaks do to you.When the sword on Arjun was about to come down and I was trembling with the anticipation of spurting blood and double toned milk , I suddenly have to acknowledge the underwear Sunny Deol wears.Thats the good part about watching movies on a computer rather than television.

No commercial breaks.How I love being concise.

But Sunny Deol and his "i feel nude" innerwear notwithstanding , I am loving this term. We can actually choose electives and study what we like.Thats a very good thing.Makes this term much more interesting.

And I have been reading a lot about Rapes these days.Its bad.But every male is being branded a part time rapist.See , not all of the males have boiling hormones.If I try to help a lady struggling with her shopping bags in a mall , she thinks my sole motive of existence is to impress her,and ask for her telephone number and address, and to turn up at her home on some rainy night and then to end up sleeping with all the females in her household.I mean , I know women have been living under a cloud of threat.But what do I do , wear a "I-wont-rape-you" tee shirt ?Anyways , what me worry.But if anyone thinks every male have this desire impress females , I am not a male according to his theory.

Some guys have better things to do than to think of girls .So relax ladies .Atleast I dont care.

A friend who reads my blog commented im beginning to sound like a misanthropist these days.Oh its perfectly fine.You dont need to drown youself in yourbath mug for not knowing the meaning of the word.Its one who hates the entire mankind.Thats news for me.I dont plan to throw acid on girls or to trip old men or to plug chewing gums onto the backsides of innocent citizens.But yeah , I am beginning to feel very comfortable with myself these days.Like I have no need to be a part of any group.I am becoming more and more of myself with each passing day.I am shedding all the pretensions and masks each of subconsciusly wear.Its like I need no one as an emotional support or to complete me.I am very fine with my solitude.Just give me some music and I can spend decades in my room alone.Maybe that makes me a little socially withdrawn.But I have two goals in life.One is to see Ashwarya Rai tie a rakhi on Vivek Oberoi's wrist and walk off into the sunset with me.The other is to lead a peaceful life where I dont have to be someone I am not. And just being myself brings me closer to the latter aim.

Someone just put on this south indian song at pretty ear-drum challenging decibel levels here.That reminds me , a lot of South Indian students have moved into the rooms around me.We call them "Idlis" here at IIM C. Nothing offensive.We are all Indians. Just that we call them "Idlis".All in good fun.And they are free to call us North Indians "Mattar paneer" or "Bread Pakoda" or anything. So I don't want any "Aiyyo , I swear on Rajnikanth Saaar , I weel keel you machaaan !" kind of comments now. But this sudden cultural exposure has been good for me.Suddenly I am one of the fairer guys on my hostel wing.

Anyways , I have to watch "Zeher " now. And guess what , without any Sunny Deols and "Jo pehne so comfortable" underwears.

On the Jukebox : Ek Na Ek Din - Lucky Ali

Life is Intense.Hard.Serious....Seriously ?

**************
See , I do not really care if anyone reads this.I have my fun writing.But still ,if you read my blog and do not comment ,this is not on.I am a vegetarian.I wont eat you unless I am real hungry.We can be friends and I can actually help you get a job some day.So do leave a comment ,just anything ,be it about your desire to kick me in the crotch real hard.Which anyways ,you cannot do online.
**************

"Life is not a cartoon film abhinav! You have to learn to be serious. Grow Up !"
-- Old chinese proverb.Recited to me by everybody around me.

Huh ? serious ? I am serious.I am seriously serious.wait a minute.why do I be serious ?

Looks like there should be shops selling the "british-stiff-upper-lip" all over the world from the backwaters of Kerela to the red waters of the Red sea.It would sure run up seriously roaring sales.

Maybe the world thinks being serious is the same as being responsible.A guy who looks grimly stiff must be very particular about his work.The world thinks that a guy who looks straight faced is thinking about something deeply important and philosophical.In reality,he may be serious due to the constipation hes been suffering from.Or maybe from diarrohea which makes him shit like a camel.If you look serious enough to be paid to haunt a house ,you are thought to be responsible.

Infact , its the way kids are brought up around here , enjoyment is linked to all the useless things.Pappu enjoys playing cricket .Pappu's mom orders him to burn his cricket bat and study how gandhiji screwed the british.Pinki laughs a lot while playing with her Barbie dolls.Pinki's mom comes in , wrings the neck of her doll and tells her to find out more about the pythogoreas theorem.Little Sachin loves driving his cycle around the colony streets.Enter sachin's mom.She bans the cycle.Orders him to read about the water cycle.

Its like if you are enjoying , if you are laughing , you are not making yourself into a breadwinner.The entire Indian society is designed to make enjoyment a very ridiculed thing ,just after Saurav Ganguly.

So Pappu , Pinki and Sachin grow up to be fine young men/women/whatever who think anything they enjoy is basically as useless as a porous condom.Success is not about enjoyment.Its about sweat , struggle , competition , hard work as hard as a steel condom.

And this makes success mutually exclusive with enjoyment.If you want success,dont waste time in enjoying.

Pappu , Pinki , Sachin all would die one day . Poof . Gone. Hey guys , you left your dollars , cars , mansions , flat screen televisions , microwave owens all behind down here.Do I call the Blue Dart guys to send all this up there ?

When it all has to end a day ,whats the point in living life so intensely ? Why take it so hard ? Why crib about your job , about a broken relation , about a wrong that has happened.By the way ,my computer seems to have got too slow these days.Fuck.Anyways.Life is not about living in the past or future.Live in the moment.

All of you will die .If you drink cheap wine or eat too much of fatty stuff , you will die soon.I would die too ( Daactar , main marna nahi chahta !!).And what am I waiting for ? For life to throw up something one day which will make me happy for long ?
I dont think life would do it.Theres nothing which can make anyone perenially happy.You get a big car , and you want a big car with automatic transmission, you get that , and you want a big car with automatic transamission and a CD player , you get that , and then you get real fat and the doctor advises you to cycle to work.Without generalising the "I want a car" funda ,desires would never end.And no outside thing can make you happy forever.So stop waiting you cribber.That moment you are waiting for would come and die down and you will set off in the pursuit of the next one.

And youll miss all the fun along the street and keep dreaming about the massage parlour at the end of the street.

Hey , just put on this number "piyu bole" from the movie parineeta.Nice little melody.Anyways.And I am downloading "harold n kumar went to white castle" , some kind of cross over flick.Lets see how it turns out.Back to the gyaan.

So lighten up.

Work hard but grab the fact that your happiness aint in any screwed 18 hour job or any moment you are waiting for.Your happiness is right here.Smile a little.Smell the roses.Smell my socks.

You think Im some spoilt and pampered and insensitive brat yet to face the hard spiky life ? You think I dont have any worries ? You think I dont have any bleeding memories ? have you ever heard of this deadly ailment - limphoosircoma of the intestine ? Though I am not suffering from this , I have my share of heartaches.I have probably a lot more pain in my ass and heart than most.But its when life threatens to screw you that you need to smile and laugh more.Its not like im puttin up a fake attitude when my insides wants to cry.

Im not escaping my pain , i have embraced it , understood it ,taken responsibility of it ,and left it behind.Being miserable is so easy.I refuse to be miserable and serious and intense.

Not that I dont have any skeletons in my cupboard.I have enough of them , im planning to donate about a dozen to medical schools in Bihar.But I know skeletons would keep running into my cupboard.If I have to be happy , its my job. I cant let life decide about my happiness.So if I keep waiting for reasons to be happy , I wont be happy.A light heart is not a by product of circumstances , its the best way to live when the circumstances wanna push you down.So I am happy.Without a reason.You too smile right this moment.Ouch !You got a real stupid smile.

Life should be cartoon film for me.Do I need to grow up ?

bakwaas while downloading...

Ye world hai na world , isme do tarah ke log hote hai , ek jo finance mein major karte hai, aur wo jo marketing mein major karte hain.

And I have decided to major in marketing.This is the week where we have to decide upon a lot of electives for our specialization in MBA.And marketing it is for me.Between , aint "chhup chhup ke" from Bunty and Babli a catchy song ? listening to it and loving it.Apologies to my side roomie , but I am turning up the volume.Oh yea , about the specialisation.I think I would prefer a marketing job to a finance one.I can stuff free detergents or wafer bags in my shirt while returning from a HLL or Lays office .Wat do I steal from a financial firm ? balance sheets ?So marketing it is.So if a couple of years later , your door bell rings just when the India needs 8 runs off the last three balls , and you open the door to find a guy selling aluminium foils with
extra freshness at very reasonable rates , don't smash his head with your baseball bat , it may be me.

The good part about being at the hostel is that even if you want to play Bappi Lahiri at 4 in the morning , nobody can hurt you provided your room door is bolted strongly from the inside.Hmm..even "Nach Baliye" from Bunty and Babli aint bad,a little more decibels wont kill anyone , ever heard of anyone dying of ear-drum attack ?

But know what , its real humid here at calcutta.I dont wear a shirt when I am at my room.Salmaan bhai zindabaad.Infact , ill take a bath after the download of "Kya Kool Hai Hum" completes.I saw "Devdaas" yesterday.Paro.Paro.Paro.Paro.Abe chuck Paro Shahrukh bhai.I feel Devdaas could have been saved had his home TV carried ESPN.Poor guy did not know how to pass time and then that nutty Chunnilaal gave him that Bagpiper bottle to make a complete nut out of him.Huh , look at this.man man man.DC posts "Silence is the wavelength of the soul".Just this.This is a complete post.And more than 15 comments.Is the entire world going spiritual save me ?Am I the only one listening to this stupid song "cheeky girls" while the rest of you are dipping yourselves in the books of OSHO and discussing social and other deep rooted issues ? I better change the song to a more respectable "chadti jawani-ketchup mix."

And I will take a bath now.Then I will catch up with "kya kool..." and then I have to go to the dinky shop opposite the campus main gate to get a SIM card.I must have lost 273 tablespoons of fluids just travelling to that damn shop from my room.That guy thinks I want to smuggle a nuclear missile to Saudi Arabia.He is asking for all kinds of documents except my death certificate.

By the ways , the good part about Calcutta is that the girls here a lot more decent and pleasant than those at Delhi.Like I went to a multiplex at Delhi just before getting back to Calcutta.Im not the one to "hang around" such places much ."Hang around", as the youngsters these days call it.I have never been to a discotheque , do not drink , do not smoke , don't have a girlfriend , don't like fast food.You get the idea.I am like an audio cassette in a CD case.Like a 1979 Ambassador on a road reserved for luxury cars.Like a pajamas clad guy in an Allen Solly showroom.

But I went to this multiplex.A lot of young girls around.High class girls.Sunglasses.Piercings.Colored hair.Looked like brand ambassadors for the Indian undergarment industry.It embarrased me to just look at them.Low waist jeans.The "chaddi" straps peeping out.Skin tight tops."not-so-innocent" one liners across the fronts.Smoking and drinking girls.Colored hair.I am told this is modernism.The bold and independent girl of today.

Men are bad.Real bad.Just spend half an hour in any Delhi market place and you would feel ashamed about the way women are treated by the Delhi men.But those multiplex girls make me ashamed too.

Wearing surface area challenged clothes which wud put most Indian Garment mills out of work is womanhood ? Showing off your underwear strap just because a certain "Dj doll" decides to let the nation know wat she wears beneath her knickers in a music video , is womanhood? Wearing a "if u got it - flaunt it " tee shirt is womanhood ? Drinking and lying to your parents about it is womanhood? Wearing tight clothes which show off your figure with geometrical precision is womanhood ?

Wearing a simple salwaar kameez but being proud of your womanhood is.Wearing thick glasses but not having to lie to your parents is.Tying hair in a plain "choti" but helping an old woman cross the road is.Being another Kalpana Chawla is.Having the courage to be what you are instead of trying to follow Kareena Kapoor is.Womanhood is not about flaunting your figure , its about having the heart of a woman.

I was really appalled at the ways of those girls at the multiplex in Delhi.They cant inspire shayars and ghazals anymore.Only music videos.

Maybe Im an MCP.Maybe Im too backward in my thoughts and to make matters worse , I have the IQ of your bellybutton.Maybe its global warming forcing those girls to show so much skin.But just tell me - What part of liberation of women is in low waist jeans and showing "chaddi" straps ?

Anyways , the download of "Kya Kool.." completes."Chhup Chhup ke" is playing again on the jukebox.Real cool song.Do check it out.If you like it , remember me when you are dying .If you find it pathetic , I dont care.So time for a "snaan" , or a bath for the linguistically challenged. So till next time , bbye , be good , do good , remember to zip up your pants before going out , and chew with your mouth closed.

The two golden hearts

Big tears.Not the drizzly ones which just make your cheeks wet below the eyes.But big tears which travelled along the cheeks in clearly defined streams , left the surface , dropped straight down and plopped down on the clean sparkling airport floor.My parent's tears.My sister's tears.Me too.But not before my parents and sister.I held the tears before I could turn down the security check counter where I was out of my family's view.I know I am being a little too sissy about my stay at home ending.But thats the way I am.I cry easily.

I left Delhi this morning and a couple of hours later ,landed safely , here at IIM calcutta to start upon my second and final year of M.B.A.

I have set up the room . The clothes have been shoved in the almirah.The curtains have been put up.The computer has been set up.And I have got this table fan which whirrs and throws pretty good air.Its just so good to have it in this stuffy heat of Calcutta.

But I'm missing my family now.Would be fine once the classes start from tommorrow.But not now. Really want to sneak into the kitchen at my home right now , and scare my mom by shouting in her ear.And then she would turn and say "munnu ! tu kisi din heart attack dilwayega mujhko! ".She always says this when I do such stupidities.What would my Dad be doing right now ? Maybe he would be reading the newspaper.I always want to read the newspapar when hez reading it.I pull the newspaper and he pulls it back.Then ma comes in to settle the issue and we divide the newspaper pages.Im happy with the sports page usually.And then my sister would come in and call me a lazy bum or something to that effect.I would call her a stupid girl and then she would say that getting into IIM has gone to my head.I was surprised to see her cry at the airport this morning.She rarely cries without my hitting her.

Why do I have to be away from them.Oh yea,this career's sake.So that I earn a lot of money and make them more comfortable and proud of their munnu.I understand.My being here is the best thing for our family.But for those of you who are with their parents , dont let the moment go unrespected and unrelished.Maybe its only when we move apart that we realise the value of being together.

A Family is the most natural blessing.Maybe we have become so used to a ma working in the kitchen , to a dad reading the newspaper , to a sister teasing us that we don't notice them anymore , and search outside for someone special, something special .But nothing can ever come close to the love your parents give you. I look at my right hand. This hand has been through quite a lot.This hand slapped a guy when I was in class 6 ,caressed a glittering trophy when I was adjudged the best student in class 11 , high fived other hands when we joked at the college hostel.

But still the most natural and loving thing this hand must have done is to curl around my ma's finger.

The love in a mother's heart.That cannot be found in any investment bank , in any dollar note , in any degree .We guys search the world for trophies and medals.But the best and most natural form of joy you can get is in feeling the unconditional love your parents can give you.You will always have to return to your parents to see that glitter of true love and caring in their eyes.You may sleep on huge beds with lavish furnishings in an air conditioned room.But the timeless feeling of relaxation , without any work or tasks to worry about , is when I place my head in ma's lap and she strokes my hair lightly.

Neend kahin bhi aa sakti hai , par araam to ma ki god mein hi milta hain.

Have you ever talked to your ma about the moment you took your first step ? The twinkle in her eyes , the soft excitement in her voice , the slight smile on her lips , recounting that moment after all these years is something else.Different that any other joy.Its like her soul is
completely immersed in the unbridled joy of the moment when you pressed your soft and tiny foot against the earth on your own , for the first time.

So just remember that somewhere , those two people , are still wishing for your happiness with all their hearts , and still waiting to stroke your hair with their now frailer hands , and still feeling joy at every smile of yours.

People , you may have created empires , businesses , nations but those two people have created life. They have created you .

Life may be about achieving huge targets , getting into IIMs , getting a job in New York , buying fast cars . But life is also about watching your ma fold clothes , about sneaking behind her and surprising her,about pulling your sister's ponytail , about making your family laugh by acting stupid , about helping dad in cleaning the car , about mom calling me and asking me not to run down the hostel stairs too fast.

Life is not about a few big moments , but a million small ones.

So please go out , win the world , be a famous man , but please don't ever forget to care for the two golden hearts of your ma and dad back home, beating just for you.

Treat boys and girls equally.Ladka ladki barabar hain.

A long time ago , people used to watch a channel called doordarshan.If you still watch this channel , please contact the Discovery Channel team.I hear they are making some kind of documentary on "eccentric personalities and their eccentric preferences" , and they will love to feature you.

And I have to tell you this.My home did not have a satellite cable connection till May 2004.I think cable TV entered indian lives sometime in early 1990s.But all the TV at my home carried till the summer of 2004 was doordarshan.Two channels.One.Two.And then back to one.Lets not get into the reasons.But the talk of the colony used to be Mrs.Malhotra's extra marital affair,the aggarwal family feud, and the absence of cable TV at our home.

This channel , doordarshan , ran a regular news bulletin. The news there was read by women as sexy as Uma Bharti and men ashot as a cold coffee.And that was typical doordarshan.Women as plain as they get.It usually ran movies from the 1970s and the 1960s.The ones which proudly attached a little "eastmancolor" under the movie name.So while my friends watched Shahrukh stammer his way to glory , I watched Dilip Kumar ride a "taanga" in "naya daur".While salmaan attempted to destroy the indian shirts industry by promoting a "say no to shirts" campaign, I watched Manoj Kumar lose his eyes , legs and arms in every second movie.And while Karishma Kapoor wiggled her butt to "sexy sexy sexy" before drooling husbands and angry wives in cinema halls , I watched a saree-clad , no-noodle-straps, yet radiant Waheeda Rehmaan.

But thats not the point.The point is the break between the news bulletin.The time when those government sponsored advetisements came on.Say NO to drugs.Say NO to drinking.Say NO to "kandom" less sex.And say NO to girl discrimination.It showed stuff like a girl saying "bapoooooo main padna chahti hoon " , "main apne feet pe stand karna chahti hoon" , "main daaactar banna chahti hoon".These advertisements ended with the girl smilimg and clutching her degree victoriously.And then the message flashed :

Stop discriminating between boys and girls.ladka ladki barabar hain.
Treat boys and girls equally.

And I plead with the world around me.Treat boys and girls equally.

Take away the huge advantage girls get at every step of life.

Stop this "man"handling of boys.Stop treating the "UNFAIR" sex ( thats boys ) unfairly. As a sidenote , an american boy's skin is as white as snow.A south Indian girl's may be more like coca cola's color.But shes still said to belong to the fairer sex.Anyways, Let me explain the ways boys are treated unfairly.

There may be villages called daaruhera and jharsa where men drink "desi" hooch till midnight, go home , and beat their wives till the wine shop reopens.But I have never been to that village and can only write about what I see.

Have you ever driven a blood red BMW at 160 kms per hour with the car stereo playing some altaf raja song ? Neither have I.Instead I have to use a combination of auto ride , bus ride and hitchhiking to get to home each evening.Talk about asking for a lift.I stand near a barber shop after a day of hard work with my sleeves rolled up and tie loosened.I stick up my thumb to every passing vehicle.I keep an expresssion as if my wife is to have a delivery in three minutes and I need a lift.Still I have to wait for almost half the duration of a soccer match before some guy on a shaky scooter decides to stop for me.

And then this girl walks up next to me and stands there before the barber shop , seeking a lift . And the next leather clad guy on his monster bike screeches to a halt almost grazing my toes , let the dust cloud settle , looks back at the girl and asks "need a lift ,miss ?".She leaves with the uzbekistan wrestler clone.And i keep on my "I need a lift" show running.

Scene moves to the DTC bus.I am a small guy.So a lot of girls are capable of mashing me and stuffing me to make a stuffed vagabond parantha.But still these broad shouldered , biceps flaunting girls have these ladies seats reserved snugly for them.I have to stand in the crowded bus and struggle to keep my nose away from the armpits of the guy to my left and to keepmy butt away from the "dance master"-ish gay looking guy on my right.

Now for the interviews.Me in a starched white shirt.Navy blue trousers.A necktie.I walk in.The interviewer looks like a cross between a crocodile and kadar khan.I hand in my certificate file.He hardly looks at them.How many types of fan regulators do you know about ? , he asks with a frown. But saaaar , I am a computer engineer , I protest.He looks at me like his cellphone has more grey cells than my head.Havent u studied electrical engineering in term 3 ? Now I cant tell him that I got 37% marks in electrical engineering and dont know much about a fan , forget its regulator.I am out before you can spell regulator.

The next candidate in is a girl.White starched salwaar kameez.Enchanting smile.Pretty eyes.Heavenly ears.Wonderful nose.Even the hair in her nose would have looked marvellous.She walks in.The crocodile-kadar khan cross looks at her and forgets about his overweight and loud wife.He smiles widely.She sits down.She hands him her file.He goes through it with the interest of a teenager going through a porn magazine for the first time.OHHH , you have learnt Bharatnatyam ?? !! Tell me about it , miss ! And the next10 minutesare about the "mudraas" and whatever ways they twist their bodies in Bharatnatyam.And then the interview ends.No fan regulators.She is selected.I get ready for some other crocodile clone some other day.

And the list is endless.I am running out of time so would have to stop my outpouring about the gut wrenching discriminationI as a boy have faced till now.But believe me , its for real.And getting really real by the day as I watch the world around me.By now , the women liberation movement supporter in you would be itching to send a mob of angry and agitated broad shouldered women to my place.I swear I have never been to Maharashtra.I swear I have not accepted a nickel from the RSS.Neither do Ikeep a passport sized picture of Bal Thackrey in my wallet.I dont even have a trishul hidden under my bed.So as I get ready to leave office now ,you guys just remember the Doordarshan advertisement.

Treat boys and girls equally.I have to go now.An hour and a half later ,I would be found standing before the barber shop , sticking my thumb, asking for a lift from passing scooters and mopeds, in this unfair world.

*****
And yea.My lovely sisterly angel (angelicsoulsback.blogspot.com) has got All india Rank 1 in the IIT master's entrance.And without any unfair advantage.A huge congrats to her !

Problem no .1

Some things are closer than they appear.Like Project deadlines.

My life has been buried under a lot of Microsoft Excel worksheets , calculations , figuring out PAT and EBITDA and such things.

By the way , EBITDA stands for Earnings before interest , tax , depreciation and amortization. Ah,the joy of showing off.

Anyways, this post is about a rather dark aspect of my life.Nah.I did not hide behind any bushes and watch any murder happen which still haunts me.Nor was i molested by my neighbourhood uncle who lured a six year old me into some kind of shady room by waving a cadbury eclairs.

Its about a much more realistic , yet hard hitting phenomenon.My name.You read it right.My name.

A-B-H-I-N-A-V.

It starts with an A .Good enough.But what is crucial is this 'B' right next to it.It effectively takes my name pretty high in the alphabetical order.And this can have more consequences than you know.

My parents did not seemingly think of the existence of a concept called "Roll numbers" when they named me.I was the Roll no 1 throughout my school and engineering college.Never did any aastha , aaditya , abhilasha walk into my life to take up the roll number 1 mantle.Abhisheks were aplenty.Not one Aamir.I dont blame my parents for naming me such.Only another roll no 1 could have imagined this.you need to be a "been there , done that" type to have this far sightedness.

In the examinations , I graced the front desk right under the invigilator's armpits . When almost the entire class passed slips ,verified answers upto three decimal places, and used answer chits stacked in their socks , sleeves and a lot of other places , i was subjected to the forced virtue of being a person of high moral standards who would never cheat.
Because When you are perched at the front of the row and havent got an idea what to write in the answer sheet , except for the name and date ,you cannot do much.The most I could do was to watch the teacher pick his nose standing alarmingly close.I wish my dad had been a great fan of zeenat aman.Maybe he would have named me zeenat in her honour.

Then there was this viva we had at school and college.I was the first one to present myself to the panel.The first one to enter the arena.All the eyes zoomed towards me as roll number 1 was called in to start the proceedings.I felt like I was entering a boxing ring with a "ear-hungry" mike tyson in there.

And at that time , the panel guys were as fresh as dew drops.But started off with the vigour of a viagra drunk bull seeing the first lad of the day.I always got the toughest questions.The freshest questions.And there was always this huge crowd of my classmates waiting outside when i finally escaped from the interview room. And they pounced on me asking things like the number of guys in the panel , if they were polite , if they gave me any clues about the answers.Now I know how the CBI chief feels when mobbed by a gang of journalists.

Even at the school assembly we had in the mornings.I was right at the front of the row.Facing the stage with the school principal and the vice principal and a few other frustrated men .They pulled me out if I had hair a little long .They said I was spoiling the decorum of the school by sporting unkempt hair on my head.While guys at the back with perfectly electrocuted hair styles were left untouched.And those boring speeches that were made at those assemblies.The guys at the back of the row yawned , scratched their heads , gawked at the girls while I listened to the principal muse about "corruption in society and what students can do about it."

Even the telecom revolution has added to it.Now as is expected , my name is usually the first name in the phone books of known ones.So sometimes , my number is dialed unintentionally/accidentally by them due to pressing of keys. Once the entire microprocessors lecture was beamed live to my home through the cellphone of a blissfully unaware classmate . Once this "unintentional dialing" happened when the other guy was with his girlfriend.I found out a lot that day.I still manage to blackmail him.

And this roll no. 1 thing somehow stuck to me.Few called me abhinav at school/college.I was jokingly called coolie no.1 , hero no.1 , aunty no.1 , khiladi no.1 , biwi no 1 and a lot other no.1's .Courtesy David Dhawan.

A guy even called me a McDowell.On further probing , i found McDowell had a punchline : mera No. 1 .

And how close I was to escaping this identity crisis.My granny had named me Kunal soon after my birth.Kunal.Starts with K.K of the ekta kapoor fame.But then they could not see a happy cuddly kunal and named him abhinav at a later stage.

But things are partially better now here at IIM Calcutta.the parents of one of my batchmates watched a little too much of "mahabhaarat" on doordarshan.Besides becoming a little more of couch potatoes , they got inspired by the episode with the "chkravyuh stunt" and named my batchmate Abhimanyu.So I am the roll no.2 here at IIM Calcutta.Who says doordarshan sucks ?

But I hope some good comes out of it.You can spare your kid this agony.In true sarkaari style : " Zara si saawdhaani , zindagi bhar asaani."

When you think of naming your little bundle of joy , just remember my story.Dont name him without knowing that one mistake ,and things can be a lot worse.Name him/her zaheer , zayed , zeenat , zaakir, zubeida.If you are running out of names.just name him a simple "ZEBRA".

Aamir Khan.Zebra Khan.I would prefer the latter any day.

P.G ; M.G

Don't you worry.Its just that MBA education puts you in the habit of complicating simple things by using scary abbreviations such as "P.G ; M.G " .This post is not about any economic models or corporate debts, rather its about grandmothers . So relax.

Now , as is somewhat obvious , my dad 's mother was my paternal grandmother , whom I shall abbreviate as P.G ( Daadi in Hindi).
And in keeping with my penchant for abbreviations , my mom's mom , or my maternal granny would be called M.G (Naani in Hindi).

Now , P.G 's dad was allegedly some pretty important guy who handled a lot of important legal stuff for some Raja Yashwant Rao Holkar ( i cant resist pronouncing that as "Khol Kar" ) .This holkar guy was a highly lazy and useless lad. So P.G's dad amassed a lot of wealth.He had a sprawling farm house with an artificial lake and real rabbits and ducks .He owned a couple of cinema halls which played black and white movies . And as is pretty obvious , his ego was as high as a eucalyptus tree.I have seen his photograph which hangs at my P.G's place. He looked grumpy , constipated and ready to whip out a hunter any moment. My dad recalls how he got mad when my dad , as a five year old , broke a flowerpot at his farm house .So that speaks fairly of P.G's dad attitude.

And my P.G ( daadi ) inherited her dad's ego along with his grumpy outlook . I am sorry to sound disrespectful , but this blog is the only place where I can be my disrespectful , unashamed , corrupt self , so kindly let me be. She had a ego huge enough to outweigh a blue whale and a jewellery collection huge enough to kill a blue whale under its weight.( Sidenote : I have nothing personal against blue whales). P.G had three sons , all of them had sound education . The eldest studied engineering at DCE , another at IIT Delhi and the youngest studied medicine at MAMC .Also , the youngest son grew up to be the father of a dashing and handsome boy .In other words ,he grew up to be my dad.But everytime I visited P.G's place , it sounded as silent as a monastery with the only talk being about education and our highly "respected" ancestory.

But if I felt P.G to be as dry as the Sahara desert , my M.G ( naani ) is the pacific ocean of "mamta and dulaar". Everytime I visit her , she feels I look as thin as some undernourished refugee from Somalia , even though in reality I am more like a burden on India's food reserves. She doesnt undertstand what an IIM is , but asks me about my studies with interest . She is too simple to understand what a cricket match is , but laughs to see me celebrating Sehwag's century. She is not educated at all , she doesnt know how to dial a telephone number , is embarassingly low on ego and religiously feeds "baajra" to sparrows every morning. At family gatherings , while P.G used to be surrounded by women in heavy silk sarees who looked like a walking jewellery store , M.G used to stand around shyly in her plain and ordinary cotton saree.

But both P.G and M.G taught me the same thing , in their own and disparate ways.

That before being a educated and rich person , try to be a good person. That more than the jewellery P.G wore , the cinema halls her family owned , the elephants who trumpeted at her "baraat" , I would fondly remember the stories M.G regaled me with , the way she exclaimed how thin I had become after the hostel stay , the compassion she treated even a street dog with .That its not about how much you own , but about how you make people feel.

And even though there is no point in writing what I would now , I would because I have to .I feel I have betrayed what my M.G stands for. All I want to be is someone who is more like my M.G .But after my breakup , there is one girl in this world for whom I am the most detested person . I have infused her heart with hatred and mistrust. Even though I never touched her , I feel I have violated her emotionally by making her dream the dreams I was too weak to turn into reality . And I don't want her to forgive me , because it is not her hate I detest. It is my own opinion of myself as a good human being which has degraded.More than for ending it , i am sorry for starting it at all . All I wish is that her hate is just against me , not against the concept of love , which may rob her of the love she may find from someone who is a better person than me .

Anyways , since this post has been a lot about grand "motherly" antics , I would take your leave with a "motherly " piece of prose , to be found below.

Once a pretty girl was happily drinking a coke in a restaurant when a cockroach comes out of the bottle of the coke.She screams and is about to squash the cockroach....
Cockroach : " No mom !!! dont kill me !"
Girl : "Bloody cockroach !!!! how did you imagine me to be your mommy ??"
Cockroach : " Kyunki main tumhari " Kokh " se nikla hoon "

Watching my life

Once upon a time , I was 7 years old.Then one day , I turned 8 years old . My folks hung balloons and ribbons all around the house.Uncles with their hanging bellies and aunties with their hanging jewelleries came down in large numbers.They looked at me , ruffled my hair which irritatated me a lot and said the same old "rishtedaari" special pleasantries.( kitna bada ho gaya hai munnu ! chota sa tha jab last dekha tha ..godi mein susu karta tha).As if they did their respective "susu" at the White House when they were kids.

Anyways , these guys kept giggling , ate a lot of food and forced me to perform a modern day "mujra" wherein I was made to sing n dance to "papa kehte hai bada naam karega..." along with my pesky cousins . Though with my front two teeth missing at that time , I may have looked a shade less charming than Aamir Khan .Anyways , it was a very soul disturbing experience for me and I almost sued the guests for child exploitation.

But when these guys left , they left behind some good stuff too along with the dirty utensils : the birthday gifts. And one of the gifts was this boardgame called LIFE.For those of you who are not aware about it , you got a better option than bathing in the sea of ignorance , go to this link :http://boardgamecentral.com/games/life.html.

So what happenned in this game was that you were allotted a coloured piece which travelled along a curvy path on the board .The number of slots he moved ahead depended on the roll of a wheel ,like the ones they have in those kathmandu casinos. You moved along the board doing all the life stuff , becoming a doctor , engineer ,gangster etc etc ; marrying , divorcing , raising kids ,taking bank loans , buying houses , you even got this salary via a toy version of the american currency. I recall trying to sneak a few extra notes frm the box while my sister was rolling the wheel.

Lately I have started viewing my actual life as just a bigger version of this game.I am just a piece like that in the game , whos just rolling along the boardgame of life. The difference being that on which slot I land aint exactly decided by a rolling wheel, but largely by my choice and effort..And just like the game , one day god will decide hes had enuf fun with this guy , and would pick me off the board n toss in the box .And all the currency notes , bank loans , the houses I won during the game , would remain back on the board , to be played with by the other guys.

And this makes me view my life in a rather dis-engaged way.I dont exactly go gaga with my so called achievements,which anyways can be counted on the fingers of a man with a missing hand. And neither do I plunge to the depths of despair with my failures and problems , which can be counted on more than the fingers of your hands , toes and the rest of your body. Its like nothing in this world seems to affect me too much.Its like I dont know what I want to achieve , what I want to possess.

I feel like a toddler who has been left to play on the floor of bombay stock exchange.I see people yelling , excited , angry , racing to get somewhere and wonder whats it all about . Sometimes I feel I want to earn a lot of money and spend my life with angelina jolie on my left arm and jenny lopez on the right , and swap their places after every 30 minutes.Then I feel i want to spend my life in my room with the AC on , munching on tomato flavored wafers and watching espn and AXN and star movies,and that too on a flat plasma screen TV. A little later , I see my life's purpose in setting up some NGO and serving the needy. What do i want out of life ? Is there any purpose at all of this entire life thing or are we just trying to have a good time pass ? Have all you guys figured out what you want in life ?