Lucy says

I love this room.All this dirt. All these dirty plates still lying here.I love this room.I bet this is the dirtiest place within a radius of 1.42 kilometers , as there is a public toilet at a distance of 1.42 kilometers.My cousion julie stays there.But I stay here , W 204 , Boys hostel , IIM C.Oh , did I intoduce myself ? I am Lucy .A fly .I share the room with Abhinav.If you think I am too insignificant , you have never had a fly entering your nose.

My parents are at Delhi.No siblings.Family planning .That too without condoms.Ever seen a condom for a fly ? My dad and mom are based at the dustbin of a fast food center at Delhi.Pretty posh area.But I am worried .All that fast food is doing a lot of harm to their weights.The last time I flew back to Delhi , mom looked so fat , I thought it was a frog.And to think she was once the most pretty fly around , all the frogs and cockroaches and flies of the area used to stand outside our dustbin to catch a glimpse of mom.Mom says once a dog proposed to her .My dad , unfortunately , cant move.It was a terrible mid air collision with our neighbour Ms.Jenny the honeybee.My dad lost three legs.So he just lies bent at home and writes poetry with his remaining limbs...I really miss my family ,but have to be here at IIM C for my degree in Garbage management.

Abhinav's cellphone is ringing now.This guy sleeps , and a Tata sumo runs over him , and he will sit up , look around with half opened eyes , yawn , and go back to sleep.Oh , thank god , he is moving now.Yeah , got the phone.

"Uhmm..Hullo...yeah....mommy...yeah..had my breakfast..hmm..uh ?...we had ..dosas for breakfast today...yeah..masala...masala dosas...yeah..ye..with the sambar ...yeah mom yeah..the chutney tooo maaa...yeah...........huh ..nah nah im here..ye I had breakfast ma , I had it...ohkkk...yeah i did not ..did not have the breakfast..ok , I will eat something now..yeah...bbye..yeah i WILL eat mummy ..bye".

This guy never learns.He still doesnt know how to balance a balance sheet.and still doesnt know how to lie to his mommy. Now he sees the clock.He looks at the hands of the clock .His sleepy eyes open up and his eyeballs shoot out to a distance of two feets outside his face.He has missed the 'strategic management' class yet again.Imagine you are a british white guy.Your white wife is in undergoing her delivery in the hospital room , while you wait outside , anxiously.After a lot of waiting , the doctor breezes out all excited , and yells "twin boys !".You let out a chuckle and run inside.twin boys.One negro.The other chinese.The expression on the husband's face.Thats the expression on Abhinav's face now.His class attendance records are getting to be so low , they are almost underground.And he is as related to studies as you are to Brad Pitt.I bet his professors will be cutting out big thermocol F's to stick on his grade sheets.

But the poor guy is not to be blamed for this kumbhkaran-sque sleep.After all , he was involved in a brainstorming session till late last night.A couple of his group members had came over.They were supposed to prepare a presentation on sports utility vehicles segment of the Indian Industry.As I perched comfortably on the bookrack and eyed the boys ( now I am a girl too ) , the one in the maroon shorts and flourescent yellow Tee shirt settled at the computer and gawked at the priyanka chopra wallpaper .Now you have not read psychology.But you dont need to.Three guys.1 in the morning.Boys hostel.If you expect them to talk about vehicles instead of girls , you might as well expect ostriches to speak in hindi and Monica Lewinsky to marry Manmohan Singh .So they got into talking about girls.They argued passionately and came to the conclusion that the girls at IIM calcutta were as pretty as 83 year old women , except one , who was chosen to be as pretty as a 76 year old woman with warts.

Now he has dozed off again.Today is friday.He has the "services marketing" class in some time.I hope someone rings his cell and wakes him up.Even an Airtel executive calling him up about the chance to dine with Sachin Tendulkar would be appreciated by me.He needs to wake up now.

But before you think those guys stopped at girls , nah.Its an IIM after all.They did get onto the sports utility vehicles(SUV) project.After some three minutes , they decided the problem with SUVs in india was their high prices.The trio of budding managers decided to suggest changes to bring down the prices of a SUV .Replace the engine with a Bajaj Chetak scooter's.Replace the seats with wooden ones.Make it a pedal driven thing , with the passengers hitting the pedals to drive the vehicle.Take off the roof.Take away the flashy headlights and put two candles on the bonnet to help night driving.

I am sorry , but I can not take this any more.He has to wake up now.No phones , no one knocking.I will have to get into action now.Mom says no one can keep sleeping with a fly in his ear.I am all set to find out if its true.

****

This is for "her".If you read this , just drop a comment.I can't reach you.Just let me know that you are safe in all these floods....Damn. Lucy ! Get out of my ear now!

------

Added later :

Everybody says I am not fine.But why I am feeling fine :

1."She" is fine .

2.My dear sis Angel just left a comment on my blog proclaiming the return of the queen.

3.Lucy is out of my ear.I have promised her to get up on time from now on.

4.I presented the SUV presentation earlier in the day ( yeh , we have classes on sundays).My group has been awarded an A+ , the highest grade anyone can get.Its like a monkey getting to kiss Aishwarya.Obviously , we left out the pedals and candles ideas.

A little bit of sunshine

A recent edition of "The Week" carried an article about MBAs.It said that a 1993 IIM passout commanded an average annual salary of 50 lakhs in 2003.

My sister read this article at her college Library.She gasped , quickly got up from the desk , ran out of the Library , took out her cellphone and dialled mom's number with trembling fingers. "Ma , Munnu is going to get a minimum of 50 lakhs per year in 2016.".The details of the sensational week article were duly passed on to ma.Ma dropped the plate carrying the potatoes she was peeling , dropped the kitchen knife she was peeling the potatoes with and stagerred to the nearest chair.After downing a bottle of Bisleri , or maybe it was Aquafina , she called Dad at the hospital.My dad dropped the scissors in the tummy of the guy he was operating on , did a little jig to the tune of "Dil le gyi" by Jassi , and yelled "my son will be rich" so loudly that the window glasses of buildings within a radius of 4.23 kilometers of the hospital cracked.

I hope that was exciting enough.Now picture the exact opposite of this.It was me who read the article .Later , when I was talking to mom on the phone , I remarked about the sultan-of-brunei-sque sum of 50 lakhs to mom .I am not sure if mom even heard it , because she immediately proceeded to ask about the stuff I had in the evening snacks.I paused , and then said sandwiches.Then she warned me against skipping dinner.This is what really happenned.

My family is a "small dreams" family.And this has been inherited by me.My idea of a perfect day at the age of 50 is taking out my cute little wife and two cute-er and little-er kids to a comedy movie , laugh a lot with them , throw popcorn at people , sing loudly with the songs in the movie , then go to a little cosy restaurent for dinner , spill a lot of food , laugh a lot , drop things in each other's glasses when they aint looking , and then sneak home without paying the bill.I do not know if I will get that "potato-dropping-window -glass-shattering" salary , and to be as honest as a lie detector machine , I do not care.

Being in an IIM assures me that I will attain a minimum standard of financial status , that I would not need to sell my wife's "mangalsootra" and my daughter's barbie collection to buy dinner.So though I have not "earned" a cent in my life yet , though I did steal a pencilbox in class fourth , if we can call that "earning" something , money is no more a motive in my life.I am intent on loving what I do .And money will come by as a by product as fleas come by with a stray dog.

All I want is a nice and simple life.Where nobody cries much , and even if they do , there are always people to offer a nice smelling handkerchief.And it is this simplicity and innocence which the world seems to be losing.Looks like a little dream of an innocent smile is becoming too much to ask for.

A 13 year old girl was raped yesterday in the Salt Lake area of Calcutta.Raped before her parents ,by four men.She was the daughter of a domestic help.She went to school , class VIII.Maybe she would have had dinner a few hours before being raped.Maybe her mother would have prepared her favorite dish as dinner.She would have enjoyed eating it , then maybe she would have studied a little.Studied some english lesson maybe.Then her mother would have finished the household chores and mother and daughter would have chatted.Chatted about her classes at school that day , imitating with glee the strange pronunciation of her south indian Maths teacher , expressing her difficulty with Physics to her illiterate mother , maybe asking her mother to get a new pair of socks the next day.A normal girl , maybe like my sister would have been at 13.Then she would have slept.

And at 4 in the morning , four men drag her out of bed , push her to the floor , and rape her brutally as her gagged and tied mother and father watch helplessly.Watch their little girl undergo something she is too young to understand.They watch all the moments , the moment their daughter took her first step , the moment she stepped into her school for the first time , the moment she made her first "chappati" , the moment she used her pocket money to buy flowers on her mother's birthday , they watch all these moments heartlessly trampled by four men.

Is it foolish to dream and hope in such a world ? I say this to myself and my friends , but is life really beautiful ? All I want is a life bathed in a little bit of sunshine , but is the darkness too much ?

Short Circuit

Clunk.The pebble hits the steely body of the electricity pole.I have hit the pole 2 times out of 5.Adi has hit 3 out of 5 times.Dhania has it none out of 5.Hitting a non-curvy , non-sexy and cold electric pole is all we guys can do waiting for Bus No.764 outside our Engineering college at Dwarka , Delhi.Its been more than 25 minutes and not a single 764 has come this way.The three of us look at a guy zoom past on a red bike and send up a fast prayer wishing a massive puncture hits both its tyres.And just as we see nothing happening and him zooming out of sight , we see this camel cart coming our way.The camel cart is this wooden thing being pulled by a camel , coincidentally. We look at each other and solemnly nod in unison.Right.We are getting on this thing.We thrust out our arms . The rajasthaani turbaned guy who sits behind the constipated looking camel , nods his big head which is an invitation which says - on this auspicious occasion of you three fools not finding a bus to get on and not having bikes to ride on , run along and jump onto my deluxe camel cart.Dhania runs on , throws his bag onto the wooden floor of the cart and effortlessly hauls himself onto the ambling cart.Adi next.On in a flash.I gallop in , throw my bag and Dhania grabs it.Without breaking the momentum , I place my hands on the wood and leap.Uggh.I land back on the road as the wooden floor proves a little too high.No problems.Here I come again.whoooo.Shit.Just a little more and I would have been on our camel coach this time.Adi and dhania are beginning to giggle by now.I am starting to laugh sheepishly by now.I run in , grab adi's outstretched arm and make this gravity defying leap , and collapse laughing onto a laughing Adi and dhania, finally onto the cart.We three laugh , the rajashtani cart wallah laughs , we look at the camel tail swiping flies off its bottom and laugh some more.

This incident from my engineering days is just one of the reminders of a fact which stays with me all through the day.I am a short boy.I am short.( To be read with the intensity and solemnity of "Rahul , I am pregnant" ).

When I walk down the street , old women drop their shopping bags in horror and shriek "eeeks , what happenned to you , you are so short !". Tourists want to get their photographs clicked with me and go back to Bhutan and Sri Lanka and show their wives how they found a strangely short boy in India.Old men stop me and ask if some sort of surgery can help me.

Ok.Relax.The last paragraph is a victim of exaggeration.But I am short.I barely reach 5 ' 4" - 5' 5".Some names are just so readymade for me.People have been calling me "Chotu" , "Bacchu" , "Little Wonder" ,"Pocket transistor", ever since I crawled out in this world.Though my personal favourite is "Short circuit".It has an electric feel to it.

When I was a little kid , or rather a "little-er" kid at school , I used to get angry when anyone used to tease me.I used to plan things like pushing the tall bully off the school roof during the games period.I used to dream of drinking buckets of complan and growing up to be a seven feet giant who can call the rest of the world a world of pocket transistor sized people.But as I grew up , or rather did not grew up much , I knew this world will always be a world of big surround sound theatre systems rather than transistors to me.And I thought , I cant survive like this.Feeling small all through the day , seething with anger at the bullies and meanies who used to tease me.I can not hate myself , I have to spend a lifetime with myself.I had to accept that i am short but not inferior.I am just different.And I learnt the most important art which still makes my life blissful - I learnt to laugh at myself.Not the lack of self esteem , but a meeting with the reality and getting rid of any false egos.I learnt to laugh at myself.And I realised that most of times when we fuel our egos to lose our peace of mind .

And everytime the giant aussies put their hands together to applaud as a sweat soaked 5'4" Sachin runs in to complete his century , I wink to myself. When a tiny Rajpaal Yadav draws cheers from the audience in a packed cinema hall , I wink to myself. And when the IIM C bunch popularly voted me as the "Johnny Lever of IIM C" at the diwali night function last year, I winked to myself.I lost on height.Maybe no girl will want to marry me.Maybe all my life I will be teased.Maybe I will have trouble jumping onto a camel cart.

But all my life , I know I will never take myself seriously and all my life , I will laugh at myself and at this amusingly ego infested world .I can laugh at myself , and that minimises my ego and reminds me of how amusing this life is.What seemed like a forced compromise has turned out to be an entirely different viewpoint .What seemed a physical lacking , has turned out to be an education in attitude.

And its not that bad.My parents needed just one shopping spree to buy me clothes for a couple of years as I drank complan and yelled happily "look ma , I am not growing ! The pants we bought last year still fit perfectly".My little bed saves the forests by needing less wood.I can slip behind the tables and doze well concealed during the classes .I need less time to bend down and tie my shoe laces.The top of my head is farther from the sun than most guys and that keeps me so cool during summers.Yeah I can only watch in awe as the rest of the guys play basketball , but then jesus never said one needs to play basketball to die happily.

Oooh la la ! Its AB baby.

If I would have been a girl , I would have had this huge-as-a-dinosaur crush on Abhishek Bacchan right now.Maybe this statement is a temporary side effect of just having finished watching "Sarkaar".Brooding eyes.The dark looks.The unshaved half beard.I am not gay.I am not gay.I am not gay.

The night canteen guy still hasnt delivered the maggi I ordered some two hours ago.I am feeling so hungry.Another fifteen minutes and I will eat this keyboard and the mouse pad.And while I am at it , I will eat the guy in the room opposite to mine.The punk has put on some real loud music.He should revise his civic sense lessons which taught how disturbing playing loud rock at 2.30 in the morning can be.I like to keep it real soft at night.With the lights switched off and the room bolted from inside , listening to Jagjeet Singh is as blissful as downing a two litre bottle of chilled coke after staying buried for three days in the sands of Sahara Desert.

The day started with a little 9/11 level shock.Nidhi decides to close down her blog ,screamed the headlines on NDTV ....can't you guys handle a little exaggeration ? I saw this offliner from her telling me that.Now hers was one place which was really as clean as a 5 start hotel's washbasin,as innocent as a four month old baby and dripping with good thoughts.I understand why Nidhi , who is like a sister to me , did that.

And i chatted with "her" after a long time.Not Nidhi , but the "mysterious girl" who keeps cropping up in my posts with the regularity of commercial breaks in a TV serial. After all the turmoil both of us have been through , it was good to come across as two normal 'friends' again.I did not feel any mental knots in there.I just wish she stays happy and gets what she want.If given a choice , I would do my best to compensate for the few big tears i gave her , by giving her a million little smiles , even if only as a friend. I have learnt how painful it is to cause someone tears .Though I did not touch her , the emotional chaos was too much for both of us.God , please let this be the first and last time I hurt someone.And please let her be the happiest girl in her district.Or atleast colony.

"Anyone with The legend of Bhagat Singh - Ajay Devgan walee ?". This message flashes on the institute message broadcasting system running on my computer.Almost three in the morning and guys asking for a months old movie starring a dark ugly guy as the hero.IIM education can tamper with a lot of sensibilities.

Anyways , I am feeling sleepy .But trying to get into bed implies another 7-8 minutes of physical activity as my bed seems like three hurricanes have tore through it.Maybe four.A table fan , a lot of dirty clothes , a lot of books and notes lie scattered seducingly across my bed.Hmm.And tomorrow is sunday.A class at 2 and the rest of the day is as free as a toothbrush free with a toothpaste.Maybe I can catch up with another movie tomorrow.Some Abhishek Bacchan movie.I am not gay.I am not gay.I am not gay.

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

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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.