First Year of College: A rewind

I got done with my Semester 2 exams just yesterday and that marks the end of my first year in college. I'm amazed and stunned at how fast the year zipped by and this post is just a rewind that highlights the most memorable moments. While morning lectures would invariably lull us to sleep and compulsory film screenings were a constant reason for us to cringe, there were reasons to celebrate and have a hearty laugh.

I remember joining college a little late, I clearly remember the sight of a small group of immaculately dressed girls indulging in a merry conversation early in the morning, as I entered. I was slightly amused and mildly intimidated at the quickness with which they'd seemed to have formed a group. Little did I know that a few of them would go on to become some of my closest friends over the year. Cut to the first teacher who took our lectures that day, she'd taken the roll call that clearly didn't feature my name. I went to her and thankfully she seemed to know about me, the HoD had apparently informed her. I was petrified at the prospect of having this stern looking woman as my coordinator, once again, I didn't have the faintest clue that months later she'd go on to become one of my favourite teachers ever, who'd change the way I looked at most things. The first day was also when I met my Twitter friend (For 3 years) R, who happens to be my senior in college.

Smash cut to a few months later by when I'd gotten used to the afternoon train rides and the bus rides to the station. The bus was where my friend P and I had bonded. Funnily we'd bonded over Rajnikanth and Tamil films in general. Through P I'd met A, with whom I share a common love for acting and Bollywood. Monsoons from Room 31 were beautiful. Through our capacious windows I would be stunned gaping at the feisty deluge pattering down on the beautiful pink walls of the college.

For some bizarre reason we'd been shifted to room 33 and that's where I got to interact with more people. The class having individual benches allowed more people to sit beside you and that's where K and I got along. What started off as fellow Potterhead conversations transcended into gossip sessions where we'd gladly bitch about everything and anything. 

On the day of the US election results, we'd gone for an event hosted by the US consulate at Hard Rock Cafe which was another occasion for getting to know a few of my seniors and my own classmates much better. While the whole world was startled by the sweeping, unprecedented win by Trump, we simply clicked pictures and braced ourselves for an entertaining political discourse ahead. 

December was gruelling owing to semester exams. However, studying those subjects was more fun than tedious. Semester 2, I must say had a better assortment of subjects and some fun projects too. My favourite being the Media Psychology project where P and I had to watch Hindi, Tamil and Telugu daily soaps and analyse them. While the shows were dreadful it was fun to crib. We also happened to make a comic strip that I'm immensely proud of. (Though I have no clue of whether my teacher understood it or whether she gave us any marks *Fingers Crossed* )

Cut to waiting at the bus stop with K for the luxuriant AC BEST bus to take back home. It was always a reason for us to celebrate when it'd turn up. Its sight of it's large purple body, silently crawling up the road would set our hearts racing with glee. 

February marked the farewell of our seniors for which K, myself and another friend A, strung a bunch of songs together. Practice for the performance was thoroughly entertaining as we'd crowd at K's house and create a near ruckus. However the appreciation we received was worth every bit of the sore guitar-mangled hands and dead voices.

Jump Cut to March end where we had our Semester 2 exams at the absurd hour of 3 PM. Most of us would arrive at 2 and curse and repent for all the dawdling we'd done earlier. While we'd all try to show off what we'd read, there'd always be something that we'd have left out. Caught in a state of panic and anxiety we'd still manage to sweat our way through the exam in the sultry summer afternoon and somehow, in the blink of an eye, it all seems to have come to an end. 

Lectures are painful, no doubt. Some teachers are incredibly cumbersome to deal with, but this one year shall be special for me, thanks to my lovely and incredibly supportive friends and some incredible teachers. While the not-so-pleasant results come out on the 4th of next month, it's going to be another two months before the grind begins once again. What I'd have never fathomed saying while at school, I say now; I will miss being away from college for two whole months. Nevertheless, goodness knows what's in store next year so I might as well enjoy myself now. 

Fade to, my maddening, seemingly irritating but wonderful batch of FYBMM. 

Confessions of a hygiene freak

Being paranoid abount hygiene isn't very pleasant, particularly in a country like ours where roads are every now and then spewing out sewer water, where public bathroom knobs are fondled by a 100 dirty hands everyday and where every roadside delicacy is enchanced by the sweet taste of it's maker's sweat. Life for a hygiene obsessed person is hard, very hard.

People often confuse a hygiene freak as a snob. NO.
My friends are very kind, despite my stubborn refusal they always offer me these seemingly sumptuous delicacies. Let me be honest, those oil drenched jelebis and crisp samosas make my heart rumble with cravings but then my stupid mind voice kicks in and menacingly propagates thoughts like, 'guess where those fingers were before the dough of the samsosa was rolled, have you seen the amount of hair the bald frankie wala had on his hands? Where does all of it go? Don't you remember the video you'd seen where a bare slab of ice was dragged on the road, that is exactly what goes into that milkshake looks so tempting.'

On other days, the food is really well made, with almost ISO Certified levels of hygiene. But then, my hands are never clean. I cannot fathom eating with hands that haven't been frothed by the lather of a proper hand wash. (No, I don't trust bar soaps and santitizers). I'm baffled beyond my wits when I see people in trains (after running their palms over numerous germ-infested railings and handles) casually eating sandwiches. But then I realise a majority of people do so, myself, being the 'weird minority'.
My kind friends who always offer me, are well versed with my 'unclean hands fix' and very benignly offer to feed me. I truly appreciate their affection, but no. You my friend haven't washed your hand either. I saw you tying your laces just a few minutes before you set your hands on that wonderful Veg Roll, I saw you pet a stray dog in the morning, which is cute, no doubt; but the Ms. Paranoid about hygiene in me gets frenzied at the thought of it and thus I must decline your offer.
On days when I don't have access to soap or worse even santitizer it's a nightmare. I grab the food item by the tip of my fingers trying to minimize the radius of contact on the food item and shove it into my mouth as fast as I can (Resorting to the highly unreliable 5 second rule).

No I am not here trying to remark on other people's standards of hygiene. I'm not trying to impose upon anyone my obsession, neither am I stopping anyone from gorging onto those lovely street chats. I am merely trying to give you an insight of what it is to be this 'bizzare minority in a country full of foodies'. Ps. I am a foodie, but a selective one.

One last thing, NEVER confuse a hygiene freak with a cleanliness freak. They are not the same. Like the former holds true for me but I don't give a damn about cleanliness. I am very much comfortable sitting in a room full of littered papers as long as my hands are clean before a food particle makes it's way through my mouth. 

Why I love Navratri.

Navratri is undoubtedly my favourite festival. There's something magically merry & powerful about this festival that keeps me in high spirits. We do something called as a 'Kolu' (or Golu as some may call it. SouthIndians have perpetually been confused about the 'K' and 'G' usage). Which simply put, is an assortment of figurines placed in a staircase arrangement. That, probably sounds terribly drab; but trust me it's beautiful.

In the earlier days, families would gather stools, books, writing pads, tables and every possible household item with a flat base and create steps to place these dolls/figurines. Thankfully, now realising how lazy the generation has become, shopkeepers sell 'Stands' meant exclusively for this.
Oh! and these stands can later be converted into shelves. #DoubleWin
But that too, is no cake walk. These stands have to be assembled. There is a vast amount of engineering, analysis and bouts of hand-hammering that goes into coupling the right parts together (Not as easy as Lego, my friend).

Post that, the steps have to be draped (This step is optional, though recommended). At our place, crisp, white dhotis are pulled out, sewn together and pinned carefully so as to cascade down the steps.
Then old crates and boxes are opened, a whiff of ensuing dust is hauled in and then the clay figurines are carefully unwrapped. This step fills my heart with boundless joy. I can't put to words the excitement that brims within as each figurine is unwrapped. Painted in bright hues, each figurine appears to have a story to tell.

So what exactly are these figurines? You might ask. They're clay dolls of literally everything under the sun; like anything! The Dashavtar set, the 8 Lakshmis, A Music Concert, A dance show, A wedding, A cricket match, A park with cows dawdling around and what not! (Barbies & Kens can also feature, just saying)
As the dolls are unwrapped, they are then arranged with their respective sets (Note: Individual dolls are also there).
So all the 10 Vishnus are huddled together, The dancers are placed in their formations, the stage is set and the musicians are seated for their concert and there is a mini-movie that runs behind these seemingly still figures.

I love the way the aroma of the incense stick hangs in the air, I love the sound of the bell ringing as the Pooja is done and not to forget, I gorge onto the 'sundals' with utmost elation. I swear I could sit for hours together staring at the figurines as the decorative fairy lights flicker gallantly. In my head, the figurine of Krishna on a tree, is not a work of clay moulded into a mythological character, instead is the story of a young boy who swooned every living creature in his world with the euphony of his flute. In my head, I can hear his flute lilting in the air, I can sense the magic he casts on the people and cattle nearby and I delve into his world at the blink of an eye.

These 10 days make me feel blessed, blessed thinking about the remarkable gift of culture we've all inherited, from our communities in the form of a multitude of festivals. As I end this blog, sharing a picture of this year's Kolu.

The Spiritual Saga

I'm a moderately pious person. I am someone who firmly advocates the existence of god. However, I'm not an entirely religious person (Except when situations turn very shitty, ahem). Which led me into discovering the three stages of your relationship with God.

Stage 1: Before the task happens

So before you embark on a new task, journey or beginning; most of us Indians are told to pray. Beginnings, being awfully deceptive darlings, are usually positive. Most of us humans, wallow under a simulation of positivity and optimism. At least for me, I'm lured into believing that God is by my side and is in his highest spirits to bless me with all goodness. Sometimes, when I'm skeptical about god's commitment, I also try to bribe him by promising him, what we commonly call as a 'mannat'.

Stage 2: When the task happens

1. Either it goes well, in this case, bingo. You are happy, God seems happy and everything seems fine.
2. Here's the messy situation. What you'd hoped would happen, goes askew. You are frightfully miffed/depressed/lost/sullen (Depending on your character). Initially you blame yourself or some other human bait, you'd choose to put the blame on. As time passes, you get tired of holding yourself responsible and shove the blame on fate and then finally God. Isn't he the only mute spectator who pitifully and unquestioningly takes up the fury of human anger? Haven't we always been told that God shall always look after his devotees? Didn't we embark on this journey, cajoled into believing that God was going to sort things eventually?

Things turn sullen and you feel cheated. You feel terribly let down by God. You now act like a rebel. You refuse to look at his pictures/idols. You spit nasty words when someone tells you, your behaviour towards god is 'morally wrong'.

Stage 3: After the task happens

It's been days; You haven't been talking to God, God apparently hates you, but in reality, you are just as miserable as you were earlier. Things haven't turned sunny, you're probably still lamenting about the tragedy in your life. This is when 'Renaissance' happens. 

You feel helpless, nothing is working out right, you carefully walk up to god when no one's around. A mind voice says, 'he's the only resort'. You feel slightly abashed, but isn't God, gracious and all forgiving? 

You mend your ties with God, hoping he'll be nicer to you this time. Once again, brimming with Spiritual Positivity you take on life, hoping and waiting for a miracle. 

mAD-MISSIONS

I've written an olio of exams, ranging from design to engineering, economics to psychology and finally media studies. Though I've always been clear about my lack of interest in studying most of the above mentioned courses, I ended up giving all of them, *For Fun*

हम भी Artist

Writing the design exam was a clear example of me succumbing to friend-spiration. Being a newly launched exam, I saw most of my folks giving it; and particularly since I presumptuously prided my art skills too much, I decided to give it. Ironically the design exam never asked us to draw, much to my disdain and now I suppose the outcome can be plausibly comprehended. 

मेरा Badass Moment

Writing engineering entrance exams were the best. 'I-IT, N-IT, SH-IT' 

I'd study one day before the exam, and when I say study, I'd open my crisp and printing-press fresh coaching class books and wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed on and slogged like the others. There's a nano-second of regret, I wont deny; but then it's quickly overshadowed by the cloud of my big dreams, for which, I'd dropped the plan in the first case. Rummaging for books, I'd eventually find something more interesting, from the treasures of my cupboard to fancy my thoughts with. 

So, the next day, I'd walk into the hall with nothing, but a pen. (Not even a spare, because... well, engineering exams were my stage to feel badass) I'd get a sadistic pleasure in seeing serious aspirants burying their faces into fat Sharmas and Vermas and I'd torment them with a nonchalant smiles. I'd write the exam, with whatever little knowledge that I'd retained after the boards and pride myself in being the first to complete the exam in the centre. ( At least first in something! #WIN )

With nothing to lose, I'd walk out like a hero; in my head a glorious background music plays, my hair flies, there is an inexplainable joy that pounds, I hear the worried chatter of serious aspirants discussing the answers and I smirk. A friend of mine, asks me what i'd done for a particular question. I shrug my shoulders (rather foolishly, now I think ) but in my head it's a character defining moment, a mind voice says, 'Worried little JEE aspirants, this ain't my race. A, B, C or D... Means nothing to me.' 

Sincere Last Minute Efforts.

For most of the media studies entrances (Probably the only entrance I'd given sincerely) I needed GK. As a regular and diligent reader of Bombay Times, my GK skills needed MILD brushing up. So I bought a book, a non-intimidating 200 paged book on GK; that I believed would equip me well enough for the entrances I'd have to give. As I flipped through the pages, I stared in disbelief at the ocean of names and dates, ministers and ministries, places and awards, inventors and inventions, largest this, longest that and the sprawling world of GK that I was supposed to learn for ONE exam? My friend and I still tried. We spent our evenings at a park, discussing Presidents and CEOs, capitals and new policies, for two whole weeks. But I think it was a stroke of tragedy that none of the things we'd studied ever came in the exam. 

Nevertheless as the college admission mayhem nears an end, I feel it's been a mad, mad journey, with bouts of tumult, mild let downs and unforeseen surprises. 

Cheers to new beginnings. 

Breaking down the process of writing a bad paper.

The internet has a plethora of articles on how to write an excellent paper, but i'm here to explain you the process of writing a bad, an awfully bad paper.

Step 1 : Optimism is the way of life
In the reading time, it's likely that you'll cast your eyes over a bunch of wretched questions that will get you worked up. But, you tell yourself to be optimistic and cajole yourself that somehow, the moment you run your pen over the answer key the answer will miraculously occur to you.

Step 2 : Confronting the Question
After solving the first few questions the much dreaded question appears. You read it once, it makes no sense. You read it again, this time delving into your brain much deeper to figure if you've ever done that question; some bygone day, some bygone year or some bygone birth. Chances are that your brain returns with 0 results.
You still decide to keep your confidence and optimism intact.

Step 3 : Moving on
You move on, deciding not to waste too much time on that question. Something tells you that once you finish all the questions you know well, you can think freely and crack it. At this point, optimism seems shaky but there is no choice but to be positive.

Step 4 : Denial
You finish most of the other questions you know and now you're left with no choice but to finally confront the sore thumbs. You check the amount of marks those questions carry and get a little shaken up. You think of the consequences,
100 - 12
No! actually 100 - 16, but then 16 sounds terrible so you tell yourself *Steps ke liye marks mil jayenge* and come back to -12.
You read the question for the umpteenth time hoping the neurons in your brain will suddenly spark up and tell you the solution; but seldom do miracles like that happen.

Step 5 : Telling yourself you're a brave warrior.
You seem to be nowhere close to a solution, your emotions range from self-hatred to self-sympathy and immense rage against the board, the teachers and this seemingly diabolical world, cussing your ill-luck and slow brain you realize time's running out. Fear grips you, the panic alarms of your body whine loudly.
You lift your pen.
You write a word, you realize the word too less for a 6 mark answer.
You write a sentence, by framing that word into a sentence with some flamboyant use of english language.
You re-read it and realize that it is a piece of crap.
You feel like bashing yourself with your dirty shoes, for that answer.
You know it's wrong. You know, aint nobody giving you marks for that crap you've written.
You still think something is better than nothing. And pray for a miracle.

Above all, You feel grateful that the examiner will never come to know who's brainchild that wondrous piece of shit it is.

Dedicated to my nightmarish maths paper.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

Salute to the smart ones

Some cliches never die, one of them is the *Science is for the smart ones and Commerce is for the dumb ones* theory. Lately I've been hearing a lot of jokes being cracked on the commerce students and this thought suddenly struck me.

Firstly, content wise both of them are equally tough, tedious, senseless and super boring. Yet, science becomes more taxing when students decide to screw their lives by joining coaching classes. Coaching classes that mercilessly poison people's minds against each other; simulate friends into deadly competitors who ought to be defeated… Barring that, I very strongly feel that those who take commerce are the ones with real guts. Especially in an engineer loving and favouring country like ours where every uncle and every aunty has a special corner for engineers, students who take commerce are the ones who are brave. Brave enough to not do what everyone does, because it is apparently the most *safe option*. 

This post is meant and targeted at those who take up a particular stream not out of interest but out of stupidity. Indeed, it's the student's prerogative to take up what he desires… But yet, every one, literally everyone; values a bespectacled geeky engineer more than anyone else. 

As a person who is swirling and stuck in this tornado of science, I cannot supress my deepest admiration for the smart bunch of commerce students who sit in the class next to mine. Trust me, most of them are way more braver and smarter than any science student, because they dare to challenge the stereotype that has infected our citizen's minds and also because they haven't commited the gravest mistake of taking science. 

Salute to all the commerce and humanities students.

Sincerely,

A not so smart one.

The Gift - Short Story

For all those who've been asking; here's the story that got selected for the Regional Workshop of 'The creative writing search for excellence' conducted by Katha.

It was a hot summer afternoon, the place was buzzing with screams and laughter from a mob of vacation charged kids and frenzied parents who ran after them. The giant wheel slowly creeped into the blue sky and the roller coaster had just then plunged down from its 50 ft. high ascent that it had attained seconds ago. Near the large sized merry go round, Devrath a young man in his 20s saw a woman. Her features could not been seen for she had her back facing towards him. He was a few feet away from her, but he could distinctly hear her conversation with the security guard in spite of all the noise around him. “I promise, just one ride! Please!” she pleaded. “Madam, what is this, are you out of your mind? This is for children below the age of ten,” he explained. Dev rolled his eyes towards the merry go round. It was painted in vibrant red and blue hues with tiny horses arranged at different levels. It looked adorable, but he; in no way wanted to get on it and neither could he understand why the woman was so bent on having a ride on it. “I swear I’ll give you 100 bucks. It wont break I guarantee. Just one ride! Please!” Dev went forward to see who this woman was. Crouching behind the vacant candyfloss stall, he could now make out her face. She had an olive skin and she was svelte and tall. He tried assuming how much she’d weigh, just so that the ride wouldn’t break. She couldn’t have weighed more than 55 he concluded. She made a beseeching look at the guard and finally got to get on the ride. The guard shook with fear and walked around timidly hoping that his senior authorities wouldn’t see what he’d just done. Dev looked at the woman who had very happily seated herself on the highest horse available. Behind her were tiny kids who couldn’t have been more than 7. As the ride began, Dev could see her face beaming with joy. Her eyes twinkled with childlike innocence as she let her arms wide open and allowed the wind lap at her face. Dev could no longer control his inquisitiveness, as the woman hopped down from the ride and thanked the guard, Dev ran after her and said, “Excuse me!” The woman turned back and looked at him and mouthed, “me?” “Um, yes. Uh- would you mind if I’d ask why you were so desperate to get onto that ride?” he asked. She made a poker face and then said, “Do I know you?” Dev’s face sulked at that remark, wasn’t that what every woman asked? “Uh-no, just that I was very intrigued by your enthusiasm to get on that ride. I mean it’s a kid’s ride and you must definitely be above 20 if I aint mistaken.” He said. “Look here, I really don’t know who you are and I don’t see why I must answer your question; but since you asked, I did that for someone.” She said and looked at him. “Now if you excuse me.” She said, and walked away. “Strange…” He muttered as he stood at the ticket counter buying tickets for himself and his gang of 5 colleagues who had come to the amusement park to watch a 4 – D film. Watching the film he’d forgotten about the woman and life ceased to go on the same path it was headed initially. It had been two months since he’d seen the woman and obviously he had other important work to do than thinking of her, she had then slowly faded into some corner of his mind; until he saw her again. It was two in the afternoon and it was pouring. Dev had come out for his post-lunch tea break and had forgotten his umbrella. Having no option, he decided to wait under the tea stall. “One samosa please.” He’d asked. He looked around; in spite of the deluge the city seemed alive. The blaring horns had now blended with the gush of the rains and he could feel the city pulsating with energy. He sat on one of the rickety old wooden benches with a black cat for company when he saw this woman, with her hands stretched wide apart, gladly getting drenched in the rain. “What is with this woman?” he wondered. She spun around like a little child and jumped across the puddles and then ran into the teashop. “Brother, one piping hot ginger tea for me! And make it sweet.” She added. She sat beside Dev and wiped her head with a tiny handkerchief. “Hi.” Blurted Dev. “Do I know you?” she asked. “This is exactly what you had asked me the last time we’d met.” He said with a smile. She looked away and then suddenly said, “You’re the guy from the amusement park.” He nodded. “I’m Dev” “Nitya.” She said. “You work here?” she asked. “Yeah, I work as a journalist with India Now. And you?” He said. “I used to be a teacher. Had to discontinue it due to some health issues.” He looked at her sympathetically and she let out a sneeze. He asked. “ Do you mind if I’d ask you what drives you to do all these crazy things? Look you’ve got yourself a cold,” he said. There was a long pause. The girl, whom Dev now knew as Nitya threw the cup and sat back, the rain had intensified and cold breeze tickled Dev’s cheeks. “I’ve undergone an organ transplant; the donor was a 10 year old… These were her wishes. So, I just felt that, if I could fulfill these little wishes of the girl; I’d feel good.” She said, in a low voice. “I have an umbrella. I can drop you if you want.” She said. Dev nodded. They walked for a few minutes and the awkwardness grew greater. To break the silence Nitya asked, “Do you have any siblings?” “A sister.” He said. “Oh! What does she do?” “I don’t know.” She stopped. “What do you mean by I don’t know?” “It’s been 4 years since I’ve seen them.” He said. “Why?” “Same old story. Family against my wishes, I ditched them. Came here. They never bothered to find out how I was or anything; why must I?” he asked. “Are you mad? They’re your family you idiot. You cannot be so stupid. I talk to my family literally four times everyday. Dev, I know this is personal but; what you are doing is absurd.” She suggested. Dev cut her short by saying, “It’s here. I should go. Thank you for dropping me till here.” Dev went back to his cubicle and appeared restless. His deepest fears, his biggest weakness had now been rekindled by this woman whom he hardly knew. He had to face it and the only way to do that was by going back. He walked into the same gully where he’d had a taste of some of his sweetest childhood memories. Four years had passed and the banyan tree still looked the same, wise and strong.There were no new houses and neither had the old ones upgraded themselves. He took the first left and walked into the house where two coconut trees sprang into the crimson red evening sky. Through the gate he could catch a glimpse of the window that opened into their dining room. He clutched onto the gate and gazed into the water pipe. Here was where his sister and he would have their water fights. “Father… Mother… Sister…” he thought. He heard some hushed voices coming from his house and saw someone walk through the main door. It was the girl again. She looked forlorn and in her hands she carried a huge square shaped parcel wrapped in white. “Nitya.” He said, amused. Nitya’s expression was pale. “What happened?” he asked, getting a bit restless. The sun was about to set and the moon could now be faintly seen. There was an eerie silence as all the birds had now retreated into their nests. Dev stared at her expectantly. Nitya took a deep breath and after a long pregnant pause she said, “One of the wishes of the girl was to gift her brother a self painted picture.” Dev was perplexed and fearful. Nitya handed him the painting and said, “Four years is a long time, doesn’t matter anyway; this is yours. Take care.” She said, and gave him a solicitous hug. As she walked away, the lights in the house were switched on. Dev could see a grim bespectacled man and a woman in her mid forties wiping her tears. His parents. He ran in, and hugged them tight. The stars twinkled bright in the sky and the nocturnal kings had now taken over the land, once again the place was buzzing with life.

As blank as a white sheet of paper.

Dear Coaching classes,

Thank you for making weekends the most dreaded days of the week,
Thank you for reminding me everyday how dim witted I can be.
Thank you for teaching me how to stay awake even when the professor begins with his lullaby; oops,  I mean lectures.

I feel clean and fresh every time I set into your altar, not fresh as a flower but as fresh and new as a blank sheet of paper that has been drawn out of a printer. Through the class I continue to remain in that slate of blankness (Thanks to Newton and Inertia, which makes it so hard to snap out of my present state) and by the end of the class I feel i've survived an hour long dose of the Indian daily soaps.

As your professors dictate me laws and theorems, my eyelids slowly begin to tumble down and I clench my jaws to suppress the yawn of boredom that awaits its escape from this dreariness. And as I try to emerge as a victor in this biological battle between the body and mind, I realise I've missed out on the crux of the chapter; that one germ of a concept out of which, all those complex, nightmarish problems stem from.

My only companion through these moments of vain, is my darling watch. The watch that always tells me the truth. No matter how bitter it might be, I glance at my watch every 10th minute and sigh in disdain; but the watch whispers back that "This too shall pass" I hold on and occasionally look up but your blocks of physics always slide down my frictionless pages even before I can register what I hear.

Your professors drip with dialogues from 3 Idiots and have a *VIRUS* engraved in each one of them. They voice, or rather petrify us with their constant threats that even a day's backlog will end us being trampled by "All of India's frenzied IIT aspirants" and if that is supposed to motivate us by any chance, I swear you are mistaken; my friend.

I've overcome the sadness and boredom is one last thing I must conquer before I attain the ultimate peaks of resistance and maybe then, resonance. As much as I loathe ruining my Fridays confined in your depressing four walls, I know that the end should be worth it. I still enjoy the half an hour breaks between your horrible three hours of gobbledegook and I shall continue making visits to you; until well, we reach the tipping point.  

Yours unaffectionately

Not another IIT aspirant.                             

To be happy

Over the past few months, ever since my tryst with science began; i've been going through this inner tumult and I happened to stumble upon some really deep and wise realisations… I decided to word one of them, which i've titled as 'To be happy'

We are all very different humans, with different likes, dislikes, priorities, aspirations and weaknesses. But end of the day, we are all sad souls; because trust me, no one is happy. It has often occured to me  that life/god is being unfair and shoving all the sadness only on me. But that is where we all go wrong, god is fair. God gifts us troubles and problems in boxes of the same size, same volume, same price and same quality; just that he wraps them differently.

The poor labourer, who might be working on some building might be dying for money, on the contrary the stinking rich businessman, who travels in an Audi everday might have some other issue that is giving him sleepless nights. But once again, we all have something that still makes us want to hold on. We all have problems that are very different, but life also offers everyone something special, something beautiful to hold on to. It's only when we turn a blind eye to these lovely things does the sadness quotient take over the happiness quotient.

If you are sad, trust me every one else is also going through something which is very similar to your situation. Our priorities are different, which makes it appear as if the other man's troubles are easier than ours but no, that is never true.

A happy man is the one who doesn't allow this worm of sadness to dig into his apple of happiness.
Happiness is all in the mind. Not everyone can do this, if you've been able to; I salute you. {P.S: I still haven't} but what's the harm in trying?

Results ^_^

Since childhood, I was always fascinated by board exams, more importantly results. In our country at least, board exam results are like the official certification for one's academic intelligence because people don't care to bother about what the kid has been doing all his life… Every year there would be some wonder kid in the family, completely unheard of (possibly because he/she was so into books) who would amaze everyone with breath taking percentages.

Like every human being, I too am greedy. I too wanted to be one of them. When we dream we dream only about the good things. I thought it would be pleasurable to study at night for hours together under the glare of the study lamp, glancing at the beautiful moon once in a while and what not. But when my turn came, I realised how I resented staying up at night in the company of my books… And the moon? The moon turned into 'blue moon', that had absconded from the cacophony of the concrete jungle.

Nevertheless I managed to survive all of that, wrote my board exams and waited for my results. Rumours sparked regarding the announcement of results, each one with a different date. I tried imagining how I'd feel on the day my results would be out, how pangs of anxiety and nervousness would pinch me from the inside. Surrpisingly none of that happened.

I was in one of my finest moods, watching my favourite film for the umpteenth time, things couldn't have been better; when my cousin texted me asking for my results. I very innocently explained that the results weren't out yet and that it would have been some cheap prank played by someone…; he insisted me to check. I was baffled, pausing the movie; I logged into the site and typed in my roll number… There it was! The prize of the sacrifices I'd made. The times I'd chosen to be in the company of books rather than TV had paid off.

I dont know if I am the wonder kid. I've realised that it doesn't matter any way. The excitement has died out for me; but I know this little achievement of mine is something I can always cherish. This personal satisfaction that i've gained is worth it all. But like someone said 'success is not permanent and failure is not fatal it is the courage to continue that counts'

I now have bigger problems to deal with, scarier sums to solve and annoyingly bigger sacrifices to make… But it goes on. Hasn't it always been that way?

Sailing across the ocean of science

I've been attending some coaching class or the other, effectively for the past 3 years. As a girl who used to boast of a tuition-free childhood, I'm now shunting between school, tuitions and coaching classes every day. There is nothing remarkable about it, sadly; because it's not just my sad story; it's what nearly science student goes through.

School, is the regular old school, infested with some no-nonsense teachers, some naively straight teachers… basically a myriad of men and women, who in spite of their best efforts fail to get my attention. Tuitions are possibly the only time when i actually pay attention and something actually gets into my head.

Now I come to the coaching classes. This is the toughest and the most dreary part of the day. Spanning over three long hours; I sit, trying hard, like, really hard to get stuff into my head. Shamelessly, I ask the silliest questions to ward off even the slightest speck of iffyness in my head but all goes in vain when I'm confronted with a "problem" as they say. One tiny problem that ideally should trigger a spark in my nerves and come up with the answer, instead, it lies there; on that white sheet of paper idly staring back at me. While I try to use my brains the fellow boys in my class who are enviably intelligent blurt out the answer and I sit there; staring stupidly, with my mouth wide open with awe.

It's going to be like this for the next two years, no doubt. It's going to be hell like, tormenting and what not. I will be a body on the earth which will be subjected to forces more than just gravitational force. But even though this 'problem' wont leave, comfort is always available. As spiteful as it may sound, I feel comforted when my friends fail to understand the theory I clearly suck at; the fact that we're all on the same boat really helps me in sailing through this ocean of science; the waves that swept me off my sweet life till grade 10, but hopefully the waves and mother nature will be nice enough to sail me through safely and quickly to the shore.

Been there, Done that.

I've blogged enough about exams but this one needed a special mention. The Boards, the much hyped about boards have finally ended. I've been there, done that and all i've got to say is that it was great fun! I don't think i've enjoyed writing some exam so much. In spite of all the nerve-wrecking tension and baseless fears; that I did go through, it was brilliant fun. The experience was thoroughly worth going through. 

I remember the day before the first exam I was hardly myself. Repeating the same maths problem for the umpteenth time and calming myself down with Katy Perry on the other side, I was scared; Scared is an understatement. I must say I was drowning in the ocean of fears for no reason. The next morning was even worse, in fact I was so scared that I have no memories of what I'd done that day. I must have mechanically gotten into my uniform and revised my formulas one last time.

Reaching the center I was petrified and honestly, I didn't want to meet my two supremely intelligent friends fearing that they'd just further scare the hell out of me. But I cannot thank them enough for bearing the brunt of my imbecility, but they were no less. In fact there were just one or two placid souls otherwise everyone else was the same.

The answer sheets were given and the-already-tensed-me, was becoming restless minute by minute. The much-awaited question paper was in my hands. I flipped through the pages, things seemed okay, in control. The moment i started with the paper all the dunning inner voices seemed to have calmed down. 

Through out the exam, 1 O' clock was my favourite time, around this time I'd ideally be done with the paper and I would be checking it; when the sound of the hymn from some nearby mosque would resonate within the exam hall. I loved that moment. It was both enchanting and soothing. At about 1:20 the warning bell would go off and I would go through the "Last 10 minutes trauma" ( You can read that post here : http://www.mewondermi.blogspot.in/2013/08/the-final-ten-minutes.html )

Over the past two months ever since I'd begun with my preparation for these boards, I've been through a myriad of emotions. Much more than what Karan Johar would have ever squeezed into his films; I've been through the conventional ones like anger, sadness and joy and a much of unconventional ones like regret, pangs of envy, guilt (When i'd possibly give in to my T.V cravings) and what not!

Writing a board is different from writing just another exam and in spite of the entire system of boards being made 'optional' by the Board; I feel this experience is surreal yet worth going through. 

Just another 10th grader.

Dear Uncles and Aunties, Friends and Foes,

It's not easy being in grade 10. Admit it, there are enough chapters and innumerable theories and dates to bombard our so called "tender" minds. But it's really not worth the hype. It's just another class… okay, a slightly important one… But, seriously why are we 10th graders constantly reminded about the deadly "boards". It's scary, scary not because it's "The Board Exam" but because of so much excitement it brings within our friends and family members both, near and the distant ones too.

The scary question: question of the year, "Which class are you in बेटा?" "Tenth" I answer meekly. The next moment I confront a bunch of curious eyes; armed with an eerie concern eyeing me like I'm some alien from Neptune!

It's annoying when some bygone uncle of mine, who hardly knows my name asks me when my boards are. Seriously? What are you going to do by even knowing when they are? Are you going to sit beside me, prepared with all answers and help me out on that day? I myself am clueless about when they are going to be held.

Humans are painfully inquisitive creatures, hungry to dig out matters out of their relevance radar. So please, even if you are genuinely concerned about your some distant niece or nephew of yours, who is in the 10th or for that matter, the 12th. Please don't petrify the poor kid by constantly reminding him that "The boards are here." and stop making him feel miserable by saying that "THIS IS IT. THIS IS DO OR DIE."

Bless us, that is the best thing you can do. Leave the rest to us. Stop preaching us on how important they are or how crucial that one exam is; because whatever it is, your genuine concern or "poking your nose attitude" it isn't really helping. Well-wishers please, continue saying, "best of luck" and let's hope for the best.

Thankyou,

Just another 10th grader. 

A thriller, you and I already know.

Some of you might think I need to be rushed to some lunatic asylum, however; there is something so exciting about these exams, that no matter how much I hate them; Somewhere, I do enjoy them. Especially the part after exams, when the teacher comes in with the corrected answer sheets. That is the moment she appears like god to me, she contains those answer-sheets; "my answersheet", that is priceless than any elixir especially since my marks at the mercy of her pen. It's that moment when all feelings start overcrowding in your mind, fighting with each other to establish their domination. A good paper welcomes desperateness, eagerness and the same time a little fear of getting a nasty shock. A bad paper calls for depression, sadness and yet a bleak flame of hope. When I'm 2 roll numbers away , everything around me goes silent. I jostle pass a mob of happy and sad students. For me everything at that moment is alive yet eerily dead. 

When the roll call starts, I can feel myself trembling with fear. I try not to look around; because that makes me feel even worse. When my fellow toppers are up with very good marks, I feel the pressure over me, that I too need to score and the fear of I being the only one with bad marks starts taunting me. Seeing the good ones with bad marks, leaves me pale with fear; "if they've scored so bad, what's going to happen to me?" Either ways I'm traumatized, so I keep my head down and simply pray. 

The teacher calls out my roll number. My face by then is as tiny as a dried tomato. I look at the teacher first, before looking at my marks. At that moment it feels as if the entire atmosphere is collapsing over my little head. Then I glance at my paper. Here there are 2 things that can happen:

My prediction comes true. I get what I expected. Then the blow or the happiness is moderate. Possibly because I'm mentally prepared for it. 

Sometimes, the prediction goes wrong and turns out to be either terribly vile or an unbelievably sweet surprise. In this case I'm too shocked to react. Terrible marks make me feel as if someone punched me while I was having a good dream. Amazing marks... I guess that can be understood. 

 Whatever the marks are, they need to be accepted. No matter what they are, I try not to make a fuss out of it, unlike a few people who annoy me with their narcissistic talks or bore me with their teary-eyed drama. Once the paper is in your hands, the suspense is out, the thriller film like aura ends; either its is 'paisa vasool' (A good paper) or shamelessly pathetic (a bad paper). Money spent is spent (that is; paper written is written; now nothing can be done), so there is no point in cribbing. The trick is to not let one good paper or a bad paper affect you in anyway. So many exams are to be written, so many are to be passed; afterall, what can one goddamned exam do? 

The Final Ten Minutes

Studying for exams is undoubtedly a nudnik... Writing an exam is even worse...

But do you know what the worst part is?

The last ten minutes of the exam. 

The ten minutes when it is the question of do or die; where at one side the monotonous drone of the invigilator creepily echoes in your mind and on the other hand there is a piercing desperateness to know whether the page-long anwers you've written on the answer scripts are right or not.

The real challenge is not in studying for the exams, it is in surviving these ten minutes. Lately, I've been observing my fellow students while writing the exam. At one corner I see a person biting his nails frantically, shaking his legs vigorously, glancing at the watch that is mercilessly ticking away and racking his brains on some seemingly hostile question. On the other end I see a few sleepy-heads effortlessly sleeping and some quick ones waiting to just get rid of the paper as soon as possible; not to mention the helpless ones looking around for stray answers to copy from. And there somewhere at the back I see my brilliant friends flipping through their answer scripts for the millionth time, hunting like a hungry eagle for any mistakes. 

The last 10 minutes of an exam is that time when you either regret not having studied or regret that you'd finished your paper so fast and begin doubting your own answers or maybe if you're lucky you don't regret at all...

No matter how tough the exam is, surviving the last ten minutes is the toughest thing, at least for me and that moment when I hand over my answer script to the invigilator the happiness that rushes through my blood is something which cannot be over-powered even by a depressingly disastrous paper.

And then, then is the time when the brilliant student of the class would deliberately be asking everyone some answer which he definitely knows is correct, just for the sake of showing off; and at the same time, the less intelligent at academics are morose and regretful and some happy go lucky faces are gladly rejoicing the the freedom attained after 3 hours of nerve-wrecking brain storming.

However, no matter how bad your exam was, there is always something to be happy about, and that is...the fact That it is finally over. (At least for a while)

The painful reality

Just a few days ago I took part in a singing reality show's auditions with absolutely no intentions or goals. For me it was meant to be just sheer time pass. I had randomly registered, with no hopes of my number even making it through the lottery system. Well, surprisingly it did and indeed I was glad as well as excited.

Informed just two days before the auditions I decided to not waste much time on song selection and zeroed down on one song. 

Firstly: How can you pick genuine talent by lottery? 

Secondly why do you inform just two days before the actual event? 

Okay, the above questions can be undermined. 

Reaching the venue before the assigned time, I saw hardly two people outside the gate. I assumed that the previous batch was already inside and concluded that once they were done I would be next.  But no, upon asking the guard for the actual location he told me to keep walking and so I did and oh lord! The queue was like almost half a kilometer long. By the time I took my place in the queue, I felt as if I had successfully caught a glimpse of Lord Balaji at Tirupati and I could see the queue extending behind me  like a monkey's tail. So the next two hours were spent on the road waiting for the hideous queue to move. 

Question, Why do they have to make us stand in the scorching sun instead why can't they collect the crowd in one covered place?

However at early morning, fueled by enthusiasm I didn't mind it. 

Then finally, I attained moksha from the roadside business and got into the venue. I expected the crowd to proceed fast with all the form fillings and stuff as they show on the television but no, this was the part where all the TRP interviews were being done. I passed by a young lad, who was speaking in front of the camera as if he had learnt history by-heart. Impassive yet with no flaws. And for me it was, 45 mins of boredom. 

Question, Why do they have to hold the entire line for some TRP recordings? Can't they do it elsewhere? 

Then came the third phase that is no where near exit. The queue had refused to move into the stadium where the registration forms were being given out. Yet the place was well sheathed by the trees and hence, it wasn't as annoying as the previous one. Here another 45-50 minutes were spent.

and finally when we were let into the stadium; I was shocked, right in the scorching early afternoon sun there were three narrow rows where all of us had to squeeze in. This was one of the most pathetically organized zone. With aunties jostling past me and their flamboyant umbrella's missing my eye by centimeters this place was hell and this hell lasted for about an hour. 

Question; don't the organizers have enough money to make arrangements for a covered area for people to stand? 

Then finally the forms were given out to be filled, and let me tell you this phase was no less taxing. Post  the form filling gala, the crew members made us sit like jokers at one side of the stadium and this is where the drama begins. 

So basically the channel had to shoot some video and we were the background who had to put in fake smiles and "oohs and aahs" (Which of course I refrained from doing so) So for this one shoot two hours were wasted. And look at the annoying part, the participants were DICTATED to raise their hands, wear smiles and look as if they were having the time of their lives. The entire batch that was sent in was put on hold! Imagine getting delayed by 2 hours. 

Question: I am not telling you to stop your TRP stuff but why use us as the decoy? We are here to sing NOT to act.

By this time people began revolting and finally their shooting was wrapped up and the names were announced for the final phase. By this time I'd lost my enthusiasm, eagerness to sing and my voice (because of the sand that kept rolling around) All I wanted, was a nice shower and some food. To hell with singing, I wanted to go home.

So, trust me, you may be a very gifted person, capable of getting all awards... If you are looking for a platform for showcasing it, let these reality shows be your last option. Unless you genuinely have the inner matter in you to bear with the tortures mentioned above.

They say reality is not easy, but reality shows are painful. Hats off to genuine winners, if at all, there are any!

Priceless

This morning was unusually strange. I woke up to realize that i don't have the burden of exams on my shoulders (At least for some time :P ) . I realized that I wouldn't have to begin my day sulking at the mere sight of books. Books? What are books? It's really strange! I've got so used to waking up and sticking to my books that I feel a slight pinch of guilt as I face my computer screen; that probably I'm just wasting my time. But no... This is actually the much awaited time.

But the uniqueness of this time is only because of the unanimously abhored exams. Ever since this academic year has commenced, my little brain has had a tough time juggling and balancing; the tedious theorems of maths and Newton's laws, remembering the bygone dreary day when the great emperor of China entered this world and the length of the various rivers that flow arond the world and creating poems in proper Hindi to uncoding the perplexing patterns of mental ability; but it's because of these tough times that this short break feels so good. It's the feeling you get when you take a sip of icy cold water after a tiring hard run.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

Exams are hell. Most would agree but at the same time, this phase... Once the nasty exams end, once the academic session finally comes to an end (Yet there are many more to go), this phase where time spawns like an endless sea, where boredom sets in, I like it :) I like this feeling, when I am aimlessly gazing at the ceiling, observing the constant drone of the ceiling fan, frequently checking my phone hoping for some messages and constantly cribbing for little eats.

The funny part is while studying, I sensed my old classics calling me, my computer dreamyly mumbling my name, my television wailing as I parted away from it when my little 'breaks' would end but now it seems like none of them is actually bothered. I'm fed up of books, the networking sites are spammed with people and their incoherent pictures and the television has justified its title 'idiot box'. But that's okay. Probably somewhere inside I do miss studying and sweating over science and maths but the fun of being a free bird is priceless. Ofcourse the old life shall soon commence in a few days but till then - this is my time... :)

:) :P :D XD

:) (That's a big smile) :D (This one is even bigger) XD (This is ultimate)

These emoticons have honestly changed the way we express our thoughts. It's simple, to write as well as understand. Today, languages like English cannot be considered universal, it is these emoticons. With the press of 'Control' and 'a colon' followed by a bracket; brings in a wide smile on our face. You may speak Latin or German or even French but no language is so universal that even an illiterate old man  from a remote village can understand.

Behind this :) may be a bald uncle you might have mocked at.
behind this :D may be a pretty girl you'd have had a crush on.
:P May instantly make you realize a bygone prank played by you and your brother on some person.

But it doesn't matter who is behind these funny little faces, all that matters is that they make you smile, cry... You can connect to them. Age, Color, Gender, status all fade behind these Universal Messengers that unite humans as one. You may be pretty, you may not, but for these carriers of emotions it doesn't really matter.

I love these tiny smilies and :Ps they make me feel acknowledged and loved. A dull two lettered 'hi' is transformed into a more awaited and elated 'hi', 'how are you' with a :) becomes a much concerned and genuine question...
So my conclusion would be: :) use this more often because it really makes a big difference. 

"My son/daughter is a post-graduate."

Three Idiots preaches, "Life is a race! तेज  नहीं  भागोगे तो कोई तुम्हे कुचल के आगे निकल जायेगा"
And that is true... At least for the current flock of Indian masterminds.

No matter how much the education system may boast of making education in India stress-free, it has increased the amount of stress a poor kid is being subjected to. I've heard stories of students racking their tiny brains, burning the midnight oil and trying their best to get into the Master and Dictator of Indian prodigies, 'IIT.' I don't mean to offend anyone with that dream, it is definitely something to desire for, but not if it is for the sake for getting into some big-multinational company and owning a posh car...

I'm against that. I know, what ever I do shall be something that I love. I don't believe in studying something just for the sake of some flauntable, safe, future career option... Not for the sake of getting  into a 6-9 job, in front of a desktop, getting a regular monthly salary. Most of the people who take up engineering (largely) are those who are hardly interested in science. What's the whole point of studying day and night, spending two years of one's life trying to crack some examination for the sake of getting into a safe job? Foreseeing the future is none of our business. We could probably take a precautionary measure but I strongly feel life is enjoyable only when it has it's own twists and turns.

Life is like a movie, it is a known fact that a person who has never seen failure doesn't realize the happiness that one gets when he rises from the ashes like a phoenix. Life is memorable only when it is topped with ups and downs, twists and surprises, hopelessness and confidence.

One must study what ever he wants to, for the sake of self-satisfaction and not for anybody or anything else. The education system is getting tighter and tighter, the competition is increasing, I don't know why... Is it because of the evolving technology that turns an ordinary toddler into a Newton, solving complex calculus problems, or is it self-realisation that makes a person work harder. In the past, education was to pass 12th grade, that was normal, a decent amount of education. Then it was raised to graduation... where everyone was hellbent to boast that his/her son was a lawyer, doctor, engineer... Now a post graduate is desired and I wonder what the children and grandchildren of my generation would have to go through to be regarded as people with decent education.

Children attend coaching classes from the tender age of 12, probably in the future this will be lowered to 6. I wont be surprised if I see tiny kids proceeding towards coaching classes instead of giggling and feasting on chocolates and enjoying the most memorable and beautiful phase of life, 'childhood.'

Do, do what you want to do. Do it for the sake of love, not for materialistic betterment.