MISS J….. (from the archives)

Author’s Note: Well, I know this one is hell similar to aru’s recent post about antz…….still bear wid me…..as for aru, b4 filing a plagiarism case, just consider that I am ready to pay royalty…so all comments (I mean brickbats, dats all wat I get….) on this post are dedicated to u….nd a treat at KNAGS promised…………………..

As I entered my room last afternoon after another gruelling session of four block lectures (I slept through most of them inspite of Kundu’s “hunkaars” and BSP’s bherification of the hard “diks”. I don’t have a grudge against block lectures as such but just that you have to change your sleeping position every hour. can’t they place all the four lectures in the same room. I tell you guya, IIT management sucks….) followed by such sickening food that sometimes I get a feeling that we all are just a part of some research work that IIT is carrying out clandestinely to develop “biological” weapons of mass destruction (Anyways, this is highly classified intelligence information, so please don’t leak the news else US might cancel the N-deal and Left would be left with nothing to do. Actually I like to see the embarassed look on my recently married cousin’s face as I ask him the headlines in the morning and he hides his face behind the newspaper reading “HONEYMOON OVER, MARRIAGE CONTINUES”.), I found a “Uromastyx hardwickii”, aka lizard or gecko, or our very own chhipkali (remember those stupid childhood riddles, “ek kali jo kabhi nahi khilti”) enjoying her (I’m as such not sure about her sex but I spent around half an hour analysing him/her from different angles and positions, switched on my lights, then switched them off, tried blocking the sunlight, which nature has so bountifully bestowed on my room, but to no avail. (Actually sunlight is one of the main reasons why I go everyday to attend the lectures, as I can no longer sleep in my room after 7.) But when it comes to perseverance and dedication, I am never found wanting. So I tried reading all lizard encyclopedias on Internet, but may be because of the recent feminist movement in lizard community, no discrimination was made between males and females. Still, me being me, I called up one of my friends in AIIMS and asked his views on this matter of national importance. Following his advice, I hunched down and tried to see her lower body, I mean the underside to check, what my learned friend chose to call, her/his contours. But maybe he had forgotten that I am in IIT and if contours were the sure-shot method of distinguishing between the wiser and the fairer sex, then you bet IIT has 100% reservation for boys. Anyways, I finally called up my driver (He has often told me anecdotes of how he used to pick the rats and lizards by their tails and enjoy himself (such a sadist, or was he being a masochist)) and asked him the same perplexing question which the brightest minds in IIT and AIIMS had failed to answer. He gave me a suggestion to take a pen and roll her/him over. Well, i am not exactly lizardo-phobic but playing rock and roll with a lizard is not exactly my idea of fun. So being a feminist (actually I m not. Who the hell ever thinks over such topics. just that it sounds kewl saying so to girls….), I decided that he/it was a she.))(I hope the parenthesis are balanced. May be I should first compile this article before posting) siesta on my bed.(I hope this qualifies as one of the longest sentence ever, or else the shortest paragraph).

I don’t remember I had ever put up a notice inviting room-mates to share my loneliness. But here she was, lying on my bed, her slender tail curled around in a seductive manner and I decided may be a little company would do me no harm. Hold on guys, before your imagination runs wild, let me clarify that I tried stomping my feet as loudly as I could, but when even Metallica blastin’ at full volume from my modest speakers could not disturb her, I decided to accept her as a roomie just to keep my ego satiated. Having accepted her as my new room-mate I decided to christen her Miss J (yes dear, it’s MISS not MRS). Though I had made all my efforts to get her up had fallen on deaf ears, still now as she was my room-mate, I decided to let her enjoy her sleep, put off the music and went to have a bath (Yeah, sometimes I do. Just for a change. I hope it doesn’t develop into a hobby or addiction). Bathrooms are an integral part of hostel life, though generally they are used for other purposes (minimum twice a day) than bathing (which is kind of a religious ritual performed once a week). With the onmi-un-present shower cap missing in all the three bathrooms, I decided to borrow a bucket from GMAT. As I approached his room, I saw a distant cousin of Miss J dozing off in his room as well but mercifully on his computer table. Anyways, I didn’t get the bucket, instead GMAT gave me a shocked look (as if I had accused him of shaking hands with Sanjay Dutt) saying “saale ********* abhi parso hi to nahaya tha, tabiyat to theek hai. Aur tune mujhe samajh kya rakha hai, main khud auron se maang kar nahata hoon”. The day before….just two days…and again I was thinking of bathing…..well not willing to become the laughing stock of the hostel, I gave up my bathing plans and went to the bathroom. After half an hour, when I got back to my room, Miss J had perched on my window enjoying the scintillating panorama (scintillating……yeah, the garbage dump below my room does look scintillating when compared to the condition of my room). With Minors just round the corner, I decided to ignore her for the time being and started studying one of the five sucking mathematics courses I am doing this year (see how innocently i have tried to pass on the information that I am doing five MAL courses this semester, in order to gain those respectful awes from you….i tell you, we IITians are the biggest sucking egoists…..), but she had different intentions. Seeing her darting around the room chasing mosquitoes (which again the nature has so bountifully bestowed upon this humble being’s room), her sleek artistically carved body clinging to the walls, as she effortlessly glided as in free space, I couldn’t concentrate on why a compact set in a Hausdroff space needs to be closed. Who the hell can?? So with due respect to Hausdroff and Kundu, I decided to close the book and rather concentrate on miss J only.

During weekends, when I invariably find myself at my home watching BABA RAMDEV’s stomach-churning-ballet-dance (what Baba does with his stomach, shakira does more elegantly with her hips…someone go show him the video….) with my dad, I always think who the hell actually follows what he preaches. But in my new room-mate, I found a true bhakt of baba ramdev (just to digress, Ramdev always reminds me of Mahesh Bhatt….both can’t keep off their asses from any matter, be it Indian cricket team or Emraan’s kissing spree…). With her hind legs (I don’t want to offend my lizard readers, but I wasn’t sure whether the front two limbs are called hands or legs…..) holding her firm, she was precariously (for me) attempting a “sheesh-otthan aasana” with her body and front legs hanging in free space defying all laws of gravity. Being a firm believer in Newton and Murphy’s laws, I quickly got off my bed, and positioned myself to be in a position of minimum risk in case….with my eyes focussed on her every movement. Her two black eyes, her “V-shaped” mouth,……awwww……it gives me a creepy feeling even wriiting this…..anyways the day passed off almost uneventfully, what with me always on the guard, with my door open, and stupidly sleeping on my chair rather than my bed (I was just being a little accomodating, in case she again felt like having a little nap). One of the main reasons why by the time I finally decided to go to bed around 2 in the morning with an aching back, I held her in high esteem is that she almost single-handedly ate all the mosquitoes in my room ( almost single-handedly…..cuz by now, the mosquitoes have got so accustomed to ALL-OUT that they rather like its fragrance). Given her kind act, I felt maybe we could enjoy a symbiotic relationship, so I decided to open the window to replenish the supply of mosquitoes in my room, but seeing another gecko on the outer window, I felt maybe over-eating would ruin her health. Anyways, I hadn’t been asleep for more than half an hour when a crawling sound awoke me. Miss J was now slowly moving on the window grill. For a moment, I thought that she is hot on pursuit of another mosquito (all so that her room-mate could sleep peacefully) and suddenly felt proud of her. I can tolerate mosquitoes but the constant “khash-khash” sound, ahhhh…gawd…..so I again got up and started watching her acrobatic genius (may be she can get us a gold medal in the next olympics. Ever since Chak De, everyone believes that only girls can do it).

(as always, to be contd………God knows when…..)

S01E05: The Tense Tummy Trauma

Kids, different people have differnet ways of feeling as well as expressing anxiety. Some people start sweating so much that no amount of AXE effect can help them, some develop a headache, some feel suffocated and worse still some wet their pants. I like to take things one level higher.

Yes, your superdad suffers from what they call the tense tummy trauma. So, on the eve of every big day in my life, be it exam results, JEE, first date, first make-out, I get to know how excited/anxieted I am not from my increased heart beat but from the sweet cacophony emanating from a little lower. I know Darwin would have approved of it as a natural anxiety control measure. You get so busy with the knots in your stomach and regular visits to the washroom that you no longer have time to dwell upon your original worries. Yeah, it didn’t make for a pleasant scene on my first date with Divya but she must have had fun discussing it with her friends later on.

Ok, Ok, you must be wondering how I can be a superdad if I suffer from a stupid triple-T trauma but kids, you must know that there are atleast seventy-three documented benefits of this condition and I am going to share one of them with you today.

Aristotle once famously said, “Every story has a beginning, a middle and an end” (Yeah, these Greeks wasted all their time stating the obvious. No wonder they had to borrow money even from erstwhile Pakistan). But he didn’t say which should come first. So, I’ll tell you this incident from the end of my IIT life skipping the beginning and middle for the time being.

Kids, the MTP (pronounced as empty pee and written as MT :P) presentation marks the last academic day of one’s IIT life. In twenty minutes, the professors judge the project over which you’ve toiled for more than a year. Even a movie was made on this theme starring SRK where he delivered his famous speech, “Bees minute, bees minute hai tumhare paas. Shayad yeh.. tumhare zindagi ke sab se… khaas bees  minute. Aaj tum aacha bolo ya bura, yeh bees minute tumhe zindagi bhar yaad rahegi. Is bees minute ke torture se tumhe khuda bhi nahi bacha sakta” (Or maybe it was hockey, my memory fails me). Sounds unfair. But the grading system is quite transparent. If you manage to keep them awake for less than five minutes, you get a D, ten minutes-C, fifteen minutes (only three reported cases in the last fifty years), it’s a B. Oh, and if they are up for the entire twenty minutes, you are dead. ‘Cause this is possible only if they found a flaw somewhere in your presentation (wrong slide number, small font size, poor aesthetics/organization) and spent the entire twenty minutes castrating you, humiliating you on your inability to make a nice PPT even after five years in IIT. Who gets an A then? Well, fifteen minutes plus some menial jobs for the supervisor generally does the trick.

I had my presentation ready three days in advance with utmost care for font size, colour and style, edited a book for my inviligator and took enough lozenges to wake up the dead. So, I was pretty confident just before the D-day when the evil triple T caught me with my pants down. No, actually it was the one responsible for taking my pants down.

The PPT was scheduled for 9 in the morning and I was worried that I might not get up in time. But it made sure that I was up and running (from washroom to washroom) by six. In between, I borrowed toothpaste, shampoo and soap from here and there and got ready for the final battle, the battle between knowledge (mine) and ignorance (theirs), hardwork (mine) and sloth (theirs), night-outs (mine) versus sleepy day-outs (theirs) . I reached the department building at half past eight and when I eventually came out of the washroom at two minutes to nine, I looked at it longingly like dreamy-eyed lovers promising to come back, just give me twenty minutes. But I had forgotten something very important. Something very very important.

S01E04: The Engineering Dichotomy

Earlier in this series: The Silicon Classification

Kids, when you are pursuing an engineering degree from the premier technology college in the country, life is not really a bed of roses; and mind you I am not alluding to academics. Think of it, you are just a normal nerd one day, just another happy good for nothing kid…and then you crack JEE…whoosh….suddenly people start seeing reflections of the next Einstein, Newton, Bose in you. You find yourself sucked into a web of expectations like a hapless insect, who found the silk too alluring. All of a sudden, your parents seem to suffer from selective amnesia, forget your name (which they themselves gave you) and start introducing you as, “IIT me hai…mera beta hai…” No name, no nonsense. The uncle next door who always hated you more than Lord Voldemort ever hated Harry, suddenly has a change of heart. Now, instead, his daughter starts hating you cuz he would always taunt her saying, “use dekho….tumhaari umar ka hai…IIT me admission ho gaya. Sharmaji bata rahe the 1 lakh ki scholarship bhi mili hai…..garv se phoole nahi samaa rahe the….aur ek tum ho donation dekar IP college me correspondence me admission karwaya hai. Main toh kehta hoon yeh padhaai likhaai ka dhong chhod kar ghar ke kaam-kaaj par dhyaan do….” As if, we the romantically challenged IITians needed girls to have more reasons to hate us.

But that is not all. The biggest problem is the people’s inability to differentiate between an engineer (and a computer engineer at that) and a mechanic. If the fan is not working and you can not repair it, well then what good is your engineering degree? Just theory. Rote-learning. Oh, the fuse has blown off. You don’t know how to put it back in place, but the guy next door (whose dad happens to be an electrician) knows. He is a practical man, a man of the world, who can solve his problems on his own. And while he proudly repairs the fuse, you can only look at him and wonder if the colour code of the wires is right (cuz that’s all you know). This problem is more aggravated by the simple fact that your dad (yes, I’ll skip the sobriquet superdad, just once here) did his majors in Mathematics. So, I had to face a lot of these conversations:

Dad: IIT me hai…mera beta hai.

Relative/ Neighbour/ Random guy on the road who happened to ask time (let’s call him X) :Good. Kis branch me hai?

Dad: Mathematics and Computing.

X: Mathematics??? Yeh kaisi engineering hai?? IIT  kaunse wala??? aajkal har gali me engg.  college khul gaye hain…bhole bhaale logo ko paagal banaate hain.

And my dad would give me the look as if the stranger had just told him that I was gay.

But, I think somewhere these people were right. Your superdad might have had the most extra-ordinary mathematical skills but when it came to practical life, he was often found wanting. I won’t say that I am colour-blind but my faculties are more or less limited to the three primary colours RGB, white and black. So, I find it extremely difficult to distinguish red from maroon and pink from magenta. And as regards the subtleties and nuances of mauve and fawn colours, the lesser said the better. As such, I always have to be very conscious while paying compliments to the girls in my life.

Me: You are looking very pretty today. This color really suits you.

She: Thank You. But that day also, I was wearing purple and you didn’t like it.

Me: Purple? Is that even a color?

She: What color do you think this is?

Me (realizing that I have got myself entangled in a chakravyuha from which there is no way out; sheepishly): Purple, right. I just got a little confused between purple and maroon.

She(almost giggling): Show me who is wearing maroon here in the restaurant?

Me (after looking around 360 degrees): I love you.

She (laughing): Why is there a cut on your left cheek? Don’t tell me you shaved again today.

Yes, kids. While your superdad knew all the principles and equations of force by heart, he never learned how much pressure one has to apply while shaving. There is not a millimeter on my face which  I didn’t cut before I finally retired and started going to the barber. It’s not that I didn’t try. I tried everything, be it straight razor,  double-edged razors, single edge, injector razors, cartridge razors or disposable razors; soap, cream, gel or foam; but  my precision and accuracy was always enviable. What more should I say but that on the days when I shaved, my father would introduce me as, “College me hai….padhai chal rahi hai abhi.” No IIT, no son.

S01E03: The Silicon Classification

Earlier in this series: S01E02: The Blue Light Area

Kids, you must be wondering why there was such a hype about IITs in our times. But you must realize the fact that unlike these days when there are more than 132 IITs spread across the nation, some running from run-down government school buildings (some of the coaching centres have better infrastructure….so what, Google and Microsoft started from garages), there were only five IITs in our times. Delhi, Bombay, Kanpur, Kharagpur and Madras. No one had even heard the names of places like IIT Ramgarh, IIT Kaimganj, IIT Ghaso, IIT Jungpura and the likes. Still to better understand the reasons behind the IIT madness, you should know about the social and economic fabric of our country at the turn of the 21st century.

Kids, India’s course post independence can broadly be divided into three periods based on the so-called Silicon Classification. From 50s till mid 80s, we were basically submerged neck-deep in sand (silica), singing mere desh ki dharti sona ugle…ugale heere moti… but producing crap, licking dust in war against China (yes, China is the space which is shown as blank on Google maps) and playing the evergreen game of mud-slinging with Pakistan. After that came the period of Silicon Valley Civilization when Indian engineers from IITs completely revolutionized the contact lens industry. It is not that the Indian engineers were any better than their American counterparts, just that four years of studies at IIT totally sucked the life out of them and they looked so nerdy that no girl ever came even close to them and as such they had all the time in the world to increase India’s contribution to science from just a zero to two. As they say, behind every successful IITian, there is (absence of ) a woman. And you won’t believe that it was a woman only who ushered India into its third and probably the most important phase.

Kids, as you know India had always been a patriarchal society. The movement for emancipation of women was spearheaded by Rakhi Sawant (yep, the same Aunty whose Swaymvar Season 37 is currently running on NDTV) who got massive silicon implants to give expression to the tied-down emotions of the long suppressed Indian women. I still remember her famous speech from the ramparts of the Red Fort, main is dharti ki beti hoon…yeh shareer mitti ka bana hai, mitti me mil jaana hai. (Just wondering if one can donate implants on death.)

Anyway, it was during the second phase that your superDad decided to get his ass tattooed with the illustrious IIT mark. Afterall, I fulfilled all the pre-requisites. At the age of seven, I could add hundred seven-digit numbers in my head; when I turned ten, I remembered the atomic masses of all elements correct to three decimal places; at fifteen, while my peers wasted time watching WWF and playing cricket, I spent hours trying to solve Fermat’s Last Equation; at eighteen when I appeared for IIT entrance exam,  I could solve the Schrodinger Wave equation blind-folded while other boys were too busy trying to unravel the mysteries of Dil Dosti etc. (They eventually matured to Love Sex and Dhokha while I proceeded to Einstein’s Relativity Mechanics). I had no life, no hobbies (other than studies of course), and no friends (but books. Aren’t they a man’s best friend? My peers agree but I don’t really consider PlayBoy as a book). So, even before the results came out, everyone knew that I was the perfect IIT material. And I didn’t disappoint them.

S01E02: The Blue Light Area

Earlier in this series: S01E01: The Pilot

Kids, last time I was telling you about the extremely volatile yet interesting times that your superDad grew up in. The Indian economy was liberalized in 1991 by Dr. Manmohan Singh (who was castrated later and acted as the PM. Weird that his name started with Man) and the middle class was starting to find its footing.

The age of Ramayana and Mahabharata was past and babas started popping up left, right and centre (like pimples on the face of a sixteen year old girl) preaching abstinence by the daylight and giving sexual prasadam to their most favored disciples at night.

Long before Lord Ganesha decided to become the brand ambassador for Amul Milk, people queued up the temples from Vaishno Devi to Rameshwaram offering coconut as bribe to the Gods to fulfill their wishes. Just like the multitude of Indian population, their aspirations were also an example of Unity in Diversity. For a Sikh would bow his head in front of the Akal Takht and pray that Babaji be kind enough and send him to Canada to drive a taxi, a Gujju would disturb the sleep of the entire neighbourhood by organising a jaagran to please maata raani and ask her to give his son a wife and dowry (and either the wife be beautiful or else the dowry better be handsome), and a South Indian would put three white stripes on his forehead and pray to the God to give him more saambhar and naariyal chutney. No, actually kids you must remember this, the South Indians are the most learned people in India. Every village in Tamil Nadu has sent more number of kids to IIT than the number of PMs that Uttar Pradesh has sent to Delhi (I am not counting Mayawati. She says so but she was never the PM. She is just a bit loony. Don’t believe me??? Ok, she installed a million elephants in UP and then kept crying over the paucity of sugarcane in UP). So, the south Indians prayed for education and an admission for their progeny in the IITs.

This brings me to the original story I wished to tell you. About IIT. Kids, in our times becoming a doctor/engineer was the second most cherished dream, second only to becoming a sweeper at Heathrow. And IIT for engineering aspirants was like Amsterdam for the playboy, Vegas for the gambler and India for government officers. It was such a revered institute that its entrance examination was deferentially called IIT ji. I am telling you that people were so obsessed with IIT that they would be pretty happy if their kid spent 4 years doing his B.Tech at IIT, then 2 years for M.Tech at IIT, 5 more for Ph.D. from IIT and then become a teacher in IIT.

The exam was one of the toughest in the country and overnight coaching centres cropped up across the country (not like pimples but more like mosquito bites, concentrated in some regions). One fine morning, you saw a board for F(uck)IITji outside a shop which earlier used to sell lamb-chops, and the next morning, you will find Ban-Sal hoardings decorating the neighboring scraps shop, and within a week every possible shop in the market was taken over by Narayana, Oasis and their various manifestations. But all had the same goal, to mint money from the parents and promise each of the four lakh students an admission ticket to the 2000 odd seats in IITs. Once again Unity in Diversity.

It was more like a red-light area, with pimps calling you from every window enticing you to take ‘admission‘,  some offering crash courses to overcome past failures, some special extended courses for the beginners with personal attention to every student, and some even boasted about highly qualified and experienced teachers from every corner of India. The only difference was that while we would go the red-light area hiding it from our parents, the parents in turn hid it from us and before we even knew, got us enrolled in one of the courses. That’s why I rather call it the Blue Light Area.

P.S. Best of luck to over 4 lakh students appearing for the biggest fuckfest of all times (IIT-JEE) today.

Pilot- How I Screwed My Life

So, it’s that time of the year again. People have already started flooding their FB, Orkut, GTalk, Buzz and Twitter accounts with senti status messages, nostalgic photos and videos of the years spent in college, how they had the most amazing time of their life, how they are really thankful to their bestest friends in the world, how they will never forget these golden years, how they wished they could live it all over again, blah, Blah te more BLAH. I am kind of nostallergic to all this. The last five years, without doubt, have given me some of my fondest memories but that’s no reason to cry over it getting over.

Rather, I plan to borrow Prof. Dumbledore’s penseive for a while and preserve those golden memories on paper. And perhaps if some beautiful damsel manages to change my orientation and more importantly if I am able to reproduce, my dumb kids will one day sit down and listen to their superDad reciting the story, “How I Screwed My Life (and your Mother)”.

And just as we add common salt to preserve pickles, I might add a little namak-mirch (and maybe a raunchy item-number) here and there, just to keep them interested.

S01E01 The Pilot

2035 AD

Kids, today I am going to tell you the greatest stories of all times, the story about a young man’s indefatigable ardor, perseverance, fervor and ingen….Hey, wait, where are you going?? Ok, whom am I kidding. You are my own kids. You are the least interested in all that crap I mugged up for GRE.

So instead let me tell you about a young connoisseur of free beer and aesthetic porn, a devout BC Sootaaah fan and a rebel who fought against the barbaric tradition of getting up before noon and abolished the inhuman practice of bathing daily.

Kids, as you know your superDad, yeah that’s how we will refer to me in this series, was born under the Taurean sky on a romantic moon-lit night because of another such night a few months ago (As part of my extra-curricular research work, I proved conclusively beyond doubt and reproach that moon is responsible for our exploding population. I convinced the government to send Chandrayaan to that hole-y maternal uncle of ours and give him an ultimatum. Instead the idiots burnt billions and came back with news of water there and plans to populate the moon as well. Jaise ko Taisa) and was hand-picked by destiny to screw his life.

The India I grew up in was like a large boiling cauldron, a dynamic and vibrant mix of different cultures, traditions and ideologies (a perfect recipe for news channels to flourish), trying to etch its identity on the world map (sleeping happily with USSR till it went broke and then moving on to an extra-marital relationship with USA. Our neighbours Pakistan (oh, I must tell you, in our times, the present Eastern States of USA were known as Afghanistan and Pakistan) also slept with USA and we always kept fighting over it), and learning how to unlearn all its ancient wisdom

The recommendations of the Mandal Commission had already come into practice (At that time there was roughly 10% reservation for the SC/ST and backward classes. Yeah, it must sound funny to you, now that you have 10% reservation for the upper classes), the chants of Mandir Wahiiiin Banayenge united a nation to divide itself (yes, the same Mandir which you hear about every five years even now), Madhuri Dixit’s choli ke peechhe kya hai was the height of openness, SRK was a rage among girls and SRT among boys, cable TV had just made its appearance and our mothers spent hours crying over the woes of Lala Lahori Ram and his seven daughters (SEVEN, yes kids….the generation before us took great pride in showing off their vigour and virility. Sex was a sacrosanct ritual done every eleven months and just like most exploration activities, was highly result-oriented).

To be continued…

P.S. The Pilot episode is supposed to gauge the audience’s reaction. So, unless you leave extremely encouraging comments, this might just be the end of the series.

Resume` Fest

IITD Academic Calendar Feb 10 to March 14

Sper(m)anza- Student Welfare Fest

Virasat- SPIC MACAY Cultural Fest

Literati- Student Publications Fest

Sportech -Sports Fest

IITD International Parliamentary Debate –English Debating Fest

Tryst -Technical Fest

Izraz- Dance Fest

And yes, I shouldn’t forget the Poltu Fest which has already started with Mr. N calling our kingmaker Mr. D to chart out the strategies. And I am told that there are many more in the pipeline. Oh, mind you there is a ten day long mid semester break from Feb 27th. So, we are basically having some seven odd fests in less than 25 days.  Anyway, here is a snippet of a conversation I overheard at Lipton ( I so very miss NESCAFE!)….

A: Yaar, main kal Sper(m)anza ke poster lagaane gaya tha Vindy me…wahan mujhe kuchh Tryst ke volu mil gaye….saalo ne poster faad diya aur mera welfare bhi kar diya.

B: Abey yeh sab toh karna hi padta hai…aise hi thode CV banta hai….thodi bahut maar khaane me koi fite nahi honi chahiye. Par bc main soch raha tha ki woh ***** chacha hai na….woh Literati aur Virasat dono ka co-ordi hai….uska CV apne se zyada todu ho jaayega.

A: Abey faaltu tension mat le, us chu*** ki degree tak toh nikal nahi rahi…do events ke certi lekar kya ukhaad lega…Chu*** saala.

B: Yaar, secy se mere kuchh bills clear karwa de….kal MNIK dekhne chala gaya tha….kaafi paise thuk gaye.

A: Chill types ho jaayega woh toh….bahut paisa hai apne paas. Tune dekha nahi apne posters ki quality baaki sab se kitni achhi hai.

B: Haan, par hai toh paper ki wastage hi.

A: Abey wastage nahi hai…..In posters ko background me rakhkar photo khinchwaayege…..aur FB par upload karenge….bandiyaan senti ho jaayengi…

B: What an idea, sirjee. Ekdum machaau.


Overheard at Nescafe below Central Library

C: yaar, main 1 fest me volu, 1 me ac-head, 1 me Co-ordi hoon…..Kya kehta hai meri consult me job lag jaayegi….

D: Hmm….Fiter hai yaar….teri GPA 5.6 thodi si kam hai….But haan agar tu ek khud ka koi fest organise karwa de toh shaayad baat ban jaaye….

C: Hmm…Umm…..Dance, Music, Fine Arts, Welfare, Publication, Sports, sabka toh fest ho hi raha hai….ab main kya karwauu…

Umm…well I guess he can go for a Porn Fest, an exclusive AOE fest, a slang fest where we search for the most innovative abuses…..Any other ideas friends?