A Could-Have-Been Elocution Piece

Feels so good to be here. Ladies...and the rest of you, surely it's a golden opportunity to speak in the golden edition of Saarang in the golden jubilee year of IIT Madras to win some golden prize money. Surely, it's a quick ticket to fame and name. But is that why I am here? No. No, no no, no no no.

Let's say you're a single guy and you decide to start doing something about it. And then you have an auditorium full of young and gorgeous ladies who make you feel,"Yes, yes!". On that desperate note, I was wondering what the audience is supposed to do when something like this is being presented on stage. Eureka! We have the solution. All you gotta do is take out today's newsletter and start reading it. Or better yet, take out your cellphones and start playing snake. Or better yet, start conversation with the Mary Jane sitting beside you and get yourself a partner for the Dance Workshop. The amount of pleasure and happiness you get by these activities will add to the speech great value. And if you just chill and close your eyes like this, you'll find out that as soon as you're not interested in what I'm saying, your subconsciousness will automatically fade my voice gently out of your senses. Time will fly by for you as you are left to take a sweet nap in an air-conditioned and fully furnished auditorium.

So, are all of us ready? No matter what you say or do, I'll take that as yes. Ladies and the rest of you, I begin my speech entitled - The Complete Dumbass' Guide to Making a Fool of Yourself in Front of Everyone. And I'm quite serious about it. Generally people who keep going on and on like this go on until some one, some man of action, pulls the plug. Luckily for me, I have no plug. I run on solar powered battery, dude! Since time immemorial, I have never stopped and will continue with my nonsensical endeavours for ever and ever. When I played footer during my freshie year in my hostel quadrangle, I didn't score a goal in the entire year. But I didn't give up and by the end of the second year, I scored a goal. An own goal. My first own goal.

So my speech's chapter 1 says - Go get a ticket to have some grass. As in green grass, take a ticket to a green park where you can think of ideas to accomplish this herculean task.
Chapter 2 says - Go get a ticket to Saarang.
Chapter 3 says - Go get a ticket to the stage of Elocution. Don't let them look at all of you. Hide behind a podium and show them just enough to kick-start the fantasy. I know it's tough, but don't you ever yield to the lure of the cordless mic that has kissed so many ladies and is still wet.
Chapter 4 says - Go get a ticket to read from a page.
Chapter 5, the final chapter, says - Ensure that there are no eggs and tomatoes in the auditorium. And that there are only and only bathroom slippers to be used by the audience to react.

I take immense pleasure in announcing that this speech is the revised edition of an earlier one and hence, as with every revised textbook of engineering, there is a supplementary, rather complementary chapter, which goes like this - Forrest's mom says life is like a box of fingers. You never know what you are gonna get. So if you want to make a fool of yourself, just do it. Do it before God's fingers play the dice.

And that brings us to the end of my speech. Within 2-3 days, Saarang will be over and none of you will remember this historic speech. But make sure you always remember the guy who delivered it, cuz someone inside you is saying that this guy has a sense of humour, and is romantic. Although nobody had a clue about it until today.

Thank you.

:P

Where the dreams sail across meltdowns;
Where the gaze is firm and confident;
Where the wings are laughing at PJs;
Where the shirts have Saarang written over them;
Where the men regard each other as gods;
Where the terms are dictated not received;
Where the world awaits the change to be brought by each one -
Into that heaven of freedom, my father, let my IIT awake.

Place Meant For

Quit, it says. I can't eat into anyone's job, not at a time like this, not when I stand to gain a little and someone might lose so much.

Optimism is the key. It's a storm out there. Everyone's caught. Get a place to hide in. Strike when the sunshine arrives.

Life's got numerous bus stops, like the DTC ones. Get off the bus you took just to escape the rains at one of these. A bit of quick running and a fine jump will take you aboard the bus of your dreams.

IITians need not worry about weather fluctuations. We create our destiny ourselves, through vision, perseverance and sheer courage. All those night-outs before end-sems and quizzes have been nothing less than climbing a mountain in a day. We are tough people and can survive anything. It's a fresh start. Let the race begin, again, to find the place we are meant for.

DhaiAakharPremKa 120 (with revision of important concepts taught earlier)

Thank you, Mario! But our princess is in another castle!

There you go. Either the croc-demon has planted seven clones of the princess to keep you busy while he is having all the dance-drama-party with the real princess or he is the psycho next door who collects princesses and locks them up inside white-stoned fire-under-bridge type castles guarded by his crooked croc-bros. In all humility, the question is why is Mario doing all this? Is he a Goku or a Bruce Lee who fights because he has nothing else to do? Or is he a happy-go-lucky it's-all- about-money-honey Uncle Scrooge who is just going on and on in his expeditions collecting golden dollars by smashing his head into bricks while saying hello to all those deadly horrendous ducks and squash-my-dumb-head villains? The point is, one can't rule out a hidden part of the story which could be – Mario loves the princess.

As shocking as it might seem to be, a rational analysis would help in coming to the above conclusion. What are the odds of Mario surviving all the eight stages without jumping into those ditches separated by strips as thin as Bhaand's hairline? And if by his mother's blessings, he manages to cross them, facing those monkeys who have stolen Mowgli's boomerangs is riskier than investing with Layman Bros. With his life at stake, the only reason to drive Mario into the behind of the devil can be nothing but true love. And it is true love which forms the basis of the marketing strategy of Mario Bros. A quick question would be what is true love? Has anyone seen it? Yes, there is motherly love, fatherly love, brotherly, sisterly, friendly, just-friends-ly, chuddy-buddy-ly and the other kind of love which is beyond the scope of engineers and is better left for biologists to research upon. But if a Mario stages so much fight for such loves, would he still remain the cool dude that he is? Let's not kid ourselves. Even a Balayya or a Mithun would jump off a ten-storeyed building for such loves. But only Mario reserves his knighthood and fighting prowess solely for his love-life.

The crux of the matter is - what matters in a boy's life, ultimately, is what girls want. Doesn't every girl dream of a knight riding a white horse with a torn Zorro/Baazigar-type mask on his face coming at 90 km/hr but caught in a slow motion of 20 km/hr (or is it the other way?) to rescue her from the castle of a Mogambo? It is just to fulfill this dream that some of our epics were written and so were the rest of the rescue-the-girl stories. What does all this have to do with an average IITian? Let's analyze the problem in detail. The only love our man gets is from mom which is quite evident from the tears which trickle down his cheek every time he listens to the Maa song of Taare Zameen Par or every time he puts that piece of chapati of CR M1 into his mouth.

All of a sudden, somebody up there gets kinder and then arrive (MA) girls in the campus. Our man, who has always been attending classes just to ensure that he surpasses that 74.9% attendance mark through cooperation and team-work, gets interested in not just attending classes but occupying certain meticulously selected seats half an hour before the HS class begins. Suddenly, he starts demanding for more pocket money and his parents can not be happier for he has been wearing those two sets of Shaastra T-shirts and jeans for the last three years. Every day a small cup of coffee to get the license to stay and hours of lovely exchange of emotions in CCD become a daily norm. Love's in the air. But is it true love? Is there a test for true love? Going back to the basics, she wants to be rescued from a Mogambo's castle by a Zorro/Baazigar riding a white horse like the Highwayman, remember? Now, unless and until that happens, sorry, but it ain't possible to have true love. So, all the love-birds chirping in the jungle can either accept the temporary nature of their love or the brave ones can start looking for a Mogambo who can abduct their beloved in a castle which is not too tough to break into. May the force be with you!

Brought to you by www.GyaanBaatoRe.com

DhaiAakharPremKa 110

Against: True Love is a Farce

To have common standards, I consider the wikipedia definition of love i.e. emotions and experiences related to a sense of strong affection.

Now, my assumption about true love is as follows: true love is love that exists till at least as long as the people involved live.It doesn't need to be a two-way traffic. True love can exist only in one heart without the object of love reciprocating it. I don't consider love of an object or a goal to be true love because as soon as one achieves the desired object or goal, there is a discontinuity in love.

Now let's not look at stories of Jehangir-NoorJahan or Romeo-Juliet or Ducky-Size for true love. They are far too melodramatic, exaggerated and blown out of proportion, besides I don't have the statistics about how often or to what dimensions they are blown. But the evidence I have is none other but your mother. No matter how dastardly and bastardly mistakes you commit in your life, you are still loved by your mother till life permits. Let me submit to the house that true love not just exists but empowers those who experience it. How many of you have seen Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham? If Hrithik Roshan can hit a six by remembering Abhishek Bachchan's parents, imagine what all you can do by remembering your own parents? CAT aspirants, are you listening?

My partner mentioned that even if your mother had some chunnu-munnu instead of you, she would have loved him as much as she loves you. And it just doesn't matter who the mother is or who the son is. Let's analyze the problem in detail. Let's say we have a mother-exchange having n mothers and a daughter exchange having n daughters (I'm a feminist you know) and one daughter maps to one mother and vice-versa. So how many permutations are possible? Factorial n? MA junta, correct me if I'm wrong. So in all those factorial n arrangements, mothers truly love their daughters. So, the point is, this whole fuss about mother exchanges and daughter exchanges is just Maya. Remember all the world's a stage? Somebody up there is playing games with you you know and in all those games you are a subject or object of true love. So we just proved that true love is not a farce, it is a force that exists in all the events which the Holy dice results in.

With the MA program's induction, love's already in the air. The only challenge is can you make that love stand out as true love? May the force be with you.

Conclusion: All my co-speakers who feel that true love is a farce can feel free to dial home and talk to mommy about true love. She will have all the answers to your complaints about her love not being true. And if you are fortunate enough, even your father, brother and sister should be able to pacify you. For those of you who are still whining, there is the Guidance & Counselling Unit of IIT Madras. We can get you some professional help as well.

Brought to you by www.GyaanBaatoRe.com

P.S. Life's all about learning and I've learnt recently that if a joke hurts some just to make others laugh who will anyway laugh on even worse jokes, something's wrong. If anyone is hurt even slightly because of any of the PJs, please let me know. I shall ensure that there are no more pinching jokes not just from me, but from people around me as well. Although I try my best to have healthy humour in whatever rare cases I have a sense of humour.

Killer Instinct

All characters depicted in this purely fictional piece of literature are completely imaginary. Any resemblance to any entity living, dead, or anywhere in between is utterly deliberate!

GeeCe¹, 1907 hours. A Mercedes E240 screeches to an abrupt halt. The security guards completing their afti-dharma² gain consciousness at once and adjust their uniforms while running towards the entrance of the Central Library. The students pleading to academic babus for the reconsideration of their rejected application letters for the Cultural Secretary elections stop looking for Rs 50 currency notes in their wallets and turn around to see across the street. The Dean’s black yoRoto³, provided by the Government of India, rings.

Virgineer⁴, the student-spy of the Dean, is drenched in sweat, panting, and extremely impatient as the phone rings for one full minute and his call remains unanswered. He redials on his new Nokia Express Music won in the Head-Banging Contest at the Saarang Rock-Show. To his relief, he is answered this time. The identification code ‘Hail CGPA’ is pronounced at the other end by a familiar voice and Virgineer knows that he is talking to the right person. “Hail CGPA! Sir, there’s a bad news. She is dead.” “What? How? Where?” “A car accident. In front of the library.” “But she… did you take her to the hospital?” “She died on the spot, Sir.” “Who did it?” “The driver ran off.” “Oh! Holy…” “There’s something more to it, sir. The car is a royal blue Mercedes E240. And the number says TN 23E 9964. It’s yours!” “It’s all pre-planned… a conspiracy against me. Update me as soon as you get more information.” “Right, sir. Hail CGPA.” “Ya, ya.” Cut.

The news spreads faster than fire in the forests of IITM. All the editors of The Fourth Estate, the in-house publication, come up for an urgent meet with the other Writeous Penheads⁵ of the campus and prepare pamphlets and posters for a massive student-body protest to be held tomorrow.

With two murders within two days, the Dean has no alternative but to avoid the phone calls from notorious students demanding a mourning holiday. Virgineer had earlier informed him that Idi, a security guard of Sharavati, the girl’s hostel, was missing at the time of the three murders, albeit he had arrived for the evening shift as per the records. The Dean, seeking to tighten his grip over the case, calls the CCW Office and, to his astonishment, is told that Idi is currently on a one week vacation to his village. The Dean realizes that he is drifting towards the losing end.

Meanwhile, Virgineer discovers new evidence. The villagers relent to open-up and report about a monkey, as big as an adult man, attacking black bucks for the last three days. To probe further and forage for more clues, he decides to go for an extensive search in the jungles at night. The night manifests darkness blindingly in the absence of the moon. The trees sway as wind gushes through them beside the crystal clear water of the lake. Long hours of courage in the camouflage finally bear fruit and Virgineer finds an ID card. It reads – V.G. Idichandy, Dean, IIT Madras.

Virgineer is dumbfounded. His indignation surpasses his boiling point. Within an instant, he decides to confront him.

Dean’s Office, 0400 hours. “How did you come, sir? In the same blue Mercedes? Oh, how dumb I am! It’s now all red. Blood red, isn’t it?” “Control yourself, Virgineer. You can’t accuse me.” “Give me one reason why I can’t accuse you. Believe me, I’ve plenty of evidence to prove things, you know.” “Are you trying to tell me that I don’t care for the killed?” “No, right now, I am trying to tell you that you have killed those who you were supposed to care for. The IITM campus that boasts of its prized reserve of black-bucks, has lost three adult ones, one of them being a pregnant female. So that makes you a murderer of four. Quite a performance, sir.” “I don’t need to justify myself in front of you. You are free to think whatever you want. Why should I bother when I’m not guilty?” “May I ask you where you were at 7 pm yesterday, sir?” “7 pm. 7pm? I was…I was…can’t remember. I can’t remember. I was sleeping!” “Enough. I’m going straightaway to the Police. Goodbye. To hell with CGPA!”

The Dean leans upon his table with his head bent down. There is a sudden rush of wind across the room and a closet opens. A sealed envelope flies from the Dean’s desk and falls in front of Virgineer. He turns to see where it came from and sees a security guard’s uniform and a monkey costume hanging in the closet. He tears open the envelope to read a Medical Report which says –

Dear Mr. V.G. Idichandy,

The diagnosis report of SCID-D has confirmed the symptoms of Dissociative Identity Disorder in you. Kindly report to the institute hospital immediately.

Thanks,
Dr Shanti Pavan
Psychiatrist, IIT Madras.

GeeCe¹: Gajendra Circle, the central intelligence unit of Geeklandia, also known as IIT Madras.

Afti-Dharma²: Nap-on-duty in the afternoon.

yoRoto³: Rotary dial telephone.

Virgineer⁴: : A spyware identified by the matrix as the virgin engineer who has not even touched any girl, circuit-board or machine's internals.

Writeous Penheads⁵: Rioters who debate whether to write as a rite is right or wrong.

Saarang Quite-a-Quote

Should I give MY pen also to the GA people.

‐Participant at Cluedo on being asked to return pens.

A hand and a cock go hand in hand.

- A Jam participant

Had Eiffel Tower been the size of my tower!

- An extempore participant

Perhaps the grass is greener from your side.

- An extempore participant

Even Ducky is better than him.

‐ Audience number on Radio Joker Yo‐yo

A friend in hand is worth two in the bush. My question is, in whose bush?

- PR Core

Blow harder blow harder!! Size does matter!

‐ Vodafone chick during the Balloon Blowing Contest

Nice try for you to comment on global warming. You are the ones heating‐up our campus.

‐Audience number on MCC

Firang Female to a frustrated Spons Coord: Where is the rest room?

Spons Coord (Manages to hear “restroom” as “the Rush”): Go to the Hospi Desk and fill a form. You have to be in teams of ten. If there are more than 15 teams, u can participate only if u get selected in the lucky draw.

Firang Female: Is this how you do it in India?

My mother likes eighteen year-old boys... as daughter-in-law (this is the one that got misquoted all over the papers, He knows what He said!)

- A Jam participant

He also has claimed to have performed with Elton John.

- The girl in the show on the judge

What did I do to deserve this?

- Judge of the cookery contest, after looking at a certain entry she was supposed to taste

When a Photography Coord on a computer was suggested to press “Alt+F4”, she pressed ‘Alt’ and ‘F’ and asked a vol to press ‘4’.

Earlier, the same Coord, while logging into a computer of her Department Computing Facilities, saw some guys trying to peek into her password. She promptly responded by moving the Computer monitor out of their view of sight and then continuing to type her password.

Just lower your expectations and go to Himalayas.

- Sanjeev Kapoor, perfectly unaware of the name of our mess facilities

Too many wives spoil the froth.

- A Jam participant

Oh, by the way, you are from which newspaper?

- Cookery contest judge after enthusiastically rattling off a bevy of details about the event to the newsletter correspondent.

One person each from all the benches which have three people sitting please go and sit on a bench with two people.

- Main Quiz Coord who actually wanted only two people to sit on a bench

What is Lucky Ali's number for Vodafone voting?

- Audience member at OAT

There has to be cummation for summation.

- A participant at Extempore explaining how
coming is important for population growth

Sanjeev Kapoor is lecturing on '30 things to die before you eat'

- Hospi-Desk

Saarang is a rickety bus and we are all holding the parts together.

- Spons Core

We know math is not your strong point.

- Newsletter Coords to The Events core.

I am left partner less da. That guy refused to come with me.

- Tapti freshie on the eve of scrabble finals.

Hold it, guys.

- Instructor at dance workshop

Gimme Tamil and I’ll run Saarang alone.

- Big Brother

Mostly cylindrical.

- India Quiz Coord on being asked what his power was

This raga............is very.........useful...... to be............... yout..h... ful.

- Grand old performer at Classical Nite

The gay people adopted the rainbow colours da. We can’t help it.

- Design Core

Show bum or Shoban or whatever.

- Spons Coord to his core.

Events Core: No da. I am not gay. I do notice boobs.
Spons Core: The only boobs you have ever seen are mine.

The Guangdong province in China is one of the second most polluted in the world.

- Audience member at the debate.

One of the debaters swayed during his speech
with such regularity that we actually used him
to keep track of time.

When asked to put forth their closing remarks, the damsels
started flickering like an old tube light, having lost their
composure.

The high point of the debate was a loud recitation of
Tiruvalluvar quotes which rendered the atmosphere vibrant,
although we could comprehend exactly as much as we
could have deciphered a verse in Swahili.

- Newsletter team during India Development Debate

When most elocution lovers would have preferred to wait
outside the auditorium and wait for the event to
finish, the made‐of‐titanium Newsletter
correspondent sat through it.

- Gel

Sanjeev Kapoor and The Cookery Contaste

A celebration of culture can never be complete without cuisine. Who else but the poster-boy of Indian cookery could be the best person to flag-off the newly introduced Cookery Contest at Saarang? The chef extraordinaire was here yesterday afternoon to present a list of 30 things to eat before you die. A delay of 2 hours only increased the appetite of the audience but what came afterwards was well worth the wait.

Sanjeev started-off the lecture by talking about himself and his pursuit of a rather unconventional profession. Then he proceeded to present his comprehensive list, at some times informative and at others nostalgic. The anecdotes and jokes meticulously inserted in his presentation convinced each one of us why he is regarded as one of the most sought after television personalities as well. The lecture finished at a high point after a series of interesting question-and-answer exchanges with a visibly enthusiastic audience. This was followed by an exclusive interview with the Newsletter correspondents.

Correspondent: The term which comes immediately in our minds when we think of Sanjeev Kapoor is Khana-Khazana. How did Khana-Khazana happen?

Sanjeev: It all began at a point of time when satellite television was new in India. Different chefs were being approached for launching an interactive cookery show. Zee TV approached me with a name Srimaan Bawarchi, to which I immediately responded with a ‘No’. This was when I had reached the peak of my professional career albeit at a very early age of 28.

C. After the success of the show, many other cookery shows also poured in. But they did not enjoy as much adulation as your show, which has been on air for 15 years. What is the secret behind the longevity of Khana Khazana?

S. Khana Khazana is a complete package. With the extensive research carried out by us, we have a better understanding of the interests of the viewers. The core value being - cooking what viewers can replicate. Explaining the recipe in detail yet keeping the format simple enough to not look boring is what makes us connect with the audience. After every show, we make it a point to think from the viewer’s perspective.

C. What does it take to become a world-class chef? Is it only exceptional cooking skills or do presentation and soft skills take the cake?

S. Soft skills are equally important. If you cook well, you might be a brilliant cook but it takes beyond just cooking to make a chef. Not only the art and the science of cooking but the management of cooking is also what a chef needs to excel in.

C. How do you manage to come-up with numerous new recipes? Do you keep on experimenting with the ingredients while you are cooking, just like a scientist?

S. (Smiles) Being familiar with (the) ingredients lets you make predictions in your mind. For example, you know that adding sugar to a dish will make it sweet. The variations, therefore, are never startling. Although, most of it depends on instincts.

C. The success of pizza and noodles in Indian food market is quite palpable. Are the Indian food-items equally successful in western countries?

S. Yes, of course. Indian food is no 1 in UK. Chicken Tikka Masala is the national dish in England. Our spices and flavours are extensively used by western cooks to spice-up their dishes.

C. What is the secret behind the success of the Indian curry?

S. Indian curry has a unique blend (of spices). In our curries, we use 10-15-20 different herbs and spices. It’s more like a modern day doctor who recommends 7-8 medicines with a hope that something will work. (Similarly,) Something out of that magic blend works.

C. Even though cooking is women’s forte in Indian households, why do you think men still make better chefs?

S. Men are not more successful but more in numbers. Cooking as a profession is physical and laborious in nature. Women are also expected to look after household. A father can work. It’s more to do with the social structure.

C. We all know that you pursued a hotel management course not in vogue despite being an academically brilliant student because you wanted to do something different and bizarre. Given your famous love for the bizarre, what are the other interesting activities that you enjoy?

S. Learning new skills always interests me. I agreed to judge Jhalak Dikhlaja because it was very different. I’ve also been a percussionist and used to play for a band.

C. Thank you very much. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.

S. The pleasure is all mine!

The lecture was followed by an innovative contest which lacked fire and was doing away with hot & cold water instead. Thanks to the creative cooking of the contestants, with utter modesty, the event went ahead of the ‘30 things to eat before you die’ to ‘30 things to eat in order to die’. Apparently, the teams started making crazy concoctions of the eatables lying on the tables to create something so intriguing that the judge reacted with “Please take me home early”. The workshop ended on a tit-for-tat note when the event organizer was forced to drink the winning potion and the judge who had tasted it stood flashing a contented smile.

U for UNR

The expression on the two spectators must have made you realize that the ***** going on here is nothing less that the Ram-Bharat milaap scene of Andaz Apna Apna. Whoever said that the duo believes in over dramatization!

Below is an interview of a newsletter coordinator (bossed by PR core) by a visitor of http://blog.saarang.org/2007/11/01/you-3/

“Who are you?”

A question is but a squirt of inquisitiveness or a test of edification which, in the status quo, happens to be an insult of omniscience. The only righteous response to a question is an answer. Our answer is “We are he". The feminist fingers can hereafter rest in peace for this is mere boisterousness of male emancipation in its quest for the Holy Grail.

“Oh, whatever...but what do you do?”

To do or not to do - that, my friend, is not even a question. It's a mere mortal's fight for attaining martyrdom in the battlefield of procrastination. We have been doing that for ages and can continue to do so. But, for the unflinching and undaunted nitwits we are, we set out for inking the unbridled ubiquitous utopia of Saarang by the ukase of Uncle Duck(y). Unction is in the offing for taking umbrage and those unassuaged by the uncanny unctuousness are hereby lent freedom to be unwontedly uncouth. To put it simply, we upbraid and we do that to everyone.

“What the fish is this ‘U’ thing?”

The public usage of the thing mentioned by you in an air being inhaled by any IITian is an act of utmost profanity which may trigger fatal epileptic fits and I urge you to stop doing that right away. We were asked to tell you that this Saarang it's you, or rather the both of you. So we are just doing our duty, you see. Puff! Sigh! Don't you ever mention that thing again!

“Oh, go climb a mountain. I know what you did last winter. Completely failing to connect those S for Saarang words and then failing all over again with N for Newsletter words have driven you bananas. Here you are, making a forced and convoluted attempt with U for u know what.”

Gawd! She’s good!

it's time

Time up! You know you're already running out of time when you come across anything of this sort. The Geek Gods are about to open their arms and it's all happening right there, in GeeCe**.

Wordsworth has already submitted his final entry for the lyrics of The Rock Show @ Saarang. Believe it or not, after death, he has grown into a death metal fan wishing to come alive for the show. The footfalls of the show have started tickling the pounding hearts of thousands of zealous youths across the nation who are waiting for Saarang with bated breath.

GeeCe**: Gajendra Circle, the central intelligence unit of Geeklandia, also known as IIT Madras.

***For the perverted pinheads amongst you, FYI: The author's talking about the pen of Shakespeare which has gone out of control. I repeat it's Shakespeare's long thin pen!

OOO: Odd One Out

One Long Day
Minar 00:15 am

Tool: Landu! 10 O' clock in the morning. You are coming, right?

Me: Eh...I don't know. Somehow, I can imagine myself 5-10 yrs down the line as neither an engineer nor a financial analyst. Uh...lemme see...nahi yaar. Anyway, we're not gonna be shortlisted even under the rarest circumstances. It's only for the Bofis you see. Nine pointer + Coords + Lit-God + ... But still there's a point in attending the presentation as there was one in attending the workshop earlier. No matter what we do, we gotta invest somewhere around 1/3rd of our assets. No harm in learning the basic terminologies from Lehmann!

Tool: Kya reason dhoondha hai attend karne ka!

Tapti Hostel 01:00 am

Viru: Landu! So finally are we going to gym tomorrow?

Me: Yeah sure! Be ready by 06:15.

Why gym? Or better yet, why the hell gym in the morning...6 O' clock?
Well, I'd say in a movement to revive the body clock, body fluid circulation, body muscle flexibility, body this and body that. Also to demonstrate and exemplify the will and its power. Moreover, to behold rare and prized birds chirping outside my door, to bathe in soft orange light and to breathe through every pore of body and mind pure and fresh oxygen. Yeah baby, all of the above. Ain't enough? Take this - to prevent wastage of yet another month for which I got the gym card issued which, in turn, was another example of taking the right path in front of my corrupt friends who dared to talk about utilizing the institute's facilities for free in front of me. I instantly slapped on them an eloquent speech explaining why honesty is still the best policy.

06:00 am Bang! "Landu, chal!"
Shout from inside-"Uth gaya! Tu chal main aaya!"
Crash!

06:15 am "Landu m**** b***** chal!"


06:30 am Gymming

07:10 am My 2nd breakfast of the semester! Elated and blushing :))

07:30 am Crash!

10:00 am Kukdoo-koo (cellphone reminder - Lehmann Presentation). Postponed. Crash. P. C. PCPC. Quit!

11:00 am ...Taal se taal milaa...Taal se taal milaa...Taal se..."Helloooo!" "Landu, you've been selected! Come to ICSR." Cut. Silence. Blank. ...Taal se taal milaa...Taa "Hello!" "Landu, you are in! GD + Interview at 11:30 in ICSR." Cut. Holy Crap. Bhaagoooooooo.

Begging across the wing "Allah ke naam pe koi formal kapde de do baba! Dean tumhaara bhalaa karega. Tumko naukri dega, tarakki dega...chhokri dega! Allah ke naam pe..."
Finally got a shirt. Had a pair of black trousers gifted in a marriage ceremony back at home. Shoes. Shoes! Shoes? Freshies! Got a pair of NCC/workshop shoes, black - could have used to be.

11:35 am Cycling to ICSR on my half-deflated bicycle, combing hair with one hand.

11:38 am Washing shoes with a splash from water can in ICSR, cleaning with handkerchief. "Arun! Where is it da?" "Upstairs."

11:40 am "Hi Lamina!" "Saale kam se kam interview mein to...achchha wahan jaldi se jaakar bata ki tu aa gaya." "Good morning, sir! I'm Apoorva" "Hi Apoorva! You are next for room no 3. Have a seat."
Fart session. Junta yelling out stories about how difficult it was to come in formals. Two guys sent back to change their clothes. They return with an appearance informal disguised as formal.

12:01 am Arjun comes out of room no 3. The Babu comes out too. I proceed to talk to him but to no avail. He had some important (natural) emergency to attend.

12:06 pm The Babu returns. I enter and notice the 'enter-view'. The walls, the table, the sky, the curtains and both the shirts are off-white. Shake hands. "So you are Karthik..." "Sorry sir, I'm Apoorva Chandra." "Oh...ok. Have a seat Apoorva."
"So you are the odd one out?" And thus it began...
..."So that's all I had to ask. Do you have any question?" After realizing so many times that I must have gone through my resume once, I felt this was one question independent of it. Being an HR personnel, he was a bit bewildered and somehow tried to answer. Shake hands.

PR: They will call you around 1 O' clock if you're selected for the next round. All the best.

01:00 pm No call yet. Wondering what the odd one out statement meant...

01:15 pm No call yet. Still wondering.

01:20 pm Got the result. Got the answer.

The result was certainly NO. The answer was - Macha, if you are a guy with a CGPA which is having not a single friend in a radius of 0.7 amongst the shortlisted guys, you gotta be the odd one. The toughest question is - how the heck were YOU shortlisted?

Gist: So you are the odd one. OUT!

Moral: Life's a gamble. You never know when you're gonna hit a jackpot. Always be prepared.

Suggestion: Buy a proper formal placement suit. Be prepared with your resume and answers to anticipated questions.

Good News: They took two of the elec nine-pointers. Your ranking in the queue improves.

Love @ IIT

Sitting on the grass

Beside the lush waters of the lake

Guarded by wild forest

With deer and bucks playing around

There are just the two of us

With her head on my shoulder

And my arm wrapped around her.

I talk of the moon, the ripples, the twinkling stars

The breeze caresses her

And plays with her hair

A few naughty ones fall on her forehead

I push them aside, meticulously

And fondle her right cheek

She cuddles me up

I embrace her

The night beholds us silently

Peeking through the North, South, East and West.

Under the shade of the sky

In the lap of land

Two hearts celebrate the joy of love.

The trees sway and swing

On the lullaby of wind

Creatures chirp and applaud

The moon smiles up there

The clouds flash dimples

And then...crashes the universe

The alarm of my clock bangs

It’s already 8:58

I had a paper at 8.