IIT + IIM= I

Being just one of the multitude who have degrees from both of the Indian institutes, yet being considered elite just because of the game of proportion that works only in the unique and humongous crucible called India, yes, let me just elaborate on how I feel life differs at IIT and IIMs. Stating the obvious: professors in IIM are well off. They visit Europe on a regular basis, they have big cars with drivers and they dress well. But they have smaller offices sans any laboratory, smaller office desks and much smaller egoes. They love to treat students as their friends, also as facebook friends, they joke with students attend their marriages and occasionally also call them in their own. They appreciate the elimination of distance. They like to be friendly and close. The culture of IIMs is aggrandisement: that is to make everything bigger and better. Therefore, everyone enhances the self respect of each other and everyone feels as a future CEO. Every idea is not just an idea, it is the next big thing. How does it matter if most of them are actually wrapping the soap in black colored foil instead of a white one or renaming stayfree as livefree. They come after segmenting and sub segmenting the target segment and then letting thoughts fly to again arrive at the target segment. And hasn’t it been all about presentation since times immemorial…even Mahabharatha is an intra family dispute for a couple of villages. Let’s now hop into the IITs. The ideas in vogue are brilliant. Be it machine learning, or making rechargeable batteries or designing the new electric wheel chair. But heart is where the hurt lies. Big egos and less than affable personalities. It percolates from the top to the students and to administration workers. Unending hassles , undue flexing of muscles at every opportunity and the tale just goes on…till the grind cuts through your ego and diminishes your spirit. The question is, does doing both mean tying the ends so that life comes full circle? May be, life does come to a full circle , but the radius diminishes to arrive to a point , that is right on oneself. Anything outside is either redundant or out of focus.

B to B

Drifting through the lanes of life, never have I been as baniya as in the last couple of years: Be it in staying among thorough baniyas, or valuing investment options or perhaps, engaging the right brain much more than the left. An unintended consequence of it all is the absence of rant in this public diary. But, why am I again putting up new posters in a decaying wall? So that I can test whether writer’s block really exists. Also to explore the contrast between a bong and a baniya. A baniya is a B2B player, B2B as is commonly used which is Business to Business. A bong is also a B2B player, but B2B here referring to Business to Baniya. A baniya thrives in confusion . A bong faced with confusion creates a flutter, takes the next shuttle out of it into a place he strives to make more beautiful. A baniya thrives on calculations. A bong has clairvoyance but concedes to his emotions and lets go of all calculations. A baniya thrives,but for each other . A bong is a convivial chatterbox priding himself on being impartial. A baniya knows calling a spade a spade is a bad idea really, when learning Chinese, French, German and MBA talk is so easy though not cheap. A bong understands but can’t internalise. So what makes a baniya tick and a bong speak? May be, partly nature but also nurture. Have I changed? May be….

IN(E)ternally Dumb

Nandan Nilekani recently said in an interview, an Indian will soon be identified with three numbers: his bank account number, his mobile phone number and the UID It is a natural corollary of the today’s situation, where we and are obsessions are getting increasingly digitalised. With the globalisation and digitalisation of the world , different hues : Violet, Indigo, Blue, Red ; are all mixing to form a mundane white .With the monotonity and homogeneity of the technological cloud that wraps around the world , we are fast losing our intrinsic strands of heritage and becoming that shirt –trouser jeans clad global citizen. Perhaps, global citizen is just a euphemism for the confusion that lurks in the souls today, the confusion of one’s unique identity ,of where does one belong really? Studying engineering, I was supposed to have carved a niche for myself in the educational domain. But I have been decapitated to a situation where I can only interview in companies where analytical skills are tasted. In today’s parlance, I want to become a manager(really?). Similarly born and brought up in different parts of India, and stayed and studied and worked abroad, I am not very sure, which part of the world can I claim myself to be a proud ambassador of! The confusion and loss of my identity has led to a blurr, where I feel I have lost touch with myself. Not very sure of goals and desires and ambitions , ihas been almost impossible to find out what I can live without . When I try to hear the inner voice, I can only hear the clatter of keyboards. In the face of the universal blitzkrieg today, orphaned from my past, I feel alone. Sadly, I am not the only one.

The travesty of governance

It was the summer of 2004. The feel good factor was ubiquitous. Staying in the country side and not insulated within the glitz of a metro, I could feel the fruits of progress percolating to the lower realms of the society. With India shining, my future looked bright too. Then the wheels of democracy turned around and it was time for the national elections. I anticipated a hot contest and was confident irrespective of who comes to power, the progress is going to continue. As the UPA stomped into power, its punchline of socially inclusive growth sounded more like a rhetoric. The party which rode on the fresh faces to impress the populace, passed the power buttons as well, as the keys of the treasury to the old vultures. I felt disconnected and was skeptical as the government was enjoying itself in the sop party, an extravagance paid with tax payer's money and with the return gift of strengthening the vote banks. The worst was yet to come. As I like thousands of my peers was slogging day and day night to grab a seat at the venerated IITs , the government was contemplating doling out the seats for free- supposedly for the struggles the grandfathers of these lucky 21st century silver spoon in a mouth born princes and princesses. I wish I had such an awesome inheritance!

Congress got lucky second time around too and it doesnt need a German shepherd to figure out the stink of opportunism wafting out of the corridors of power today.
As Kalmadi and co played games with the common wealth, lets not forget he continues to hold both, the reins of the Organising Committee and the congress ticket. The rhetoric of the high handed Madam and the erudite scholar too immersed in his economics tomes to catch hold of the wrong doers is louder but emptier. The recent days have exposed the fear lurking behind the veneer of virtue- the fear to be probed. The government is accountable to its people and its shameful for any democracy if the government after brazenly denying any scope for transparency resorts to a knife fight against the opposition.
It seems the ad campaign of Fair (with an Italian tan, it is even better!) and Lovely(Oh! so innocent man!) seems to be too shrewdly designed to dissuade the junta. But, As more than 1 billion people keep on struggling to make their ends meet, those with with the means,seem to have got the kitty at the ends . As sans onion. Indian gourmet seems bland, governance in India definitely rots! With India's progress losing steam, the Sun also doesnt seem to shine on my career as brightly as it used to b.....

must read

please read the follwoing article .....

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/stevecoll/2009/01/letter-from-the.html

is facebook rocking?

No more ranting about a city few people have anything to deal with. No more blog posts copiously spiced with IIT to make the write up bland. For that matter, no more convoluted articles with rich vocabulary to hide the poverty of my ideas. No more depressive talk too. Let us get talking. Let us talk about Facebook.
I joined Facebook a year ago, and literally have not looked back since then. From the number of friends to the comments to everything else, everything has multiplied in leaps and bounds. I would like to believe my life is indeed richer. Decision making is just so easy. Put the doubt in my mind on the wall and friends from across the world will rack their brains to put up witty repartees and show me the way. Put a few pics and I have comments galore. I know I am not that pretty looking gal under whose pic there will be 51 comments, but certainly i can expect at least 5 comments. If nokia is connecting people, Facebook is connecting crowds. I am in touch with hordes and hordes of people, with that gal whom i had crush on when i was in class 12 who i know is headed off to Mumbai now, thanks to Facebook, or that friend of mine who i always grudge for making me at the butt end of endless scolding of the teacher, with whom only facebook brought me face to face. Thanks to Facebook, there r no rumours, there r only conviction, why, isn’t it only I who posted that i m in a relationship and it is complicated. After all, which relationship isn’t complicated, but who cares to think deeper , the writing is on the “wall”....but an essay writing spree recently made me introspect. No more my ideas are as clear they were before; i just have clear images of what Facebook thinks of my future. Neither do i know myself as well as i knew before, i just am more aware about what my friends think of me. May be in the quest to be connected i have lost touch with myself.Zukerburg! Nokia? Or anyone of my 100 facebook friends? Will anyone please help?

Kopenhaven!!!

Copenhagen, after Genva, Paris, Rome and New Delhi was the fifth capital city that I visited.
Capital cities, the microcosm of a country and thumping with power and money, have always fascinated me.
I would rather spend a week in a capital trying to assimilate the excitement than loiter around
in some obscure village or dart across the country from one end to other.

But even among the capital cities, Copenhagen stands out as the the most cool and picturesque city that I have ever visited.
There is a touch of class in the city, and that too unaccompanied by the aura of exclusivity
reserved for a select few in cities like New Delhi and Paris. Even the queen's palace is so accessible,
who wouldnot feel like a king in such a place!

We started the day with a climb to the top of the Church of Our Saviour , sat by the harbour ,
gazed at the clear
blue sea and windmills at a distance.

we strutted along stroget, wistfully glancing at hugo boss and the amani showrooms, and had lunch at burger king.
we cheered the participants on a marathon and Gosh! it seemed that entire denmark was out here to run.
We cautiously walked upto Christiania and soon came back.

It was a cool, serene day in a very beautiful city.

test

as life tests me, it tastes uncanny.

I crave for His shadow
I want to be in His lap
Everything I want to forget
I want to flow in life like a rivulet
Everything comes to a pass
Time heals the scars
In sands of time nothing is mine
After all, a dime isn’t worth more than a dime.

The leap to the Corporate Lap

This write up comes as a sequel to the 5 point something which I wrote after the first year.Urged not by rave reviews of the first but by the sheer habit of punditry which I just cant resist I thought of penning a view suggestions for my juniors who, just like I was are always eyes and ears when anything remotely similar to an algorithm with the output either job, intern or gf comes up.

Every one comes to iit driven by passion and thirst, no. not by thirst for knowledge but rather thirst for money power and prestige. The passion is fuelled by a mirage which allures many an innocent chap into believing that exit would be as glorious and venerated as the entrance, however, here comes the reality check. As in the last 2 years I realize, the navigating the labyrinth of iit life is easier said than done. And many stalwarts who arrived here with chest pumped up and larger than life statures seems to be painfully unconfident and tottering when the parting bells toll. They despair at the glories of those who nudged their way past into the velvet cushioned and Prada donned lap of the beckoning corporate world in contrast to the relegation of most to simply fresh graduates or engineers from an engineering college sans the haloes which we so easily get used to. It is true the crying baby gets the milk and along with it the mothers lap, but neither we are babies nor something as petty as milk are we talking about. Surely, a lot more than crying is required. Sucking up to seniors may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but seniors are where the bounty of power flows at iit , something of which I was clueless of . Though I was raving about my success combating ragging in my post after the first year, it has turned to be my Achilles heel. Convincing the seniors about ones leadership skills all the while being their toady is the only way to ensure one has something to make eyes wobble when corporate leaders ponder if you are fit to join their league.

The other big thing in iit is of course the exchange program. I nudged my way into the short list and finally gave a very honest interview which the professors liked. Writing a true and cogent Statement Of Purpose and regularly participating in QC and EDLC events ensured I was more than a push over.

In IIT, everything is numbered, from the rasgulas to the girls. However there is number which stands out and it is the CGPA. It is like the RBC in our body , higher the count, healthier are ones chances, otherwise, one may just brace up for lots of blues at the end.



Prodded by my didactic juices, I was urged to pen down a long long essay starting from how to make that priceless Rendezvous pass in the first year count to never falling asleep after having put up a difficult question to the professor in class earlier when I thought let me cut down everything which is irrelevant to how to get a great job after passing out. I feel a sense of incapability and humility writing this extremely proud and bombastic post, because, I haven’t been able to follow what I am preaching. I hope my ignorance, my attempts in vain and a partial success condone me from hypocrisy.
I know it is too late to correct a few mistakes which I did and I hope I wont be punished for them Philanthropy scores over my apprehension of ridicule as I end up belaboring a few ideas in a domain which I have only seen and been a part of , and utterly lack the experience of a person on the other side of the river.

good is not cool

In childhood what does one have to do to be good?
He has to fit into the norm, has to maneuver himself into that tiny space of being the “good” child. It might mean being deaf dumb and bind…deaf to the mouthfuls of expletives that one gets to hear daily , dumb to all the hissing and swishing that goes behind the back in school, and blind to any beauty that God has endowed which Is not masculine. Goaded by the heaps of praise from the family members especially from the aunts, and driven by the urge to be recognized as nothing but of flawless character, he has to shroud the colorful part of his character in sacred veils of duty, ethics and self discipline. He has to perform daily work in a clockwork precision and be oblivious to everything in the world apart from the common good.

He is not used to cracking jokes, grown up listening to conversations about politicians and UTI bankruptcies. The greatest jokes have been about how happiness is inversely proportional to desires and how Unit Trust of India is UN Trust of India. In hostel gheraoes when he pops up the same jokes he is told to get banished from sight into his small confinement even which he can’t call his own.

In college and in the corporate world, he has to be when he has to do everything he has suppressed till now. Firing expletives is cool, tracing trajectories of back biting have to be mastered and opposite sex have to be kept charmed. Nascent and innocent, the good guy of childhood stumbles and falls and is laughed at and made a scape goat. He retreats to a corner, makes designs tries to carve a niche but then realized the world has moved on. He is said to be dark, boring unattractive and simply not COOL.

He has to change. The key is to change colors. It is best to smile hard when the word demands and keep quiet when the world smiles at you, only then can you spot a smile in your face when you look at the mirror.

travelogs

The weekend trips to La Rochelle and Bordeaux when nothing inexplicable happened and the trip to Marseille and Montpellier which was more creepy than thrilling I was a bit apprehensive about my weeklong trip to Paris. However the sojourn at Paris was wonderful reprieve from the life in Toulouse which now seems to be mundane.

Paris is indeed a city which captivated my imagination . I really enjoyed strolling in the street when the pace of life got my pulse racing and where the smell of money, of privilege and of a world which is class apart comes wafting out from the shop windows of Chanel .

The Eiffel rises into the city’s skyline confidently and eternally embodies the spirit of the people , the seamless confidence in which they rush into the trams and out of them into the cars and the shops. The sellers at the bottom of the Eiffel ,wearing counterfeit DKNYs and more jackets than I was wearing at that time peddling miniatures are themselves like their wares …carving out their own space and imitating the grand at the same time .

Not very far from Eiffle is The Louvre….

Louvre Museum is like the Buckingham Palace humongous and ornate. However sans Banded Ear or the Last Supper or the Van Gogh auto portrait Louvre is not much more than the Louvre Palace and the inverted pyramids. However, Mona didi did intrigue me with her smile. With our hearts glowing after having received the smile of Mona Lisa and having been a witness to the finest pieces of art created ever, next day we decided to start from the Pantheon… where the French greats rest.

The Pantheon is indeed very grand not quite reminiscent of the usual blandness of a tomb and perhaps, it brings into light the fact that death was indeed a celebration in the olden days , something which even new age Gurus like Osho advocate..are we going back as we go ahead in time??

Err…was I talking about the places of interest in Paris??

Musee d’ Orsay was a treat to the artist in me. the vivid colors of Monet, the skill and deftness of Van Gogh and the grandness of Couloir left me enthralled. Renoirs was amazing too...the list is just endless......

We scanned the other places of interest ….

The cruise on Sienne, the climb to the top of Arc de Triomphe followed by the promenade on the Champs de Elysees ,the window shopping on galleries of Laffayat,the beautiful gardens of Luxembourg and Tilluaires and the Arc de Defence, the commercial hub of Paris , a 1 day trip to the Chataeu of Versailles which is a stamp on royalty and luxury , the strut on the Pigalle and the shy smiles in front of the Moulin Rouge.

Last but not the least.....the impeccable English of a young woman whom I met in Paris is easily the best English I have heard in recent times. The combination of superb English and french looks is indeed as good as the french wine..however which one is better, I am clueless....How do I know when I have tasted neither??

We made the trip out of scratch…..a 5 day trip just for 120 euros!! With accommodation free in the hostels of my friend and transportation in Covoiturage and food from the cheapest shops and entry into the wonders negotiated successfully it has been an experience to remember.

Am I 20?

Why I feel I am 20 and Why I feel..I still ain’t….


He still calls up his parents daily to talk to them.
He doesn’t talk to them for more than 20 minutes.

He buys milk when his friends animatedly dispute which beer to be bought.
He has been to bar, disco , night club..tasted wine..

He still says what he feels and feels what he says
He keeps quite when he feels the opposition is too heavy.

He still spills food and milk and whatever is in his hands at least once a month.
He has learnt to eat with a fork and knife the French style.

He still rides cycle as a habit and not just for promotional campaigns.
He goes to promotional campaigns because he loves to see the jaws of DU chicks drop.(something which makes IIT Delhi stand out…)

He hasn’t washed a single piece of cloth till date and hasn’t cooked a single meal all by himself.
He figured out how to operate a behemoth called a washing machine fully configured in French all by himself.

He can't find his way to the stack of plates kept right in front of him and looks and seems to be all over the place.
He never had any problem in finding his way in the Paris International Airport.


He is still as obstinate about the things as he was to get the Hot wheel.

He cries and cribs and then gives up…when he realizes something is beyond his reach.(which most things these days seem to be..)

He sobs, he doesn’t weep.

He sobs when no one is watching.

He feels mothers lap is the best place in the world.
He hasn’t been in there for a month now.

the shuddering and the shedding...

Shedding teen hood on the banks of Mediterranean

It had been a long day…..
As it became darker, our worries grew and the fatigue too kept on increasing. Faced with the arduous task of finding the accommodation in a remote locality in a French city known to be dangerous, somehow we kept our spirits high and our legs moving. Finally in the suburbs did we locate the Auberge de Jaunese or the Youth hostel . However that was not the end of our worries, or perhaps that was just the beginning. The petulant old manager let us now in very firm voice that we could not just check out before 7 am which meant we would be missing the train to Montpellier. A few swift action minded people started packing the bags without thinking of the consequences. I wanted to stay put however in a group of 9 one doesn’t have much say. With nowhere to go we were literally in the dark. After groping in the dark with another group of 3 Californians looking for a way we finally came to square 1…squatting in front of the Youth Hostel gate .Every car slowing down increased our heart beat every second was passed with a scare deep side and the confident aplomb of the iitian outside. After many such moments and many whines and shudders, there was light at the end of the tunnel. It paid to be born in a country with a billion plus people, wherever you go you will find an Indian and each of them is just so hospitable. The Indian hospitability goes much beyond the customary French greetings, it helps when it is needed the most. The very sympathetic and helpful Indian Post Doc researcher, Pramod agreed to let us in. Followed by a frantic search for taxi made possible by the more expansive networks both telephonic and humane these days and more map reading by our navigators we reached his residence. His residence was more than heaven for us, and I just managed to catch 40 winks. When it was 430, again it was time to move, this time to Montpellier where I would cross my teen hood.
I never myself realized when I entered teen hood but the exit has been with a bang. Just as it is great to hear a bang and see it from a distance my 20th birth day has been just picture perfect to describe in , difficult to be in. On the banks of the Mediterranean I was watching the Sun set into the sea when the clock turned 12 in India and I believe I turned 20. I just managed to salute the glorious Sun with my folded hands in gratitude for the 20 years that he has given me to live.

To give or not to give

The hardest thing to accept in this world I believe is undoubtedly defeat and all the arguments suggesting that in the battle between two equals it all depends on which side does the God smile make it all the worse. Why me and why not me keep me occupied for days, I admire those who are able to shrug it off and move on. I am usually very passionate and determined to avoid such a scenario and would rather beg and kneel than cry in sorrow. It isn’t that begging doesn’t hurt my self esteem but sometimes there is no other thing to do than turn towards the Almighty with hands folded in utter desperation.
Undoubtedly it hurts a lot more to plead before a mortal than to kneel before God. And this brings me to the ubiquitous Indian beggar who struggles to make his both ends meet doing day in and day out something which is extremely hard and painstaking. To add to his misery is the scorching Sun and the frosty winter making begging as a profession the most difficult in my eyes. The world of cut throat competition where every one is busy watching his own steps, no one can afford to donate a beggar more than a corner of his glance making the income harder to come by for the poor fellows. Unconfirmed hearsays about a single beggar in a country earning just enough to make his both ends meet notwithstanding, the rest 1 million of the lot undoubtedly are rotting away in abjure poverty . I just can’t fathom why if anyone has an opportunity won’t jump out of such a heart rendering situation.
We all are well aware of the lackadaisical nature of the Indian government and the sloppy poverty alleviation programs. It is just hypocrisy when we bribe our way through serpentine queues and never dare to buy anything from the PDS shops to expect the beggars who neither have political connections or cash in their cache to avail the ostentatious and apocryphal programs of the Indian government.
For long I have wondered at the rarefied bubble in which the royals live...so much insulation form the rest of the world such nonchalance. In due course of time I have realized and unfortunately party acquired the ability to see through surroundings to cast a blind eye towards those who are not as lucky.
May be the next time a beggars knocks at your window rolling down the glass and helping him to survive might just be a better idea. After all, we are all beggars in the world and we know it hurts being denied.

Frech escapades

9th September 2009

Dear diary

It has been a week in France. I don’t know how to begin partly because of the simultaneous deterioration of my English with the improvement of my French and more significantly because of my complete inability to summarize in one word the days that have just gone by. When compared to the first week of September of 2007 it has been a dream but not exactly the kind of dreams I would love to realize.
The journey to Toulouse was besotted with hassles. However enroute, I also had my first bush with French cordiality.

The university campus seems very much like the Refinery Townships that I have been brought up in , the city is just an extrapolation. Clean and scarcely populated. The people are extremely, helpful and polite, though the guys see us with a mixture of arrogance, envy and suspicion. Some damsels absolutely ignore and some earnestly mount 2 pecks on every ones cheeks. Surprisingly many are like the IIT gals, very hardworking, motivated and sincere. It very surprisingly forms my most exciting experience In France.

Being a 19 year old, I may be expected to go gaga over the long and short of skirts here, but really it’s like channel V. You never switch it on after the first day.

After my visit to shopping mall here I have no doubt, after we became champions in 20-20, we are on our way on becoming a champion in 2020 again.

In my French class here there was a German, Brazilians, Spanish, Swedish, Italian and me. The professor was very soft spoken and kind but I heard he is one of a kind here. I was fabulously impressed when the only girl in my class came up to me on her own accord to explain the formalities to open a bank account here. I was more impressed to see her meticulous notes later on. Unfortunately I don’t know anything about her apart from her name, which I am not sure how to spell but I guess wherever I am there is always such a girl in my class. All of them find me too boring because whenever they are talking to me I am admiring their notes.

The parties are very frequent here though if you go in 2 consecutively you won’t go to the 3rd. However one was a big one when those who have better things to do than attending parties also came and it was wonderful. I was glad to bump into that Brazilian gal in it …she asked me something in French ... must have I guess been if I knew tango... i cudn’t comprehend but I thought its better to say yes …2 moments later on she took my arm and ….2 moments later she went away.

Next morning she was giving me angry glances.

Whenever I see Indian dress here I make a move…not really attracted by the sartorial appeal but by the prospective fragrance of chicken biryani I guess… I have met a Pakistani, a Bangladeshi and I guess an Indian today who said he was in a hurry.

There is an Indian girl in my hostel who really is very kind and helpful, sometimes cooks rice for me. She has really inspired my faith in the quality of French education as she works as hard as I used to do when I was in my toiling mode. My conscience is really prodding me to quit writing blogs and start studying something brain racking.

I was eating in the cafeteria today when I was messing around, something for which I am quite famous even in my hostel. I could see the lady sitting in my front was trying hard not to look at me. I requested her to teach me how to use fork and knife and she did it with great enthusiasm, patience and care. She spent the next 15 minutes just showing how to hold a fork the French way as I am very bad picking up grips and postures.
When Srikant asked me how life at INSA Toulouse is different from that in IIT, I think it is just different in 2 ways. You cut the jeans of the IITgals mid way and cook the food without spices, and use google translate , you have INSA Toulouse…the same work ethics, the same motivation in life the same ambitions…..After all bread is the staff of life..the rat race is universal…..I am not going to bell the CAT…I have to run!!!

I M IN TV!!!!!!!

These days just like any 19 year old I wake up with lots of hopes, ambitions and worries.I am inundated with thoughts about different courses that the day might take even before my cup of tea.One such day was 24th July 2009.As usual, nothing had been similar to what I had thought of , no matter how hard I may just try to expect the unexpected. I could never conjure up that I will somehow find myself as the NDTV studio , just 2 hours after I had the rendezvous with the higher and the mightier ( no , not the Prez of India, but my thoughts....)

5 minutes before the interview , the very drawn to earth and charming Jyotiraditya Scindia walks in. 2 years after having passed in dilapidated but hallowed corridors of IIT , honestly speakin, never I have been flattered , but on the contrary have been humiliated, chastised , boycotted and insulted.

I was in a stupor waiting for the interview to begin when something woke me up or rather led me to a dream. "you are from IIT , you should be sitting where I am in and I should sit where you are in. I never could dream to make it to the IITs"

I tried to enlighten his deliberate oblivion to the fact that 7500 students these days make it to the IIT but there is just 1 Jyotiraditya Scindia. He pretended his ignorence but he was smiling from ear to ear.

I guess when he had given me so much pleasure , he deserved the contentment of a pleasing remark. After all alliance is the name of the game today and who knows it better?

P.S : The day also marked my first appearance on tv, I managed to utter something
just in time to grab the camera. Revved up by the exhilarating day I tried for some adventure at night. NO doubt it was adventurous but I will reserve it for a chetan bhagat clone novel for the future.

paradox

Guys….another article from the same boorish, old in a young body boring Pinak…..and it comes at a time went the air is especially abuzz…its only once that the hostel gets charged up like this….and its only once when the usually miser IITians gets generous…..but yes, there is no free lunch..And everything comes with a string attached……read here...vote…yes, every vote counts and it does feel nice to b a part of a miniscule of what is the famous Abraham Lincoln called “govt of the people(read here ambitious), by the people (read here….of the tacticians) and for the people(read here , the opportunists)….

It was an assignment form my particularly globalised teacher of a particularly simple subject which led me to a particularly respected website to find my particularly incompetent teacher’ s pic at the top only to b particularly proud and devastated at the same time. For those wondering why particularly has been repeated, I let u do the thinking and move on…to the more poignant topic which I have been wondering on for some time. There have not been things happening around me which not necessarily confirm the adage that hard work never goes unrewarded nor does it instill in me the faith that the talented and deserving always get the berry. ..It is easier to find the more athletic and the skillful monkey getting to the top of the branch to get the sweetest fruits...however the passage of time has only made world infinitely complex…and may be...in the process of gaining intricacy the basic principles of pattern have been lost…taking the liberty to compare humans with monkeys (hope in these increasingly Talibanised times a fatwa is not released against me)…it is the monkey with a rope which is making to the top..or that’s how I have the tendency to perceive things…thoughts which seemed bizarre to me when I was taught the vikram seths poem frog and the nightingale when I was very nascent have start making sense to me…talent and skill are the two edged knives which those with gloves can use to cut into you ..To ensure they drink all the blood and can use your knives to cut many others…

Steve Waugh said sledging is a skill…may be ….politics is a mental exercise….since brain always has its way above brawn…may b ewe r already in the world...when politics appeasement pacification holds the key to the treasure..The one and only strategy to rise….on the shoulders of those who toil...toil so that shoulders can be firmer so that...the manipulative rise higher….it may seem to b perfect logic to have firmer and firmer bases as we go to the bottom of the pyramid..However as it is...human emotions don’t run on logic and even if it does...it relies on the simple notion that the deserving should get it due…......
May be God has a different interpretation and a more beautiful design that just seems lost to me at the moment….May be because simple beautiful colorful patterns look absolutely messy from inside…hope the page (or the cloth) will be turned……

IIT SOCIALS

The red carpet was rolled, place was cordoned off, momos were brought and the “nerds “were all set to socialize. After all, hadn’t all of us waited for this red letter day since last year? Deep under the poker faces of IITians lies there strong urge to dance, hangout and have fun with the hottest chicks. True, harder a desire is suppressed stronger it becomes and the vigorous IIT preparation and the strict IIT regimen definitely makes everyone a Romeo in their dreams. Lo! All was sent to change…bright halos of intellect, knowledge, wit would melt into pure grace, beauty and charm…an enviable fusion. The socials were of course supposed to be something remarkable.

It was 5’o clock when the last class was over and as we all are champs in 11th hour preparations, we rushed to the hostel. Some rushed to the bathroom to have a bath (socials a strong excuse for doing that) some dabbed in cologne, some trimmed their moustaches and some started googling “pick up lines”.
Finally the damsels descended. We all rushed downstairs. Many admitted later on, they weren’t as thrilled even after clearing JEE. As it is, dreams are always brighter and “fairer” (I make no bones of the general fixation for fair and therefore lovely girls). The music gradually began playing and those who considered themselves good enough started meandering towards the girls. Gradually everybody started sashaying. However the disconnect was ostensible. Somewhere something was missing and we people are after all Indians...I haven’t yet heard of 5 minute love…I am no Jackson and I descended from the dance floor. I went on a stroll and found a sweet girl standing alone. I approached her and we began talking. I was glad I had found someone who didn’t like dancing (is it ok ma’am?)And I was quite confident we would have more similarities. She was very elegant, sophisticated and well nurtured. But somewhere she appeared to be tethered to a totally different mindset which I think is responsible for her sudden mood swings which I discovered later on.
That night the hostel was abuzz. Apart from a few unlucky (or lucky?)ones all had found their “ideal match”.
1 month on...the minors over...the hostel was still abuzz…everyone had a tale to tell. Hardly anyone of us went on a date after that...and I don’t know about a single guy who is still on…it is not Bollywood where the endings are happy; unfortunately it is not even Hollywood. Truly socials as they are aptly called meant only for socializing, a great catalyst for sand castles to be built .Just a word to the freshers...”Remember we are not kings yet, don’t expect the queen so early.”

expectations......

Dishan was a small town boy, brought up in dust laden streets where the tranquility camouflages the obliviousness , where the bankruptcy of the Lehmann bros or Morgan Stanley fails to make into the small talk, where the falling sensex doesn’t mean falling love between couples or where people usually aspire to be doctors engineers or the next Ambani.
Being a very obedient and the only son of his parents he was a pampered brat. Every alternate week meant a 50 rupee note from his mom...to the mom it was a way to prod Dishan to higher attendance, higher marks and of course peace of mind from his constant nagging..But for Dishan it was much more. It was his way to a Ferrari, to more envious glances from his friends and of course it was his means to zoooooooom to fun and frolic.

Dishan started doing well in school...hats off to him and his parents…he completed his homework on time worked hard and he was the topper. He started reading the newspaper when the backbenchers in his classes couldn’t even join letters to form words. Newspapers meant a window to him...it was his foray into the big world…in the world which expands out from the earth to space…world where abject poverty and stinking wealth coexist , where people die for money and where someone called as L.N Mittal invites everyone to his daughter’s wedding with a silver card…of course Dishan wasn’t invited...but in his dreams he thought, I will be the next L.N Mittal….his dreams had now started expanding at a frantically higher pace and he had started to develop a thirst for more...he wanted to work his way out from the maze of his mofussil town and jump into the limelight…his parents though rewarded his good performance in school with more 50 rupee notes but he had started to think more of what a 50 rupee couldnot buy….he knew a 50 rupee note was just not enough in this world…
He convinced his parents to send him to the nearest metro...seeing the glitter and determination in Dilshan’s voice hardly could have anybody relented. The big city lights …the flashy cars …the ultra mod girl friends ..City was just as Dishan expected…amazing to those who are ready to slog , else you perish...however now his desires had become an obsession...he didn’t “dream “ to be in BMWs ...he actually chased BMWs in his bicycle when they surpassed him...hoping he will catch up some day…but Dilshan didn’t fail his parents’ trust in him. He slogged really hard...outshone everybody else in his league...and he got the sweet fruit of hard work. His expectations and reality had converged and he was in ecstasy. But his dreams kept on expanding and his performance did not . After all there are just 24 hours in a day…..however the gulf between the expectations and reality kept on widening…And the ecstasy kept on evaporating...he was getting more frustrated and depressed. He had surely come a long way...but he looked himself as an underperformer….his shoulders were hung low his head was bent in shame..… He had lots of 50 rupee notes in his pocket but hardly did they matter to him. What mattered to him were his dreams , his ambitions and not what the world thought of him...until the world shook under his feet..And his entire hard work crumbled into a rubble...again a 50 rupee note meant a lot for him…again it was his means to happiness and joy...again he was contended with just A 50 RUPEE NOTE......no wonder when I met him in the bus ..He trailed off saying ...”Life is indeed a full circle but of varying radius, my friend”….