A lament for my sore arse...

I guess nothing mirrors the phases of one’s life better than the way birthdays are celebrated. Although most of us would never remember our first few birthdays, the old yellowing photographs in mom’s dusty little upper shelf would tell us that those celebrations were more for your parent’s friends (and elder siblings, if u had any), than for you. Rarely would your own friends (except those in the same residential colony) be a part of the guest list. The birthday boy/girl would be relegated to the center of the room as a showpiece (not intentionally; it just happens that way). This continues for 3-5 years, depending on how obstinate the child is. It is after attending the parties of a few elder ‘bhaiyas’ & ‘didi’s’ of the colony that the child realizes: Birthdays are the BEST time to blackmail your parents <Buahahahahaha>.

Then our dear li’l angel starts demanding. “Waaaaaaahhhh!!! I want snoopy theme or Tom & jerry theme. I want that Space gun/Birthday Barbie/Thunderbird plane.” etc. The loving parent succumbs to the child’s endearing pranks. Well, most do. But some, like my father, don’t. The best time for having birthdays is when you’re going to school. The whole day seemed special. Right from the second you jumped of your bed (not stumbled of it as usual), it was your day and nothing could get in the way of that. And why wouldn’t it seem so? You will be the only person in the whole class wearing civilian clothing (picked with gingerly care over the past few weeks); you would be distributing toffees to your mates and getting smiles from teachers. I remember one particular birthday (class 8 or so). One bitch of a teacher punished me (made me & other ‘criminals’ in the front of the class) for not brining my textbook. And this after I gave her a toffee!! My classmates were scandalized!! How can a teacher do this to their friend on his birthday!!?? In retrospective, it seems normal. But at age 13, the most important day on your calendar was your birthday (Hmmm, maybe it was because it was my 13th birthday… hmmmmm.). Adolescence also brings in that tremor of hope, during the distribution of chocolates, of having eye contact or a warm handshake from that ‘certain someone’. Of course, all these years, the school will be followed by a nice party at your house in which the guest list would actually comprise your friends.

These school years seem to be a very crucial stage in deciding how a person perceives birthdays for the rest of his/her life. From my VAST experiences in books, movies & TV serials (obviously… what else would I have experience in?), I draw the following conclusions:

• If a child has had fairy-tale birthdays around this time and he is unsuccessful later in his/her life, s/he hates birthdays.


• If a child has had fairy-tale birthdays around this time and s/he is successful in his/her life, birthdays are still a time to rejoicing and togetherness.


• If an unfortunate child rarely experienced birthdays around this time and s/he is successful in life, birthdays are used more a social do than anything else (Mambo No.5!!).


• And finally, If an unfortunate child rarely experienced birthdays around this time and s/he is unsuccessful in life, s/he wouldn’t remember which day is his/her birthday.

The past five monsoons in Kharagpur have each given me a different flavour on my birthday. My birthday happens to fall just into the beginning of the year. So, in the first year, I barely knew anybody to celebrate it with. The high point in second year was a luncheon party I gave to around 20 of my first year friends. My wingies barely had any inkling that it was my birthday. Third year onwards the set routine came up. It mainly consisted of a GPL (G***d Pe Laath) at midnight and a nice dinner party in the night. Last year was the first time that I had actually gotten a ‘Proper GPL’. I wasn’t able to sit properly for the next 3-4 days. This year was even worse. As it happens, the Orientation Period (or rather the R***ing period) got over last Saturday (there were 2 rounds of GPLs for that itself) and all my dear juniors were raring to celebrate the first birthday amongst their loved seniors. And that poor old bastard turned out to be me. There were 70 guys wishing me a ‘Happy Birthday, Sir!!’ at exactly 12 o’clock. The smiles on their faces were closer to the devil than Al Pacino can ever get.

So, here I am sitting in an awkward position on my chair trying to complete this post before I go to sleep (on my belly, of course), wondering what lies ahead for me today (3 classes and a lab are amongst them). I have received many wishes (including some touching ‘status messages’) which wish me a great day and an equally joyous life. But I wish all my readers (irrespective of their birth dates) a great day 40-50 years down the line, when we are at the twilight of our lives. May you be surrounded by loved ones and an aura of a life well lived. I wish this with all my heart for all your birthdays.


Signing off with some snaps:

1>3rd bday;












2>10th bday;


3>16th bday(1st yr)










and finally 4>21st bday's beginning

A Sunday...

It started with a second year knocking my door at an 'unearthly' hour of 5.30 to wake me up for tennis practice. Although I haven't played tennis for over 2 years now, it truly remains my favourite sport. I had slept at 3 am yesterday night, but a promise is a promise. So, I trudged along with a battalion of second years to play tennis. Half an hour into the warmup+practice, there were no regrets of loosing sleep. Tennis seems to be the most enjoyable way of getting into a diet & exercise routine (details on why i am trying to start such a routine, i hope to reveal in another post).

So. Tennis over. Now what? The sun had come up and it was getting quite sultry. I didn't want to sleep immediately after playing, so started watching a few episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S and read the paper etc. Around 11 am, I woke up my room neighbour (Nick: Bagru)and we set off to the venue of the weekly Mock-CAT. No,No! Not to give the exam. Merely to get my account transfered to him. You see, Ladies & Gentlemen, I have FINALLY decided that I shall not be appearing for the mandatory exam for those who covet a seats in the IIMs. And parallely, Bagru decided he has more chances to get through CAT than to apply abroad for higher studies. Therefore, we decided that the most economically sensible thing to do would be to switch accounts at the coaching centre. He gets his coaching course at a discount (I did well in the 'discount exams') and I get some moolah which is otherwise stuck in some course.

Even after completing these formalities at the coaching centre and procuring the remaining sets of materials, the weather was very sultry. In fact, it was quite unbearable. I then proceeded for a long over-due haircut. It was when i got out the saloon, that I heard thunders from afar. It had started to drizzle and the drops were falling vertically (literally). For the next hour or so, it felt like there was an impenetrable curtain of rain around us. It was smothering any ember of energy left in me. I hurried up my bath and shut myself in the room for my ritual prayer. Although I hadn't explicitly asked the Lord to make my day better, i guessed he sensed it.

Wisps of cool air started entering my room from under my door. I could actually feel the cool wind first touching my feet and then, as it got more windy, the cool air reached my waist. The room above my waist was still warm and stifling. It was odd. Half of my body was still sweating and confused that the rest didn't feel the same way. And the bottom half propelled me to my door: 'Open sesame'. It hit me. I could actually feel the front of the cold wind sweep through my body. I immediately opened all the windows of the room. A supendous musical piece: Yanni - A face in the photograph; was playing on my computer.

It was heavenly.

It was perfect.

The complete rejuvenation. Just a few minutes back, I was subconsciously praying for this day to end in its existting form. And it happened. I don't intend to take a spiritualistic or rhetorical view on this, but prayers do get answered. Some may say "Hallelujah" and some may cry out "Coincidence". But I don't care. Scientifically, I believe that every event has its own set of probabilistic outcomes. Spritually, I believe that prayer gives us an ability to rejoice when the outcome is desired one and to be stoic when it is not.

I guess that sometimes even the erratic weather of a village can teach you how to find a balance between science and spirit in atleast one facet of life.

P.S. I have been writing this blog with all the windows and door of my room wide open (like in all other rooms of kharagpur, i guess), continously listening to the theme of Bombay composed by Rahman.

My interpretation of dreamers

Sleep is the quintessential anti-thesis of achievement. None in Human history have left a mark due to their lassitude (except Rip-van-Winkle and Sleeping beauty, but they are fictional). The insomnia that many 'Greats' suffer is legendary. Napoleon would barely sleep when he was at war(which often was for years together). Even Karnad lucidly describes Tughlaq's maddening insomnia which causes him to say:

Sweep your logic away into a corner, Barani, all I need now is myself and my madness—madness to prance in a field eaten bare by the scarecrow violence.

IITs are full of young minds raring to achieve. If there is one common thread which binds all students of IIT, it is the sense of achievement. The achievement of looking at the result of the exam-whose-name-must-not-be-said and exulting in ones triumph. And they know they did not achieve this by sleeping. God (and all the gossiping Aunties of the colony) are the sole witness to the self-flagellation that is required for this exam. I still remember clearly the EXACT 6 hours of luxurious sleep I used to permit myself. This was forcibly increased to 7 hours by my mother towards the end of my preparation. It had its desired effect. I performed decently.

I don't intend to indulge in self-glorification through this post. Rather, my aim is quite the opposite. Once these sleep-deprived, weary-eyed chaps come into the hallowed institutes, they promptly (and quite literally) go to sleep. There are records set by people which would shock freud to think of an alternate world we exist in during our torpid behaviour. I was a proud record holder in my freshman year (17.5 hours) until it was surpassed by a bigger bum (19 hours). And may I explicitly state that these are not alcohol-induced or drug-induced stupors. Quite simply put, we were taking Dr. Kalam's statement, "Dream of a new India", literally.

Even in the institutes, students who sleep marginally(1-2 hours) less than the average(8-10 hours), are the achievers. These are the guys who find time for sports, music drama and academics. But these guys are rare and are worth their weoght in gold. This article deals with the majority of forlorn characters whom one would find around every other corner. Also, I have heard from my friends in their fledging careers and experienced myself (During ITC training), the return to insomnia. Our sleep patterns go back to the standard 6 hour a day. It seems that the fire of achievement is rekindled in every soul who leaves the not-so-comfortable hostels.

I guess by now the reader( yes, that is you my dear fella) would've realised the point I am driving at(or so i hope). The academic "grinding" of the 'Nation's premier institutes' is barely a challenge to any of its students. They would rather choose between curricular and extra-curricular activities. Rarely do both of them co-exist. It is either curriculars+sleep or extra-curriculars+sleep. But sleep/slumber/siesta/naps are irreplaceable. Exam-induced insomnia is an exception at times, but they occur for exactly 40 days in the whole year(and that too not for all). Add to this the 'necessary' dosage of intoxicants and you will get the sons of Dionysus. Therefore the ratiocination is that:

Man's response to challenges or the lack of it can be determined by his sleep patterns (Quote by 'yours truly', 2004).

P.S. The usage of complicated words is to help me imbibe them into my vocabulary

A Bundle of Joy!!

This post has been repeatedly postponed & it is sacrilege to do so anymore.

So Ladies & Gentlemen,
I would like to introduce you to my new-born niece :

Miss. Ananya Chari

Born on the 26th of April, she is a taurean(Sign : Bull). The personality traits are supposed to be according to the following:

Taureans like to be rooted -- whether it is your environment, work, home or your opinions. Thus you are a picture of stability to some and to others you can be stubborn, with a mind closed to new ideas and a certain unwillingness to change. But it works both ways, you are determined and do not easily buckle under pressure and adversity. You are patient, loyal and caring. Like the bull that represents your zodiac sign, you will be slow to anger but once annoyed, you will rage and turn ferocious.

The saddest part is that I shall not be able to hold her in my arms until the end of next year (most probably), when my sister and her husband come over to India (They are presently in Florida with my parents). More than half of my cousins have seen the child and ME.. Her Mamashri has not his Bhaanji. With all my heart, I curse Kharagpur and its super-tight schedules as the reasons.

Such occasions are one of the few reasons that I never want to settle downhalf the across the globe from my country. This time period of almost 2 years to see her is too much for me to take.

Sniff..Sniff...Sob...Sob...

The little angel sleeps....

Poses with her Grandfather....

A poem...

I am not much into poems as such... But couldn't resist adding this piece:



If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

Fare thee well, my friend......

Farewells are always a tough thing to go through. Going through each day knowing it is one less you shall be spending with some people. Waiting for the appointed day, making a few laughs while getting the baggage ready and if u are lucky enough saying goodbye at the station without any tears. It is this whole process of saying farewell to people whom you hope to rendezvous with in the future. At Kharagpur, like in many other Indian colleges, this season of bidding farewell is in the month of May. I have heard that batchmates who leave last often reprimand themselves for being the last of the 'deserters'.

I say 'I have heard ..' because, I have not seen any of these seasons in my 4 years of stay here. The first 3 years I was always in a hurry to go home and this year, when majority of my batchmates left, I was undergoing a Summer internship. Hence, I missed most of the hugs and tears that are normally associated with farewell. It was more of calling my friends up and realising they are at home or in some cases a wierd 'bangaali' voice picking it up and saying 'Yeh number humne naya kharida hai'. And there it was... the signs of people cutting off their links with the place they called home for 4 years (not that I blame them for selling a BSNL sim card for 1000 bucks)

Still, it didn't hit me until I reached kharagpur after the summers. I walk down the often-trodden paths and fail to recognise anyone. These are all strange faces, unknown faces. I walk into the hall and I missed many of the smiling faces, the swagger in their walk, the simple nod of the head, which meant "Hey! How are u? I'm great!". Then I spoke to a few of my friends and talked to them about jobs, cursed their bosses for them, wished them luck in their new endeavors. And then it sunk in.

It is not the same.

Nothing is.

Nor will it ever be.

I often used to ask myself why don't alumni jump at the chance of coming to their alma mater. I used to meet many of the alumni during sponsorship work for the college festival and all used to get in return to an invitation to Kharagpur was a shrug. Just a shrug. It baffled me. How can a guy, who can part with a few bucks for his college and also does have the time to visit, simply shrug of a visit? It baffled me... until today.

Any home is not a home without its memories. All those starry-eyed boys, who entered these hallowed halls of knowledge and left with fire in their eyes, grew up here together. They lived, ate, laughed, cried and left together. For them coming back to these buildings of mortar and stone without their comrades is simply not worth it. For they learnt more from their brothers than they learnt from the grey-haired professors.

Hence it is time, for me(and my remaining wingies) to bid a fond farewell to all our dear friends. And hope that we shall meet again. For it is only hope that remains in the box.

Farewell