THE FOURTH YEAR – A hosteller’s guide to survive the last two semesters, amidst all the placement/exam drama.

Wake up and immediately think to yourself, “I’m going to get hammered tonight.” Help yourself to a cigarette. Doesn’t matter if it’s 6am or 10am. You shall skip your classes anyway. What do they teach us anyway? Go through the day repeating this thought throughout your menial tasks. Think about what you have to do tomorrow or the day after and reassure yourself, “I’m going to get wasted tonight.” Abash anyone who tries to oppose you or re-influence you. You’re getting drunk as a skunk tonight and no-one can stop you.

Keep the amount of money required to buy alcohol, ready before-hand. If you don’t have it, invite your other friends. Ask them to finance your drinking-session for the night. Annhilate their room if they refuse. Finish infinitesimal responsibilities(read : formalities) and crack open a beer as soon as you get back to your room. Or you can take a trip to your nearest liqour shop and glutton your drink there. Relish the first gulp. Relish the second. Finish the beer and open another. Switch on your phone and play tracks from Pink Floyd or Honey Singh or Coldplay you downloaded from god-knows-what yesterday. Wait – your cell is already on? You are an asshole. ALWAYS KEEP YOUR PHONE SWITCHED OFF. It gives you a sense of superiority. Never return phone-calls. Never text back. None of them matter. None except your parents. Realize it’s only 6:30 and you’re already pretty buzzed. Decide to slow down so you can keep drinking later. Light that god-damn cigarette now.

Get back to your ‘adda’/room. Your roommate/friend comes over 20 minutes later and asks if you want to start drinking. Keep smoking. Ignore the fact that you have been already and oblige. Decide to consume it slow. Still. Abandon this decision when your roommate/friend insults you for drinking slowly. Challenge them to a “Who Can Drink More” contest. Finish your case. Wait, are you short on cash? Then don’t.

After consuming your victory, loudly, demand it is time to go out and speak to your other friends. Feel like you are losing your buzz by the time you get to them. By hook or by crook, make sure you lay your hands on more alcohol. You need it. Hell- you promised yourself to get hammered today and you can’t go back on your word. What will the society think? What will the non-smokers/ non-drinkers think? There’s more cigarettes right? Somehow, manage to find a beer-financer. Order another. (Ordering can mean anything – Beer delivery service, getting your non-drinking friends to bring you your alcohol, getting them yourself)

Finish it and insist there is very little alcohol in it and order another.

If any of the following occurs, you got too drunk: vomiting, peeing on yourself, blacking out, getting drawn on, drooling while conscious, fighting with someone you usually get along with, crying in public, falling and requiring medical attention, creating a scene out on the street and getting arrested.

If you’re really drunk but haven’t crossed the line, feel free to do so. Start going up to all your friends and realize they are not as drunk as you are. Feel different. Shout. Use big words. Swear words. Feel upset. Don’t feel ashamed. Feel betrayed. Finish your drink and order another. See that one person who you wished you would never see again. Come back to your ‘adda’ and light a cigarette. Do give away some cigarettes to that friend who surprisingly pops into your room asking for a smoke. Reminiscence about the early years of your college-life. Blame the college and it’s profs for your academic stagnation. Blame the system. Always blame the system. You’re not going to be a millionaire, neither a rockstar nor the PM of the country. You lack the diligence that’s required. Get pissed off. Laugh out loud when some-one points out the fact that graduation is a few months away. It’s 12-am already. Finish your drink and order another. Think about going up and saying something to aforementioned person. Fuck it. You can’t leave your adda where you and your friends are having a ‘gala’ time. Don’t leave. You shouldn’t. Reach for your cigarette packet. If there’s just one, don’t light it. You’re gonna need it in the morning.

Wake up. Wonder where you are. Realize you are in your room. Have no idea how you got there. Wake your room-mate up. Light that cigarette.

Think to yourself, “I’m going to get wasted tonight.” If you’re again short on cash, try weed. Or better – try getting into debt. It’s a brilliant concept.

ANOTHER UNTITLED WALA SHORT STORY

They promised Meera, an education.
Her first class -  no school, no chalk, no pencil, no teacher. Just a kitchen filled with utensils and gas-less cylinders. And a wicked mother-in-law.

16 months later, after her in-laws and her husband passed away in an accident, they decided to remarry the then 14 year old Meera.

With Mehendi on her palm, ‘Alata’ on her feet and fake jewellery adorned on her neck, she finally mustered the courage to call it off.

Thanks to the persuasion of the local music teacher, they decided to send her to a music school.

A child prodigy – They called her. An incarnation of Maa Saraswati, they added. On the day of the concert, she gets the stage fright and chokes.
She felt naked, for the very first time.

6 years later.

Meera delicately cradled her infant’s head, fondling and suckling him. She hummed his favorite tune. The child then traced M, O, R, and E on her tummy.


26 years later.

Samar Sharma walked on to the stage in a shiny black Armani suit. At 27, he had just won the best Musician of the Year Award at the Filmfare. Again.
He was the 2009 recipient of the Mauritius National Award for contributions to music. He was nominated for a Laurence Olivier Award for his first West-End production. A two-time National Film Award winner and recipient of three Maharastra State Awards , for his music and scores.
He had aimed for the stars and he had touched them alright.

After receiving his award, Samar was asked to speak a few words. A mere formality. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the uncertainty of what he had and what not. Like living in some kind of horrific perpetual dream state yet still able to interact without anyone knowing; just browsing through emotions on automatic.

“I never knew my father. After my mother passed away, life seemed bitter and cruel. But I dealt with it. There is a Hindi dialogue, 'Mere paas Maa he' which means, even if i have nothing, i still have my mother here," said a tearful Samar Sharma, pointing to his heart.

"Music is in my blood. My mother is my music"
"This is for Meera Sharma, my mother."

If you have already wasted your time reading this piece, you might as well leave a message here.

A NO TITLE WALA SHORT-STORY

‘You will never amount to anything. You will always be a disappointment. Do you understand me? With this attitude of yours, you’ll be nothing – a roach- lower than a roach – a nobody! Do you understand me?’

Yes. He understood his father. He was twelve years old and he understood that he deserved his father’s eternal rage. He knew why. It was merely a fact of life. Something he took for granted. He just didn’t know that his father would be so pissed with him.

His mother vary rarely sprung to his defence. She merely nodded sadly, as if every word his father had just uttered was the truth and nothing but. She nodded in agreement and stared at him with knowing eyes. After his father had stormed out of the house, she gave him a reassuring hug and brushed his hair, crooning beautiful poems to him in a low, beautiful voice.

‘You know, how he is. He hates all those people who give up. You of all, should be knowing that. He’s disappointed.’

His mother and father had watched him race in an inter-school 200m sprint earlier that day, in which he had given up halfway – panting and gasping for air. And the shame of not being able to complete the race ate him up.

‘No matter what, we shall always love you son’ his mother added, ‘You know we do.’ 

 

19 years later.

“Hello ?” Vishal said, reaching for his Nexus.
‘Hey son.’
Vishal checked his cell. How come he was calling at 6:30 in the morning? It was weird, because he could never remember his father as an early to rise & shine person.

‘Dad, it’s 6:30 in the morning. I’m asleep,’ he mumbled.
‘You made the front page.’
A throaty cough.
‘Again.’

‘That’s good. What’re you reading?’ he asked, stifling a yawn. ‘Hindu?’
‘Yes. Goes great with my morning tea.’

‘I had a late night dad, i’ll call you back later.’
‘Wait, your mother wants a word with you as well-’ Cut.

He put down his phone and hauled himself out of bed. He tried to stay quiet as his fiancé was still fast asleep.
He gazed at her lovely soon-to-be-wife whose figure described a set of parabolas that could cause a cardiac arrest in a yak.

At thirty-one, the 6’2 tall, Vishal Nanda had seen it all and owned it all. He worked in a top software-firm which provided him with a 6-digit salary every month. A place where he had found his true soul-mate – Anisha. Apart from her, writing was what he loved. He was a brilliant story-teller/writer, until he met a budding film-maker in one of his office parties. They gluttoned down some cocktails, their ideas amalgamated and the rest was history.  They made two films together and both of them went on to win multiple Filmfare awards including the Best Screen-Play award. Suddenly his name was popping up on all the right places and school kids and everyone else in the town knew his name. Suddenly he had the guts to quit his full time job. Requests for media Interviews and Invitations came pouring in. A cameo role in a Salman Khan starrer movie & Outlook magazine had described him as the sexiest screen-writer alive. Vishal Nanda had hit instant stardom. Who cares if he was some fat guy with huge spectacles whilst in school? Who cared if he didn't finish some god-damn race. Vishal Nanda was a big time celebrity. He had been signed on to write for three upcoming sit-coms. Money, Villas, Gold Rolex, A Hummer – he had it all.

He was no longer a disappointment. He had made his parents proud. And he was leaving for Los-Angeles, the very next month. For a two year stint.
Why ?
Because Hollywood came calling. And no-one said No to Hollywood.

He had showed them all.


8 years later.


‘What’s the matter?’ Mr. Nanda asked,  as Golu, their 2 year old pug burst noisily into the balcony.
‘Nothing. It’s just that i miss our old house,’ replied Mrs Nanda, wrinkles prominent on her face.
‘Come on now. We had to move to a smaller place. That villa was too big for two seventy year olds.’

They had recently moved into a much smaller apartment, much to the dismay of Vishal and their daughter-in-law Anisha. “What’s the point of living in a mansion when you guys can’t visit on a regular basis?’,  Mr Nanda had said. “What good, will the pool and the lawn do us, when we don’t have our grandkids to pamper and play with?”

It had been six months since their son last visited them in Bhubaneswar.  A price to pay, if your only son chooses to settle abroad.  The number of visits were lessening, every year. And their last visit had ended shortly after Vishal had received a call and had to leave immediately.
‘Who shall perform the last rites, when we die?’ his father had retorted, with a hint of a tear.

Mrs Nanda shrugged, as she headed for the kitchen. ‘I will make us some coffee. I can’t believe our Sparsh is turning three tomorrow. He’s getting so big, so fast’.
Mr.Nanda followed her. ‘He’s gonna be like his father’s old man. Strong and stout as a horse,’ automatically
reaching for the cookie jar.
She smacked the cookie out of his hand. ‘No,’ she said firmly.
‘Please,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m starving woman!’

‘Too sweet for you,’ she replied.
Last stage diabetes had started to wear Mr.Nanda down. His liver wasn’t even functioning properly. And he didn’t take his medicine dosage seriously.
‘Our time is nearing anyway. This cookie doesn’t scare me. You know what scares me.’

She ignored him. Mr.Nanda shook his head. ‘The same reason you don’t even keep a cook or even a maid.’
‘He sends us a fat cheque every month. Plus we get our monthly pension. And yet, you do not keep a house-maid,’ he continued.

Carrying their coffee mugs with them, Mr & Mrs Nanda headed back to their balcony, where they spend most of their day sitting on their bamboo-made arm-chairs.
‘We have Tuffy. We don’t need anyone else. And we’ve got each other. You know he can’t visit us more often. You taught him to be a workaholic and you taught him well,’ Mrs Nanda managed with a wry laugh.

‘And Skype. You forgot to mention Skype. The only thing keeping us alive- is seeing our daughter-in-law and our grand-kid alive.’


4 weeks later. LA

‘Who’s this?’ Vishal replied, cradling the receiver as he reached for his cigarette. It was pouring in LA. Quite a surprise downpour for a sunny forecast. Anisha and Sparsh were away.

‘Mr Vishal Nanda? This is Anuj Sharma, from 115 D, Madhukunj, your father’s neighbour. I have been trying to reach you since yesterday. I don’t know if you have heard or not, your parents passed away. The pug had been barking for days, until we and the other neighbours decided to break in. We found them on their beds. And it smelled awful. We called the police straightaway. The doctors say that, they have been dead for a while. Died in their sleep. Probably 5-6 days. I’m so sorry. We straight away took them to the cremation ground. I , myself performed the last rites. Thought you should know. And just so you know, i'm a big fan.’

He closed his eyes. A draught of terror blew over him. Guilt was creeping on him big time. He should have guessed, something was wrong when he kept on getting the answering machine. He was their only son for chrissakes, and to think of not getting to perform the last rites was unthinkable. His heart was throbbing madly now. But how? When? Why?

His hand dropped from the telephone.
It was already out.


P.S - Disappointment would be a good title, i reckon.


Direct your feedbacks & rants here.

OF ARRANGED MARRIAGES

We as kids were warned not to mingle with strangers, not to talk to them, not take chocolates from them, not to go out with them and not to get into a relationship with them. Our parents warned us about people from the opposite sex, while starting college. Little did we know that, that’s what Arranged Marriages are for.

Let’s make a satirical comparison between the Classical Indian Marriage and theStockholm Syndrome. I will pause for a few seconds, so that some of you may wikipedia the term.
Like all satires it may hold some truths and like all truths it may even be universally applicable. The condition of the docile Indian housewife is a milder form of the Stockholm Syndrome.

Let's look for some similarities:

~The husband/hostage-taker goes out for work and the wife/hostage is alone. This is when she feels trapped the most.
~The wife/hostage can and wants to run away but finds a liking for her husband/hostage-taker even more when she has the opportunity to do so.
~When they start living together the husband/hostage-taker is merely being humane by providing. And the wife/hostage slowly goes from wary to trusting. And trusting to loving.

There could be many more parallels. But the point I'm trying to make is that the Stockholm Syndrome works on an individual level while the traditional Indian arranged marriage works as a concept that can be mass produced with similar results.

Here's a quick step-by-step guide -
• Find a girl in a socially/financially weak household
• Arrive on horseback with loud intimidating music and fire crackers
• Scare them into letting you take the girl.
• Oh! and instead of waiting for the ransom till you release the hostage,
you take the girl and the money at the same time.

In actual terms this form of hostage taking where the man brings security and the woman luck, is a far more cunning arrangement. And I mean arrangement in the strictest possible terms. This arrangement has scale, it transcends all social class and the most menacing of all, it is socially accepted.

But we are forgetting the one vital sweet fruit that Arranged Marriage has to offer us. The one most important ephemeral advantage of Arranged Marriage - Dowry.

I'm a huge fan of dowry. It's a brilliant concept. It's like any other form of personal loan if you ask me. Only the EMIs never end and the interest rates are ruthless. There's no early settlement. Plus even if you aren’t employed, you’d be getting plenty of free stuff anyway. Just to get started, or maybe not. Furniture, Bike/Car and daily items. If you try, it comes with a huge penalty. It’s called alimony.

So you proceed to get married anyway. Knowing fully well, the dangers involved. Then you become the man Friday of the house - all 7 days of the week. Your wife will ask you to stop at the grocery on your way home and pick up some stuff. And you will. EMI.

Weddings are over-rated. Marriages are not. We belong to a society of middle-class people with mediocre mentality, who prefer arranged marriages over love marriages any-day.

Yes. Maybe they have a point. In this selfish world of hypocrisy, you ought to have siblings. For moral and financial support. Someone to have your back after your parents get old and then too old. So if you’re a single child, it is altogether more necessary to be blessed with a good husband or a devoted wife. And to achieve this near-impossible feat, you have to find your life-partner and an able one at that.  According to statistics, Arranged Marriages are more successful. Plus this keeps your parents content and your relatives – quiet. The process is fun actually. You get to choose your life partner, like in the old days. ‘Here are some photos, pick one’ – they say. You can have the more fairer one- you will finally have someone pretty by your side, when you’re at the mall/theatre. Or you can have the plump one- the one who shall be a good house-keeper, while you ogle at your female colleague.

We all love the blame game, when we fail. So if your arranged marriage comes to an abrupt end, you know you’ve got a free license to blame a few people, for your failed marriage. Go berserk on them, while your neighbors ready their popcorn.



If you want to donate Vibek some money, or send him a flying kiss, do it here.

INFINITE BOREDOM

After days of ambivalence, i’ve decided that, i don’t give shit to pretty much anything. Well not everything, but most things. I’m bored and i’m bored to death. I may be suffering from anhedonia, it seems. Yes, I have learnt a new word. Anhedonia. Which according to google means “the inability to experience pleasure, usually found enjoyable”. Sounds good, doesn’t it.

The fact that i’m even writing out this nonsense, explains my cause. I have nothing better to do right now. The life-cycle of a just-graduated-dying-at-home guy is pretty much depressing. This vacation is like a permanent reminder that i don’t have West Hostel to look forward to. A reminder of the strange no man’s land that lies in between the sweetness of the childhood and the hypocrisy of adulthood. Or maybe the beer hangouts at the basket-ball court.

So why am i writing this? Its simple. Because of your comment. The fact that i have hung out with so many shady people, is starting wear its effect upon me. And the people liking your comment? Sigh. Apart from my elder brother (Soul-brother), they are a bunch of hypocrites. Yes, they are, Chaz Bono.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, when i say this that, almost all of the snaps uploaded by that no-body who liked your comment, the one who owns a photography page, are photoshopped. I mean really, i know that the world needs APPROPIATE assholes, but him ?? No creativity whatsoever. I thought that he would finally stop his photography(read: stupidity) the day his stuff got robbed. And the other one – the one who tags 100 people in his profile pictures ! I mean, who does that ??!! Man, i wish i could stoop down to his level. Anyway, why talk about them. Most self proclaimed photographers, do the same anyway. So no, most of us post edited pics, not just girls.

Hmmm. So the edited picture. Why did I upload it. There are many possible answers to this wonderful question. – 1) Because Commissioner Gordon asked me to. Gotham City needed a white knight. So i started my work by flooding my page with white light pictures. White. Batman has hung his cape. Robin needs my assistance.
2) Because I’m bored.
3) Because i believe that, my pictures are gonna fetch 1000 likes and i shall become a celebrity. Then Woody Allen will notice me and cast me in his upcoming movie opposite Blake Lively. Think of the sex-scenes i’ll be doing with her. On the contrary, don’t. I don’t want people jerking off to me. Your choice.
4) Because I’m bored again.

See ? I’m beginning to lose it. Boredom is getting to me. Maybe i posted it so that some of my college-mates will notice the “Jatra” i have created and will find time to call and spend some quality time over some beers.
I seriously need a wake-up call. Maybe the next week’s trip to Burla will help. It has to. Bring your stipend money with you. We will be needing it.

If you think you’re gonna visit my page and leave without participating in some “Jatra”, think again. Ain’t gonna happen. I shall always make sure of that. Even when you are being a dick, I take solace in knowing that at least you(my friends) haven’t forgotten that i'm still breathing. It's a win-win situation. And please get me a BRRIP of Hangover-3, if you can. And give me some topics to ponder on, for my next week's column obviously. <*Evil Grin>

REVISITING MY CHILDHOOD BELIEFS

So, Jiah Khan is dead. I know. Growing up sucks. It sucks big time. There can be no arguments. It is tough as well. Maybe that’s why she’s dead. What people talk about much less frequently is how hard it is to have your entire system of beliefs change as you get older. I mean, if you come to think about it, it can be shocking! As we morph from children to adults, our worlds are constantly being rocked with new information, effectively changing the way we perceive ourselves and everything around us.

In the 90s, I used to believe that if I didn’t have any cash, you could just write a check, effectively making your own money and getting the item (toys & video games mostly) for free. As a teenager, I used to believe that it didn’t matter how money worked exactly, I was going to convince/force my parents to buy it for me. Now, as an adult, I realize that checks and credit cards are only effective if you have the necessary funds to back it up. I also realize there will come a day when parents will say, “You’re on your own now, dude! Best of luck!” and you will have to earn a living on your own. Now that I’ve learned all of this, I believe that Maggi, at 10rs a package, is vastly underrated as a food group and is an appropriate meal any time of day; breakfast, lunch, and dinner!

I used to believe that alcohol tasted terrible and I couldn’t believe that anyone would want to drink something that would make them act like an idiot, vomit, forget what they did, and suffer an incredible hangover the next day. I used to believe that only ruffians and gundaas and the rickshaw-walahs drink alcohol. Now, as I take the final sips of my second glass of beer while writing this piece(No one’s at home), I believe that alcohol has its time and place and later on becomes a necessity. Namely on days where college was a bit rough, when I’m meant to be doing something creative, when I’m socializing with friends, or when there is only a little bit left in the bottle. As for the puking and blacking out? Now, I believe that it happens to the best of us. Not me though.

My mother used to make me sleep during the afternoons when I was a kid. I used to believe that naptime was a punishment; an unnecessary activity whose only purpose was to prevent me from playing outside with my friends or watching more cartoons on television. Now, I believe that naptime is the BEST time, and should be taken advantage of at every possible occasion.

As a kid, I used to believe that my parents had all the answers to the questions of the universe. I used to be amazed at every little thing they did — from always making sure my favorite snack was in the kitchen, to their way of talking- their vocabulary , to driving an hour to my grandpa’s house without even needing a map! As a teenager, this awe became angst, and I believed that not only were my parents not as remarkable as I once thought, but I was like, totally way smarter than them. Now, as a 20-something, I believe that, shock of all shocks, my parents are people just like me. Sometimes they know what’s best, sometimes they don’t (sometimes I’ll listen, sometimes I won’t). Here’s an example.
Mom- What are you watching?
Me- Game Of Thrones, Ma.
Mom- What’s that? Kind of soccer is it? Sounds like a reality show.

I have also realized that, a certain thing bothers me. The fact that they’re getting older as well. Growing up, I always saw them as strong and all-knowing. Now I’m watching their brain slowly turn into a stale bowl of oatmeal and their body become wrinkly and tired. I hate it. I hate all of it. Most of all though, I hate myself for hating them.

I grew up at my grandma’s place. On vacations, I used to visit my parents. And I used to love spending time with them. I used to love vacations. Now, as a grown up, I can’t wait to get out of here. Do birds go back to the nests in which they’re born?

As a kid, I used to believe that I could be anything I wanted to be. At first, I took this to mean that I could just pick various careers and blend them together and then be the best in the world. I was going to be the world’s first soccer player/doctor. Sigh.

I’m a big movie buff. I always have been. I used to believe that I would get married to a woman, and that she would wear a beautiful white gown and walk down the aisle like a fairy princess, everyone transfixed, myself included. And we would kiss in front of everyone, much to the dismay of my mother and other relatives obviously. Later, I realized I’m a Hindu Brahmin.

As a kid, I used to believe that 20 was it: Adulthood. Anyone who was in the 20 bracket was good enough to be an adult, as good as my mother & father. I just assumed that at twenty-something, I would be a fully formed-complete person.
When I did infact turn 20, I celebrated it in my college-hostel room by consuming barrels of alcohol with my friends.

I was stupid as a kid too. I used to believe if two grown-ups used to kiss, they had babies. Later I realized that, there is much more to just kissing; to have babies. I guess, as a kid, I used to believe that my beliefs would never change. Now that I’m older, I believe they’ll never stop changing. And I know for sure that, that’s what growing up is all about.

FAREWELL VSSUT

"Life is full of frightening transitions - adolescence, parenthood, those god-awful bifocals that morph into sunglasses when you’re outdoors - but perhaps the most overrated metamorphosis occurs when you ‘enter the real world.’ "- Stephanie georgopulos

You’re told that entering the real world is jarring because before, when you were in college or high school or whatever the hell people do before they’re real adults, that was all fake. None of it counts. Suddenly You question happiness and have trouble sleeping.

You’ve graduated, but the party’s ending, over, or completely dead.  But there you are, standing by the speakers playing the latest song on the radio, two-stepping to the beat, drinking your cheap beer with your eyes closed in complete denial that once you open them you’ll be staring in the face, or the asshole, of the real-world.  Post-grad life’s a bitch. But these memories can help you get through tough times.

THINGS I WILL MISS ABOUT COLLEGE. AND YOU'LL TOO.

~Feeling so exposed when a large group of your peers sees you with your family whilst you’re moving in into your new dorm, for the very first time, before Orientation because it’s like they’re getting to see the fatter older version of you. (Freshman Year)

~The new feeling of You knowing nothing. But you also know absolutely everything.~I for one will miss the geographical proximity of everything that going to college, (at least a small one such as mine) allows.

~Last Night Preparations & Sleeping through Exams.
~Preparing Cheats and Cheating in an innovative way.
~Glued to Counter Strike & Fifa. Week in, Week out.

No, what I will miss the most about college is the unified sense of purpose. The instant commonality with just about anyone else on campus.

  

~The VolleyBall sessions. Day & Night.
~The night Hostel Cricket Premier League bidding auctions and tournaments as well.
~Winning the Debut night WPL. 

Drinking & Smoking:
You drink of these primary reasons : Boredom, Money, Stress, Wondering about Future, Entertainment/Parties. And you’ll miss every bit of it.
~You will miss the long night walks, when you’re returning from Jhumri to your room, excessively drunk. Especially with your trusted ones.
~Boozing sessions at the Basketball ground.
~Going out on b’day treats & campus treats.

The addaas at Kalia & Bullu - Our morning and evening and night deities.
~Trips to Zero point & checking out all dhaabas.
~Watching IPL is never gonna be the same.
~Following and fighting for favourite EPL team is also never gonna be the same.
~The feeling you get when One of the best papers you’ve written all 8 semesters will receive a D grade because of some unknown reason.
~Complaining about the poor quality of mess food.
~Hostel feasts.
~Never, ever, EVER turning down free food.
~The Holi & Diwali festivals at hostel.
~Watching movies. Loads of them. Every night.
~Your roommate. ~Having an all night "khatti" with your "Gosthi".
~Being Broke. All the time.
~Nothing will make you make you feel more like a student than when you’re fishing through your wallet for spare change so you can buy a Gold-Flake.
~Sharing everything with your selected group of people (Seniors & Juniors alike), ranging from Slippers, Underwear to a Flake.

~You’ll miss classroom crushes and seeing a certain babe 3-5 days a week.  ~You’ll miss being expected to fuck up .

~Failing to understand that a lot of the friends you make freshman year of college will disappear soon, once you’ve found your niche. Which in my opinion is absolutely okay though. 

You’ll miss the close friendships you made and being a five-minute walk from all of your best friends. When you graduate, you’ll suddenly realize you no longer have the luxury to lie in bed with them while nursing a hangover on a Wednesday afternoon. Your world has gotten too big for that.  You no longer live in a vacuum. You will miss the feeling that you were given four years to indulge, to be insane, and to figure out what not to do. And now you’re expected to have all the answers.

You’ll miss having the knowledge that it will all eventually end. When courses end, grades are given out and you move on.  After you graduate and get a nine-to-five job, there is no real end, and if there is, it typically means you’ve been fired. And your parents, they’re still going to worry about you. All the time. Except now they worry about the not so massive debt you’ve incurred earning a degree that would be better used wiping your ass; they worry that you will never own a home, or a business, or a car even. They worry that you won’t find someone to love you the way they do, or they worry that if you do, they won’t be able to help you finance the wedding. They worry that you won’t give them grandkids, or that you will, because how the hell are you going to afford that?

The classes, the learning, the dormitories, the Bullu/Kalia cafeteria, the weed, the booze, the parties, and the faux sense of “community” and “school pride”? Whatever. But to be able to open my door, sit down at dining mess, or gather at Bullu or spend quality time with your pals and relive these 4 years ? Yeah, I’ll take that again.

Preparing for a new life after you graduate is going to be hard. That is what I've been told. Adolescence was a time to explore and live well. And so I did.

I wanted to sign out of this place with a "Good riddance", but somehow or the other, I couldnot. My message to all my beloved juniors - "Go out fighting, Go out Young".

WHY I HATE MY BIRTHDAY

Our fingerprints don’t fade from the lives we touch. Is that true for everybody? Or is it some poetic bullshit?

What bothers me is the fact that, I have absolutely no clue what I am about to do with my life. No sense of purpose. Is this some kind of nihilism? You are breathing yet you don’t feel alive. You are waiting for someone, something to come and wake you after years of apathy. Some kind of divine intervention maybe. Even Compulsive Diligence ain’t enough.

While I’m infinitely thankful for all the time I have here on Earth, I’ve never been a huge fan of birthdays, specifically my own. I mean who does? I ain’t a kid anymore, am I? This declaration of mine isn’t that ludicrous. And here are my reasons.
1) I turned 23 this week and I’m starting to bald already.
2) I think I have wasted my life so far.
3) I dream. But I am not living them. Nor am I living someone else’s. Utterly useless, good for nothing. Well, not really.
4) Refer to my earlier paragraph. The nihilist one.
5) It’s in March. The scorching sun and the unbearable heat makes it impossible to have a ball outside.
6) Cake is overrated. As far as desserts go, cake is nowhere near my ideal selection. I love the concept of sweets at a celebration, but why not CHENAPODA or a Bag of Gulab-Jamuns? Maybe it’s just me, but cake makes my throat dry and feels like eating a flavored sponge. Not to mention the fact that the icing is the most enjoyable aspect of it. I’d rather have chocolate bars, bags of candy, ice cream, pie, fruit punchs, hell — even muffins or granola bars sound more appetizing than cake.
7) Its another reminder of my rapidly rising age. Unfortunately I’ve not yet learned to embrace growing up. With every year seems to come more responsibility, higher expectations and less cartoons. 18 was a great birthday because we became officially legal. We could smoke cigarettes if we so desired, and get tattoos without parental consent. (I still haven’t, but I’ll in June). After that it’s 21, which allows us the right to consume alcoholic beverages (which we had already been doing for years anyway) and get married. Now, what’s there to look forward to? The fact is that after a certain point, birthdays are just leaning us closer to kissing our youth goodbye. Isn’t that sad?
8) The massive amounts of attention. And fake ones at that too. If you aren’t a big fan of the spotlight (which I’m not), it’s never harder to avoid than on your day of birth. I’d imagine that winning the lottery is somewhat like a birthday, in the sense that folks come out of the woodwork to contact you. In addition, you’ll be repetitively hugging, handshaking and all that jazz throughout the entire day. As a kid I hated when older people would come up and pinch my cheeks or admire my awesome little kid-ness; a birthday is like 24 hours of straight cheek pinching attention. On the other hand, if you enjoy being in the limelight, there’s no better event. But what I hate the most is, saying thank you to the greetings of people I don’t even know.
9) People will sing Happy Birthday, and I will be awkward and unsure what to do with myself. Am I supposed to smile while everybody sings? Or do I modestly laugh? Do I make eye contact with people individually, or glance by all of them? Would it be corny if I did that little orchestra conductor thing? Yeah, that’d be embarassing. Is the singing over with yet? No, no it’s not. It’s only just beginning. If somebody out there can provide me with proper etiquette for handling oneself during the singing of Happy Birthday, I’ll give you my entire birthday cake.
10) The most important of all. You will be anxious, excited and nauseous during the weeks leading to your birthday. In anticipation of what will happen on your B’day, what gifts will you get. What adventures will you face. Maybe Demi Moore will spot you and blow you a kiss. But nothing of that sort ever happens, does it?

11) Some of your closest friends will definitely forget to wish you.

The one thing that most of you can relate here is that as you tend to grow up, people continue to make less fuss of you. Probably that’s why birthdays are best when celebrated at school. You buy big chocolate jars and distribute a piece to all your school mates. You had a party in your house where most of your friends were invited and you would be showered with gifts. And now– a case of cold beer with your friends. I mean it’s not bad at all, but it’s not the same, is it? Nothing ever remains the same.

Anyways the point is, you can do whatever you want. Only because it’s your birthday. Or any other day, would it make a difference to you?
“Whatever you do in life, will be insignificant. But it’s very important that you do it, because nobody else will.”


You can follow me on twitter here.

VSSUT FRIEND PROFILE : S & B

Hookup culture has taken the place of actual relationships.

I think everyone can relate to dating someone for a few months, unsure of what you are to each other, and then poof!! The “relationship” disappears overnight with no explanation. That is one thing I hate about the current dating culture. No one thinks they owe anyone an explanation. You meet someone, you decide to see each other for a bit, and when you’re over it, you can just quickly exit through the backdoor. I don’t care what year it is, that kind of behavior is just bad manners! We always think there could be someone better waiting along for us because, quite literally, the whole world is accessible through our fingertips. It wasn’t like that when our parents were dating at our age. If you found someone you could stand, you held on to them for dear life because meeting someone new wasn’t so easy.

Have you ever heard that thing about how a guy reaches his sexual peak in his late teens, and a lady reaches hers in her mid-30s? Well, I’m pretty sure that’s true because he is 22 and is quickly becoming an illegal pervert. Not like he’s illegal things, such as licking neighbor’s mailboxes or dry humping spare tires in the workshop, but he’s getting there. At first he was coming at his single status all like “whoo hoo, who needs a gf!” and now he creepily stares at the eyes and lips of any attractive person who talks to him for more than five minutes in hopes that they accidentally put their tongue in his mouth.
That was until he met his match.

Subject name : Soumya & Bhumika
Age Gap : Minimal
Height Difference : See for yourself
Nicknames: Soumika, Gullu, Puchu, Dhana, Jaanu etc
One of the most popular & GENUINE couples of our batch. And most importantly my closest friends.

Unlike others, they aren’t a couple who just for the sake of  being committed enter into a relationship. It’s a sick trend. But not these two. They love each other when they’re insufferable, when they hate their situations and hate their friends and seem to hate everything in their life except for themselves. You might lose respect for them, you might look at them as if they’re weak and can’t stand on their own two feet, but I want you to try to push those thoughts out of your brain because the fact is that this happens. People get stuck in their life and they look around and only see one thing that makes sense to them. It doesn’t make them weak or co-dependent, it just makes them human. This is why I used the word genuine.

Theirs is a relationship where they talk like best friends, fight like kids and protect each other like siblings. They love each other when they smell like shit, when they aren’t well, when they aren’t the able-bodied picture of beauty they were when they met each other because people never stay the way we want them to. They know that. He buys her high heels, while she gets his cell recharged with new top-ups. She loves gup-chup and he fancies a can of beer. Just like any other couple, they too have fights over little things. But the fact that they chose to stick to each other despite several obstacles is what makes them adorable. They have even decided  what the names of their children would be. My sources tell me : Kalia, Pintooo, Madhusudan and Bhansali are the probable choices.

I have known them separately and I have known them together. And to know them as a couple is to know that you’re truly in the presence of love. So I would like to order a lunch (courtesy:Soumya) and raise my glass to the both of them and the beautiful journey they are out to embark upon. I can think of no two people better prepared for the journey. But beware, booze and meat are a must at your wedding ceremony!

That being said, almost all of my friends are in relationships. Some of them are way late but they’re together and happy and loving each other like people have been doing since the dawn of time. You see, no matter what happens, people will always need to be loved. We will always yearn for companionship. It’s how we’re wired. So, even though the steps to landing a relationship may’ve changed, the end goal will always stay the same. Courtship is not yet over. It just got a messed up facelift.

VSSUT FRIEND PROFILE : Roommate from Hell

Living with a Roommate can be blissful. You’ll help each other move things. You’ll haul heavy furniture up the stairs and accidentally drop parts and pieces. You’ll throw parties together.
You’ll watch movies together, go out for a smoke when you’re both restless. You’ll take blurry pictures together and put them up on the facebook, ask each other’s opinions about what to wear for a first date. You’ll meet each other’s girlfriends and parents, you’ll see all these people and discuss them in Bullu, the very next day.

You’ll pull at the blanket on opposite ends of the bed. You’ll sit with them on the deck, the steps, the roof, passing a joint back and forth and not talking. You’ll sit there with them under the stars and somehow feel lightened, on the edge of the world with nowhere to go but up. You will have comfortable silence.

You’ll get high together and have conversations that change you, conversations that start small and last accidental hours. You’ll talk to them about things you can’t talk about with your significant other, not even your best friend; you don’t know why but somehow it’s different. You’ll talk about things you can only talk about with someone who’s close to you without being too close.

You’ll take care of each other after fights and debilitating break-ups. You will shield each other from toxic two-faced friends. You’ll go to the dhaaba with them on a random night because they’re bored and then you’ll carry each other home, laughing and stumbling the whole way, supporting each other though neither of you can really walk.

You may even have the chance of watching porn together.

You’ll be there for each other for things. You’ll drive each other to pharmacy, the hospital; You’ll never feel completely alone because you’ll always have someone to talk to, if even for a brief exchange about the unwashed underwear. You’ll feel content and supported knowing that, living in a rickety shithole where it’s 100 degrees in the summer, with someone who is just as confused and clueless and young as you are, you’ve found a place to call home.

But my roommate is just an actual beast from a hell dimension, posing as a person. It makes total sense. He’s a GUNDA.

Tags: Maoist, Sundergarhiya Gunda, Laad-Saheb

It’s why he blasts music and TV so loudly — his ears work differently from a real humans. And that too third class Punjab Rap. Maybe they’re shoved inside his butthole because of his hell-beast anatomy so it makes it very hard for him to hear at a normal volume. Can’t fault the Sundergarh Lad for that. Maoists do have a habit of “Shor-Sharaba”.

He leaves dishes and crumbs everywhere because like Gremlins, water has adverse effects on him. It’s basically his Kryptonite. It’s also why he never showers. I mean, who could blame him?

He makes it so you can’t bear to be in the apartment — by leaving filth around, spitting gutkha, smoking weed so everything reeks  — because in his dimension, hell beasts love those smells so he actually thinks he’s doing you a favor. (Aw?)

Also, you’re statistically more likely to accidentally see his “Royal Subjects” because he always waits to do laundry until his last pair of underwear — the ones with the embarrassing holes we all have that nobody else knows about…until laundry day, where he wears the last pair inside out.
He's outspoken and shares a record 400gb of Brazzers Episodes on Lan. Mess with him and you're dead.
His Diwali incident is legendary. His record for paying fines is even more awesome. From ragging together to shagging together, we have done it all.

The Engineering chapter in our lives is coming to an end and who knows in 10 years, where are we gonna end up. I might have had a lot of two faced friends in this insti, but I have a brother who’s gonna have my back and be my best friend till I die. He’s by far the best thing that could have happened to me. This V-Day, i would rather get high with him, than run after some chick.
Next piece is gonna be on Soumya & Bhumika. Cya soon.