The Ayush Life

Erasing you

2011-08-12T01:22:00.003+05:30

Memories are so vivid and so impacting. You need to go back to them once every other night. To make you live, to make you feel human, to make your heart beat. But there is a day, when you need to make them go away.

I have had always sought to do go back to those memories on those nights, those evenings, when I opened my palms , closing my eyes , trying to feel those long tender soft fingers in between. But yet I close them into a fist, only to feel my fingernails pinching into my life line. Cutting into my life line, hurting me, deep inside...deep deep inside.

It is time for closure. I sought it. It is a joyous feeling, it is a suspense, it is a pain. It is indeed a confusing instant. I am happy for the love of my life to be happy, I am mellow for myself. I want to be selfish, but I can't be, I am just not that. I am happy for you. For who is happy , to see me away, free, careless, above all the others. This brings tears to my eyes.

Makes no sense, I want to be happy, I am smiling, with a dry mouth.

But at least there is someone else,

And for me...I have to share this with a key board and 14" LCD screen . Goodbye 25 years !

A.k.a Sunk Cost

2011-04-27T01:58:00.000+05:30

There was once a client, who wanted something fancy. So he hired some MBAs, and then they made some multiplications and divisions. And then, those multiplications and divisions were called something space age. RoI, RoCE and something I don't remember or care about. But they got Lamborghinis and penthouses. But some are idiots, like me, who thought this is a universal bullshit . Bullshit you can apply to anything. Even love. Your passions. Stupid brain !

There were some years when I was a paranoid. I was mad. I was investing. There was a June, when I got up at 4.30 am in the morning , sneaked out of the house and into my car. Drove my half asleep self across Delhi to pick up someone who had made an investment and take her to her house. I pride myself to have got her there in time. Then slept in the car near her home for 2 hours. Waiting on the road. And waiting....and more waiting....until my 7th call got answered around 10 A.m. Lovely sauna. Return on Investment sir, return - on - investment. And there were numerous other kind of similar strategic ones .

There were other things I did. I had a mobile phone with a capacity of storing only about 100 text messages. So every day, rather night , I invested time in an important activity. Out of all the messages I received , I sorted the ones most close to the heart . The most dearest ones. And deleted others to realign my portfolio of Assets. Precious emotional assets. I spent an hour reading all my text messages every night. Thinking and imagining the thought of those words being pronounced, picturing the movement of the lips. Trying to see those eyes blink , even when they are 2 states away. What other things ? Years, months, days - almost a decade of obsession. Your dreams, your ambitions, your family. The attention that got diverted from friends. Miles of traveling. Impracticality, Hope, Belief.

If there is something else that went into it, it is patience and not getting those opportunities to invest myself more. For all those years, I never had a birthday celebrated in the way I wanted because I had just one key element as a wish. But it only got fullfilled through a Re. 1/min well-wishing. 7-8 times. Don't ever ask me how to celebrate a Valentine's Day, because I never got a chance to spend on it. Patience is a big cost. When you have spent enough and you still don't feel that it was well spent, it will burn a hole in your heart. In an entire year I longed for 1 particular festival that brought me to her. For 2-3 days a year. And that made me so reassured , so confident that I should devote myself completely. Men are naturally jealous, I was too, when I wasn't around her to spend on her, while her friends could. I had to let go of those 3 min calls , so that she gets to spend time with her friends and not with a stupid mobile phone. Nothing special , only a small daily sacrifice . A 365 x 7 days sacrifice. Sacrifice ? Are you crazy, call it investment baby ! It's fancier, more importantly - heartless.

It is not only I. It was her too. Probably she being a bigger investor. But there are sometimes that investments don't come out to be good. So we rue the decision, I don't . There is some big rush that comes out of putting so much at stake. Betting on one specific card. "What if it comes good?". Specially when you are so convinced , so sure, that you factored everything in. Checked it all. That card has to turn into an ace of spades when it turns. The adrenaline is overpowering. The act of investing so much of yourself seems so pretty , so satisfying, so right - it doesn't matter what is going to happen. Putting your emotions at stake and investing them all in one is one supreme joy. So that is why it was right when i didn't understand why is there no Return on this investment.

Because the return is , the investing itself. All the heart and passion that went into it , is fulfilling. The investment is the return.

But yeah, now it is also known as - Sunk Cost !

Dilli

2010-08-08T00:51:00.001+05:30

I had always ridden pillion on my dad's scooter, rode an auto-rickshaw with my mother or caught the school bus. But that afternoon it was going to be a challenge for me. I had to take a public bus to get back from school. I confess I was scared. I knew the way back home, but I didn't know which bus stop to get down on. Was it before the flyover or was it after the flyover. Finally I walked the last 2 kilometers back. But that bus ride gave me the confidence to explore the city I will love.

I started driving to college alternate days. So every alternate day I could bunk college. Every alternate day, I could do every Delhi boy loves to do. Turn on the speakers on full blast and listen to the only good tape you have. Every alternate day I could weave past traffic and feel like stud. Every alternate day I could be hunting for a place to park my car in front of the college. But the every alternate day I took the bus, it used to be slightly different. I could to talk one of my friends. I could narrate my love life to someone. I could weave my dreams of my future career with someone. I could also take the wrong bus, just to chat. I started to find those Oasis which one would want to visit just to have a long conversation with that loved one before she had to go back. The peaceful gardens of Humayun tomb, the elegant rubbles of Tughlakabad, the night-time ice cream at India Gate.

There used to be a time in Delhi when I would wait in the winter fog for my bus. But I haven't had the chance to walk in the fog for quite some time now. My favorite winter sport used to be lying in the sun, cracking peanuts and falling asleep in the 4 pm sun. I would love to see a traffic jam from the top of my roof during Diwali. The taillights of the cars and the decoration lights used to look good together. I used to plan my plot and weaponry for Holi, to defeat the girl gang. I used to love to cycle at 5 am to the playground where we would play till 7 am in the summer vacations. I used to love driving the smooth roads in the afternoon heat, without air conditioning because I keep my elbow on the window.

There was a time when pop corn was not reserved for the movies, it came with the clanging noise on cart. So did sugarcane cubes. Roads were simpler. There was just a green light and then a red light. That's all. And now we have an underpass, a road over it, a flyover over that and another flyover over that, and yes the metro line above that. Things are getting swanky and complicated. But Delhi needs it, because people have been coming to Delhi. And that's what Delhi is, a place where people have been coming to. First the Hindu Kings, then the Mughals, then some invaders, then Mughals again, then British. Then Punjabis, then Bengalis, then Kashmiris, Bihari, UPites....

The problem of Delhi is that it is a city of no-one and the advantage of Delhi is that it is a city of no-one. Perfect for the capital of concept called India - distinct, undefinable and yet unified. Here no one asks me where I come from. People take time explaining you the way. The summers are blazing hot and winters are tattering cold, people are harsh on the tongue and loud in their expense. But the every morning is pleasant, birds still chirp around, parents still hold the hands of the kids when they drop they off to school, people still have time to go to their relatives on Diwali, Eid, Holi and every other occasion.

Delhi is in a constant state of flux, ever since it was founded. The city has been building itself from centuries, it is always under construction. Like a maniac it keeps experimenting with itself, trying to be something new always. Stay away from it for 2 months, and you will notice a change. A traffic signal you waited at to change the radio channel , would have disappeared. The milk booth you went to put coins into would have turned into a mall. But there is something it still preserves - all it's history. It has layers and layers of history. A city which still preserves all of it and which is visible from the streets and not hidden behind buildings. It also preserves your history - the park you played in, the shop you went to buy gifts in, the school you went to, the street you loved to walk to.

I cannot explain you more about Delhi, just as you can't explain why you love someone.

Last play

2010-08-01T18:22:00.010+05:30

About the very first time, I remember this - Walking into a lush green park, through a revolving gate, not knowing what is planned by those 11 other kids. I was 6 and I had never played football. So I was promptly put in charge of the goalkeeping department in a six-a-side game of football. The defender of the space between two trees.

And if you think I was just standing there, picking my nose - you are wrong - I was picking up the game. I was superman, I flew here and there, threw myself to do my duty. I was a celebrity within 15 mins. My eyes became bigger at the sight of the ball coming towards me. And slowly I started realizing that I am not a goalkeeper. It's not only the eyes, my feet started to itch, to leave the haven of the box which gave you the privilege of using your hands. Just then I saved another goal and this time I was about to revolt. Some folks would remember that there used to be wonderful term called "flying goalchie". Fly I did. I don't remember how long, but I ran, ran and ran past everyone. All I could hear is the sound of the wind, just running like mad. And just as I was about to score, BAM ! Someone knocked me to the ground. But that experience was such an adrenaline, I wanted more.And thus began the long affair.

From being a goalkeeper , I progressed to being a striker. A striker does as much watching as a goalkeeper does. He waits. Like a beast in the bushes, waiting for that right pass. What's that right pass? It's not every ball that comes your way. These are those, when you know the ball is going to run with you. It's almost calling you to run with it and carry the momentum. When the boot slides over the grass , it makes this slight noise, which makes you feel like mincing your teeth. The right kick just takes out some amount of grass out, sends these comforting vibrations to your sole. The feeling of being correct. More than science of it , its like knowing the earth you are playing on.Like you know every pit and every yard. Knowing that when you hit that ball, it will take the path you thought in your mind. The touch is important, the timing , the delicacy, the dance before you sent it rolling. And then when the ball leaves your feet, time freezes. Everything goes to mute, there's almost nothing you hear. Just air.

As I remember , I was the happiest not when the ball used to go inside the goal, but when it used to hit the post. I don't know why that rattling noise aroused a sense of pride. That I scared someone but did not disappoint them. That I will be back.

There was a time when I was crazy about the game. When I mean crazy about the game - I don't mean following some club, worshiping some player or waking up at 1 in the night to watch a game; I mean crazy about playing it. How crazy ? I used to come to school 1 hour early, just to play. I carried change clothes on muddy days. I brought football boots everyday to play during lunch. I had 7 sets of uniforms, as I would soil them everyday. I loved to run hard and fall. I didn't mind putting all in there. I never discussed club transfers, star players - I just planned ahead to play every day.

Playing football as a kid is not that easy, you need to motivate people who prefer to play cricket. You need to build a gang. You need to discuss every splendid run of play to keep the excitement for the day alive. I haven't discussed this for a long time now. I haven't drenched in sweat for 5 years. I haven't tanned my skin , because now I wear only leather boots. I wear trousers and feel ashamed to discuss the game. I betrayed my love by not keep on playing.

I am not the greatest player, I am not the most passionate, but I am surely one who is the happiest when playing. I have my last pair of boots, unused for 5 years. Maybe someday I will take them out.

2 states : The pirated version

2009-12-27T20:53:00.010+05:30

For all the bhakts of C.Bhagat, this is not the place to be. I don't write like him. My English is in house developed rather that the Oxford dictionary consulted one. I am not an IIT-IIM combo superstar who can tell you fundoo stories. Nothing glorious has happened in my life. So let's get it straight, read it and I beg you to please like it. I am doing this for free.

Now that I have got your expectations down to the mean sea level, it's time for me to dazzle you with my little encounters of the two most stereotyped Indian people.

Just before Christmas I got the 'opportunity' to visit the only Indian metropolis I haven't resided in - Chennai. Chennai scares me - for two reasons - I don't know the language they understand and I think I may be looked down upon because of my obvious non-vegetarian looks. More like vampire looks. Anyway I would go anywhere for more frequent flier miles, I am bikaoo. So here I was in my flight to Chennai sitting window-side, listening to Mika singing the opening song of....of......Quick Gun Murrugan !! Aiyooooo....What an irony, just the song for my upcoming tour of contrasts.

By the way.. the movie sucks.

Landed in Chennai, the place still seemed liked my country, the pushing, the shouting it was all there, only in some high tempo language. Chennai smells nice - it smells like a temple, flowery and comfortably damp. I think I arrived on the right day. The taxi driver assigned to me was handpicked as he spoke some Hindi. I had come to know that Hindi is like Satan's tongue in Chennai. People frown at Hindi music being played in cars. Hindi speakers being harassed by the usual suspects of tourist harassment. Nothing of that sort happened with me. But Hindi speakers are at a handicap.

Everything in Chennai is so colourful, houses are painted like they were being given incentives to be wild and crazy. Houses are painted to be Shocking. Its common to see 4 walls of a house painted with 4 different colours. Pink, Yellow , Green ...Parrot green and...Blue. All on the same house. This is normal. I have seen a house with 4 walls having 12 colours. More the better. It has something to do with their ego and pride I guess. I guess if I had a better eyesight spectrum then I would have seen something like 256 colours in the same house.

Anyway, what I really love about Chennai was the food. It is awesome !! For the first time ever in my life I preferred vegetarian food over my non-veg appetite. Not to forget Chennai also has awesome seafood available. And even better is the filmy music - the beats are so 'dhik-chik'. Bhangra is nothing compared to this. I felt like getting into a dhoti and dancing like crazy. The (filmy) dance-form is totally random, perfect for people who don't know who don't know how to. Full of energy. Prabhudeva and A.R.Rahman rock.

The 'topping on the idli' was the buffet dinner I had at the hotel I was staying in. The lobby was decorated with all the Christmas fanfare, a huge tree was there and the best thing - a three girl choir singing carols. I took a seat closest to them, well that was the only single seating table left. Those were looking so sweet in there Christmas hats and sang beautifully. One of them was checking me out too. I blushed and shied away everytime she glanced at me. What an Idiot I am !!

Anyway, in the morning I am going to the other side of the nation where it is said that even nicer beauties walk the streets. Punjab.

People who come from Chandigarh tell me it is splendid. But what was splendid was the way I was introduced to the land of top-loading lassi machines. Chandigarh airport is the most chaotic place ever. My plane was still taxing to the terminal and I could see passengers walking towards the aircraft with their bags to board it ! Only in Punjab ! That's not all, when I was walking towards the terminal building, people were coming towards the plane to welcome some or the other guest. And right on the runway there is a session of punjabi style gung -ho welcoming. Movies don't exaggerate, Panjab Kesari tells the truth. For those who don't understand India but know the US like their neighborhood : Punjab is India's Texas.

There is no logic to things here, it's just brute force. Patience is non-existent here. People like to overtake each other just to show they have an engine in their 'gaddi'. When you slow down to ask for directions from that someone sitting on a bike, he doesn't get to answer. Always, someone on a scooter/bike coming from behind buzzes past telling you the way. Always. Only in Punjab ! Everyone thinks the other person should be beaten up. Everything is grand. But I don't like the music. Because there is no variety. All of songs sound the same. Even trucks blow their horns in the same way. There is just one rhythm to every song. The same nasal voice. The variety is in the female and male voice. And I don't know why either the song is talking about women or some long lost love. That are the underlying theme to all the songs.

I just hope that I don't get beaten up for questioning the quality of music. I love the food though. It's delicious and amazingly fresh ! It's as if the vegetables were cooked when they were still growing in the farm. Only in Punjab !

But the best thing is yet to come. The English to Hindi translation. It's weird. Again, there's no logic. Only the 'just do it' attitude. I have an example to share. When someone comes here as a guest, they ask the guest - "kya lenge - 'chai ya thanda'? " So refreshments in generally referred to as - 'chaai ya thanda' . And so when Punjabi signage guy has to translate it he starts like this. He takes the smallest word first. 'Ya' is 'or' in English. But he only knows that it sounds 'or', not that it is spelled 'o' 'r'. So, he remembers that the Hindi 'or' is translated as 'and' in English. Hence the 'ya' is translated as 'and' in English. Then 'chai' is 'tea' and 'thanda' is 'cold'. And viola - the railway station refreshment boards pronounce it "Tea & Cold" . Only in Punjab ! Only in Punjab !

And with that ladies and gentlemen - I have written the most boring travelogue ever. I told you Bhagat ke Bhakts, that you are at the wrong place. Forgive me.

Sincity du Inde

2009-12-05T00:50:00.009+05:30

1989 - The Berlin wall fell. Hamburger eating Yankees celebrated, but they forgot an essential part of Soviet Union to dismantle.

KOLKATA !

I had become very comfortable with Mumbai, even though I was getting robbed of my money there. The thought of being 'sent' to Kolkata, sent shivers down my spine. I was going to the place which had the reputation of being slower than snails. The place where being fat is mandatory and 50 paise coins are used a lot. I was being sent back in time, to 1954. I had started imaging myself in black & white surroundings, riding hand pulled rickshaws, sleeping before 8 and eating rice for breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, refreshments and cocktails !

People usually cheer you up with the weirdest bullshit when things happen to you. Like - "You'll have more holidays", "Girls are easy there", "It's your homeland". But the best bullshit I got to listen to is , you are being sent there as a "resource". Oh my god ! I am going to be a 'resource', for what ? Kolkata is known for being a town of very illicit resources. I will soon come to know of these on the only place I know in Kolkata - Park Street.

The day I came to Kolkata, I was exposed the horrors of walking down Park street alone and looking glum. There are shady looking Biharis who stand next to the Oxford Book Stores who offer you a look at their "brochures". Offering you delicacies from various parts of the country and abroad. And they even have sampling 'facility'. Believe it or not, it's shit scary for young guys in new cities. It is. No matter how 'harami' a person be. Its too much in your face.

Kolkata is the Paris of the East. It's also London. It's sometimes also Rio de Janiero, specially when Brazil is in the last 8. And most often it is either Czechoslovakia, Estonia or some other country where people are fighting for their rights. But Kolkata tries to do it in style, drinking tea in (so thought) expensive places, dancing in nightclubs with the hep names, admiring art and music like they never do in even Paris, and riding in taxis and 'underground' (bengalis call it 'paatal'). Kolkata is connected to the world. They celebrate political victories of parties of countries you have not heard of. They cry for Diana, laugh at Bush, worry about Katrina, not Kaif but the one in New Orleans, feel for the poor in Africa, and consider preventing AIDS as the need of the hour.

Bored already ? I haven't told you what I did in Kolkata. Well I did nothing. I bought a smart card for the Metro , topped it up with Rs. 500 and I rode back and forth from work for 5 months ! Use your calculators now. Yes it is true, stop rechecking again and again. Other than that I studied bengalis. Each and every one feels a deep connection with the English and intellectuals of great history. Almost everyone can speak about everything and necessarily it has to be in English. No wonder my Bengali is poor, I never got to hear the right kind of Bangla. I also tried to meet relatives of mine. For them me being in a private job is like failure in life. And when they hear that I went to IIM and not to Xavier's or Presidency, they ask forgiveness for me from God. The standards of quality and life are very different here. IIM doesn't mean IIM I, B , C or anything. It just means 'Joka' . My only accomplishment in life, my only trump card to get a girl, is all burnt down here. And it could have been worse if they got to know that I don't know Anjan Dutta (Bong rock guy) and never read Tagore or haven't had a tryst with any sort of classical music.

Kolkata is convenient though, everything is nearby, all kinds of 'services' are available readily. Drinks, cigars, cigarettes and fancy life is there for you to grab. Pubs and discs are open till 4 am . People who like modern forms of relationships have a relief here. Junkies and hippies available in plenty. No work culture. Easy living. Money is like waste, no one worries about it. Because no one gets to spend a lot of it here. And food to gorge. Whoever invented the 7 sins funda, finished too early. He / she should have visited Kolkata. Kolkata comes up with a new form of sin every year. The only problem is - it's Communist. So Kolkata can't profit from its Sins. I should stop cribbing now. I am Bengali after all. Kolkata has to rock. It does.

Back to 022

2009-07-05T02:35:00.006+05:30

Okay this city has cost me dearly. I have spent the more money in bars and restaurants in Mumbai than 'I' have spent on education. I have lost more money in Bombay than most people lost money in BSE Sensex. And it was not Sensexy either.

For the record, my 18K worth N78 phone was pick pocketed from Andheri Station. And the worst part is, I know when. Down to the milisecond. Right when I was about to board the train and a guy bumped into me. But I was too busy being a Delhi guy. Being arrogant and being 'Jatt'. I shouldered him back with double the anger and the Delhi guy attitude. But the phone in my other pocket was bouncing off. Into the slimy sick sweaty slithering hands of some slummy pick pocketer. Down to the godforsaken nano-second I knew it. But this arrogance. And the phone was now gone. Before I could step a foot on the train, I realised it. But, I could do nothing. There was such a maddening crowd. I was helpless. That phone was freshly purchased in Bihar.

So heartbroken I was, that I did not buy a new cellular phone for 7 days. And when I finally did, it was worth just Rs. 2.5 K. I was being cheap. But when Devdas loses his Paro, he settles for cheap porn. (Hope mom is not reading). So the 2.5 kilo ka haath now typed ill fated smses on 2.5 hazzar ka Motorola. Life !

No ! No no ! This is not the end. I know at least 2 times, some Marathi Manoos tried to pick pocket my wallet. But thank KFC for the big butt I have, the wallet never slipped out. But those rascals, put a cut beneath the back pocket in two of my trendiest trowsers. May god make their socks bad odoured for whole life. Hope they die of bad odour.

Even still..this was not enough. When I was leaving Mumbai, I was robbed again. This time of my own foolishness. I left my ATM card in the ATM. I accept my mistake. But you know what would happen in Delhi and Kolkata...if I left my card there ? Somebody will take the pain to find out my address and return the card to me. And then he would feel that he did a deed worth Rs. 11,000. But in Mumbai no, it's all about money honey. All dhando. All return on investments. And what's even better is Return on No Investment, Return on Foolishness, Return on Simple People commiting small mistakes. So a gold chain wearing, bike riding, dark complexion, six feet Mumbai kar with a Kotak Mahindra account, lifts my ATM card in Andheri(W), New Link Road - Kotak Mahindra Bank and does what I always wanted to do. Shop for worth Rs. 11,000.50.

What i hate is, that it's my money he stole. What I even hate more is that I lost the convenience of a ATM cum debit card. What I hate MOST is that he did what I never could do with my money - Spend it !

And there's more, I never had a more rickety love life than in Mumbai. I become fat. I ate what I hated to eat. And I became ever so secluded.

Now that you know how much I hate Mumbai, let me put a twist in the story. I actually loved Mumbai. For the first thing, it gave me back the thing I long needed for 1 year. My friends. All of them here, in one city. Mumbai taught me what business is, what customer service is, what business in not about. Business is not about earning money. It's not about being thrifty. It's about being passionate, open hearted and still being practical. Business is all emotion but still emotionless. I don't know how you will understand that, but that's the way it actually is.

What I love more about Mumbai is the sea. If only i could live near the sea, I wouldn't want anything more from life. It is still the final frontier for man-kind, still the most inspiring, the most intimidating, the most romantic. I can't talk more about it, as I can't even afford to dream about it. I think that dream will also cost Rs. 35 crores for 800 sq.ft.

But the best part about Mumbai is that it takes you mind off the money. At least it did in my case. It made me feel that way. I could see that all money would be waste one day. That one day when I leave this world, all this money would be useless.

I think Hindu scrpitures should recommend Mumbai as the place to visit to attain Moksha..as freedom becomes real time in this city ... and for all the things I said earlier.

BTW: For all the gyaan on Mumbai locals, bhel puri, film stars ... consult getlost.com or google.com
BTW Again : If a Delhite loves Mumbai, it is one of the greatest sins in mankind. I confess my sin, Mumbai is great, but Delhi is greater. Sorry my Mumbai Mitras!

A handful of joy

2009-03-15T01:51:00.006+05:30

Have you ever tried to pick a lump of smooth sand on the beach ? I have done it so many times, and every time it feels like a whole new beginning. An absolute start. But then it starts to trickle out of your hand, through the fingers. And you thought you will have that lump in your hand for ever. Even when you knew practically that lump of sand can never stay in your hand, you held on to it.

Somehow I had held on to a lump of sand in my hands in the early years of my life. And that lump of sand of was the prized part of this earth. It was in my hands. And probably that lump of sand hated it that I thought that she was in my hands. She hated that feeling that 'I' 'have' the sand in 'my' hands. The sand thought of my hands as a cage. And so those little silica particles, sparkling bright, smooth and sweet cold feeling of it , just found a space between my fingers.

I always have thought that my hands were soft. The best palms to read, kiss and hold. But this nature - sand is older, sweeter and more soft than these palms with infinite fallacies. So the sand particles didn't find my palms caring enough. They left. Trickle by trickle.

Sand you would know is the coolest and most soothing during the hottest part of the day. Picking up a lump feels so soothing and lovely in the mid day sun. It brings you the soothing feeling to your palms. The cold and soft touch to your tough palms. The problem is I picked up that lump just before the afternoon. The sand may have not been ready for it, it was disturbed probably. My fault.

You know that feeling when the sand trickles out of your hand ? Grain by grain, between your fingers, tickling your senses. And all the time you feel good about it. You feel the illusion that the sand will still be in your palms. Then those first grains come between your fingers, and they tickle you. I have felt that feeling of the grains of sand between the fingers, ironically and painfully it is great. Then come the next few grains, and more , and it just keeps feeling better. Even when your palms start feeling the emptiness. It becomes cold from cool and then your hand is empty.

No lump of sand is there. It just trickles out. Back to earth, to be picked by some other palm. And those who are smarter, pick it up with an unnatural plastic bucket. And you will hate that feeling that sand loves to stay in an a plastic bucket rather that palms with blood flowing through them. Blood which comes from the heart. Only the bucket had more space to offer.

All of that is done. The sand is finally out. All that now remains on your palms is dirt. Which you just look at, and hope and wonder about where the sand went. You just keep thinking how that sweet cold lump of sand felt. It's not no longer there. There's only dirt. The problem is that I can't dust off that dirt. Because I love that dirt in my hands. No matter how much I bend down to earth, that same lump of sand can't come back to my hands. I miss you.

Bihar for Beginners and Burbaks

2008-07-23T21:58:00.012+05:30

I was probably 9 or 10 years old when I last visited Patna. And the only memory of that time was intense load shedding and a He-Man action toy my granddad had bought. And since then I have known about Bihar as much as you have. The reliable guides being - jokes about Biharis and Lalu Yadavs of the nation. But to my surprise the flight to Patna from Mumbai had awesome legroom and only 3 other passengers, it felt like being in business class. And it feels even better when the plane lands at the Jayprarkash Narayan INTERNATIONAL Airport. Boss!, Bihar has an international airport. And I have landed there, quite safely.

As I was walking inside to collect my luggage, I decided that I will write a book about Bihar. Then I would sell million copies and earn billions of rupees. But bhaiya as you can see now I am explaining Bihar for charity. Arriving early morning in Patna is good, the temprature is not that much and it feels great to know that you are booked at Hotel Maurya. Yes, it's Hotel Maurya. Kindly note, no Sheraton ! But it's the best Bihar has to offer. So when I arrive at the best hotel of Bihar, the room I have been booked into is still not empty. Hence I kill time roaming around in the lobby. Somehow the hotel feels very African. Like Hotel Rwanda. There are lot of game trophies, ivory carvings, armed gunmen and creaky wooden furniture with yellow lights everywhere. Hotel Rwanda. But Hotel Rwanda has the best view of urban Bihar. I could see Bihar's tallest building - the Biscomaun and the largest ground - Gandhi Maidan from my room . All this at an exorbitant rate of Rs.4000 per day. The most economical possible meal is Rs.450. I am in Bihar, I am supposed to save money. This is where I purged all plans of investing time and money in a book.

My first ever office is 3 mins of walk from my Hotel Rwanda. Climbing the stairs of Ashiana towers seemed like going through the corridors of a deep dungeon, no lights and red stains at every corner. And I am greeted at the door of my office with a sign that says "Asian Paints ke office ke liye bagal ke darwaaze se aayiye". And that is how I got to know that this is my office, because, no where else in the building is there a sign telling people where Asian Paints office is. The reason I am told is that it was deliberately done so that extortionists won't come hunting for the Area Manager. Exciting ?

Anyway, my first upcountry tour took me to the notorious naxal town of Jehanabad. And without much trouble came out of that place. And then Bihar started to introduce itself to me. The 8 lane national highway soon lost some inches. Actually feets, umm...lanes...and came down to 2 lanes. And then there were potholes. No, Craters. Or may be, valleys. The poor little Indica used to disappear inside the road. And then we touched the state highway. And it was all so better. It was better because my driver gave up on the road and decided to drive through the fields. It's said that the Bihar State Highway is being used by India's intelligence agencies to torture and interrogate hard boiled terrorists. I bet my insurance company has included the Bihar state highway in "exclusions" in bold print. Next time I am taking either a bullock cart or a chopper. But the most dare-devil part is still to come. On the north of Patna flows the 5 km wide Ganga river. And over the Ganga is the 7 km long Mahatama Gandhi Bridge. The bridge made in sections is now a circus act. The joints are broken, and when a bus passes from one section to the other, the next section dips under the weight of the bus. The drivers behind have to carefully time their jump on to the next section. The next Param Veer Chakra should go to one of Bihar's cab drivers. Gaya is also a place one should see. Bodh Gaya is an international destination. It's the place where Gautam Budhha had sat under a tree and enlightened. I don't know how he did that, as it's buring hot in Gaya. It's the hottest place in Bihar. Anyway, upon visiting Bodh Gaya you will forget which country you were in. Signboards are in Malay, Thai, Japanese and all oriental languages. You will get the best of Oriental cuisine and the best of Oriental hospitality. Talk about a oasis in the middle of Bihar! Between all that cribbing, one thing everyone would notice about Bihar is the vast amount of flat productive land. For miles and miles, you can see plain flat land with greenery. They say, that you throw away just seeds, in few months you will see a small bush growing. If Bihar's road are the bumpiest possible, the fields and the lands are the smoothest and flattest possible. It is a definite gold mine.

For all you stereotype believers, if you thought Bihari's talk funny, have a different accent, eat sattu and always chew something, you are so so right. Bihari is defined by all these things. And when I say funny, they seriously are very very funny. Each Bihari can become a stand up comedian. But a Bihari takes his education very seriously. Every Bihari I have met has always had the zeal to learn more. And funny may they sound, they have a good vocabulary in both Hindi and English. And if you are talking about awareness, etiquette and cultured behaviour - I think Bihar has impressed me the most. From all kinds of people I have interacted till date, Biharis have been the most courteous. What they are not good at is being angry. When Bihari boys got kicked in Mumbai, Bihar started abducting. Abducting entire trains. Bihari students took out their anger on railway property in Bihar! One group even hijacked and drove away with a train engine. They burned stations and trains they would use the next day to go to college etc. That is called - selfless protest. Inflict pain unto self rather than the innocent public. Lesson for Mr.Thackery(Jr.) - beat yourself up if you are unhappy about Northies in 'Twaadi' Mumbai.

I stayed in a location called Boring Road in Patna. It was the hippiest place in Patna and still it was named Boring Road. I resorted to almost the weirdest forms of entertainment like going to Vishal Mart and listen to Bhojpuri songs. I would visit every other profile on orkut in the hope that I will find a 'hot date' in Patna.

There are certain things you would love in Bihar :

Being served in every restaurant, even for a Rs. 50 bill.
Satoo paratha
The respect for education
Biharis
Rs. 200 pass for a trip to Nepal

Things you will hate in Bihar :

Advance payments
Filth
Waterlogging
People's love for not working

And the most hateful of them all

Gutka Gutka Gutka ! Gutka Spitting ! Gutka Eating !

Overall I think Bihar has been a good experience. I have certainly gathered some attention clubbed with sympathy from family and friend circles. Some have called me brave, some have offered me alternative opportunities. Life was simple in Bihar. Life was economical. Life was more educative. Even Gautam Buddha got enlightened here. I am glad to have Alumunus like him and Ashoka . Magadh, as it was once called, has had it's golden days. Bihar which has sadly become a symbol of underdevelopment is recovering. Crime has come down drastically. Corruption is still there. The market is in boom, people are spending even more. As things are going Bihar may one day again give rise to a Ashoka or Budhha. And when a Bihari gets going he engulfs or enlightens whole of India..sometimes all of Asia...That is why it's better to be with the Biharis right now. I am so glad to start my career in Patna. I don't mind going back...to pay a visit. Cheers to Bihar.

Those 8 hours of the day

2008-04-14T21:59:00.013+05:30

There have been some significant changes in life post IIM Indore. They are significant because I have nothing significant going on these days. This time just after graduation and before joining your company is the most boring and toughest time ever, which I will later magically realize was the bestest time ever. I will leave the repenting to the later stages of my life, and also the figuring out what productive things could have been done. Just like we made suggestions to case studies. Oh, history is so fun to correct, comment and criticize.

Getting back to the issue, the most significant change that has happened to me are dreams. I now discover that 2 years at IIM I, I never had a dream. Never ever. Now does this have a deeper meaning to it ? Umm...I think you and I should not delve much into it, because it is not going to give an inspirational touch to it, it would rather break the heart of the B-School fan. But if I say that 'we were living a dream, so didn't need one', I think it should trigger inspirational music in your head and make you weep. No? Whatever! But practically thinking I believe the dreamlessness was there because we never used to get a real comfortable sleep. One of the culprits of the uncomfortable sleep was the sleeper himself. A typical b-schooler would catch sleep at the oddest hours possible, living a nocturnal life. Now that I have come to the topic of sleeping, let me take you through the history, err...legacy of slumber at IIM I.

The day I arrived at the hostels from Delhi, I was so pleased to find a fresh new room, with sun blocking curtains and a fundoo mattress. I was so happy to be well endowed with my sleeping infrastructure. Little did I know that some morning sessions will make me wake up at 5. Then to make things even tougher they moved me to C-Block. A hostel block which 120 out of 180 people didn't knew existed or didn't know the way to. I was shoved into an even more indiscoverable room in the corner of the block. At first sight it seemed perfect for sleep - away from the noisy mess-hall, disconnected from the heavy traffic of the corridors and oblivious neighbors. But just as I sat on the bed, everything came crashing down. Not the bed, my dreams of sleeping. The mattress was like the ones they have in DTC buses. So my back had a lot of getting used to coming up. But the worst was yet to come.

My neighbor, my senior, my oh so popular neighbor was Vivek Mishra. He loves playing AOE. Age of Empires for him - Age of Ensomnia for me. (Yes smarty pants, I know it's spelled wrong, ignore it, it's very important for the joke.) Mishraji loves to play his AOE with speakers on high volume. I don't know what rush he gets out of it. I understand the adrenaline from playing FPS games or NFS at high volume, but AOE ? The cling-clang sword-fighting sounds does not let me even count my sheeps properly, not even with the second pillow over my ears. Then when I finally manage a shuteye at somewhere around 3, there is a sound - "TADA !!!....ding-dong...... Argghhh". Oh shit, some man just died in the middle of the night with a huge cry. An archer from the other village just killed a villager from Mishraji's village. That sound used to wake me up every single AOE night, and after that you just cannot sleep. Because then there is a war between Mishraji's village and Viagra's village. And after that Mishraji will come out of his room, shout obscenities at Viagra on the third floor and asking him why the hell he attacked when they had a pact. Then they will meet, at where else - Mishraji's to discuss what had happened. Whether they should have attacked with cavalry or with archers, from the right or left, should they have built a fort or sent a villager....I mean what the hell !!? Iraq, Afghanistan war is virtually still on, is there not enough war on earth? Give peace a chance! When the fighting stops, Mishraji's Winamp lines up with 2 tracks and those two songs play 24x7. I think the longest monotony was 1.5 weeks. Only 2 songs from some Govinda movie. Even if they were good songs, I started hating them, because they deprived me of my precious afternoon nap as well. He let those 2 songs loop endlessly even when he locked his room and went for class. Give peace a chance ! Give me a chance (to sleep) !

I never had the pleasure of dreaming at IIM Indore. Was it because I slept never before 1 ? Was it because the mattress was bad ? Or was it because I had something or the other on my mind ? God only knows, because I have none of these things to worry me, except I still sleep at 1. The bed at my home is so lovely, muah! I have so many cushions and pillows to select from. Nobody disturbs me, I can sleep till 12 noon. And I get dreams, every time. I dream about my life at IIM I a lot. I dream about hanging out with my friends too. I dream about my engineering days too. About my family. And I dream about some beautiful faces too, yeah baby ! But the every single dream has something to do with eating. I always see food there, delicious yummy cuisine. And it has some of favorite things to eat. It's simply an amazement why I dream about eating so much. Maybe because I eat less these days. Or it could be that I am jogging regularly. But, Roshin, who has also been facing the same 'abnormality' says that it's probably because we miss the night canteen at campus a lot. The midnight Maggies were the yummiest thing, but at home there is no such option of eating Maggi at 2 in the night. My stomach misses IIM I too, it misses the night canteen the most. Ok I have to stop now, coz I am finally sleepy...and yes ashamedly hungry too.

An IIM destitute

2008-03-26T23:40:00.013+05:30

"With over 95 companies registering for the process, 367 offers were showered over 173 students. The average salary of accepted offers stood at INR 13.07 Lacs per annum. The mean domestic salary has increased by more than 20% as compared to that of the previous year. For a batch with more than half the participants with no prior work-experience, an average salary of accepted offers surpassing INR 13 Lacs per annum was a delight. The top 50 offers have an average of nearly INR 18 Lacs per annum with offers spanning diverse sectors and roles."

- IIM Indore Placement report 2008

The crazy thing about these placement reports is that they give you the kind of confidence that you feel like a prince. But I can tell you very very frankly you feel no more than pauper after the placements. I went on this splendid trip of the Uttaranchal that reduced my bank balance from 5 digits to 3 digits. I am home these days, in hiding, so that friends don't find me here, otherwise they will rightly want a treat. So I am not asking anyone out for a movie, or proposing a Sunday lunch.

My recruiter does not understand that life in B-School is different from life in the real world, here there is no mess-walah to give you credit. The internet is not free, the group does not pay for the petrol, call rates are not at discount, the gym has a membership fee and that I live in an expensive city. My chosen recruiter knows that I am not going anywhere, so they are taking their own sweet time to send me letter saying when and where to join. And I am waiting for my oh-so wonderful package to show it's capability, till then I can only draw solace from the Congratulations my dear friends give. And shamelessly and sadly have to defer their treat requests. Ouch !

Then I suddenly realise that I have a wedding and an engagement to attend back in Indore. And as you would rightly realise, Indian marriages are bigger than HP-Compaq mergers. They are amazingly overvalued. Simply put they cost huge money, even to simple guests like me. So my 5 week plan is " To improve my cash balance and develop short term monetary policy " . I need cash.

Thinking about my monetary conditions I cant really figure out how to resolve my working capital issues. I certainly cannot approach my parents for money, that would be really strange. I am supposed to be an independent person now, I can't go to mom and ask her money for candy. So I have to do some job now. But where can I find a job for an IIM graduate for one and half months where they let you go away for marriages in between that ? Well suggestions come in about joining call centers and McDonalds, but that is so out of question, even if get to hang out with cool call center chicks! I can't even talk to my mom or my girlfriend for 5mins on the phone, so forget about customer complaints about dysfunctional pressure cookers. Plus I will be kind of putting my alma-mater's brand to jeopardy. Ego issues, you see ! I find some cool data analysis jobs with Financial Companies but they want me to go all the way to Gurgaon for 3 months. So that's not possible. The only option left is my good ol' CAT coaching center. I guess they will value an IIM grad and a previous customer. Reality check : they have full faculty and IIM faculty is not really an added advantage ! Who says there are shortage of good teachers in this country? So they offer me a stint with their marketing division and want me to visit campuses. Mr. Ayush 'Finicky and Super-moralistic' Paul feels that it would not be right to eyewash young grads to join this coaching just because they are paying me money. Well that ends my enthusiastic and desperate attempt for doing a part-time job. And you thought an IIM graduate has no job worries? Well think again !

Some bright business ideas that came to mind were also shot down by experts from the peer group. Ideas like "Babysitting by an MBA - Ensure your childs prosperity, NOW!" or "Gyaan guru - your cost effective alternative to Baba Ramdev" and even "Develop a business plan with the help of IIM grad". This country does not promote creative talent.

My poor and greedy eyes set on my lovely and trustworthy car. My love for 5 years, my Maruti 800. I have to liquidate my assets to solve my cash problems. Besides 3 cars for 3 people, of which only 1 goes to office is so lavish. The car has to go. I would have to sadly part with it. So I search for the next owner of my 7618. More than the selling price I am worried about the person who is going to buy it. I want it to land in good hands, someone who can care for it as I did, actually someone more than me. And when I tell this to my friends, they go like "how can you do this...we shared a good time with that car....you are selling your soul, you prostitute...aww, that's worse than a breakup man" I mean come on, one has to move on. I can't take that car wherever I go, although it has done so to me.

Never in my life did I feel so much worried about money like I feel now, ironically when I have secured a job I like. Gone are the rosy days when I could steal a one rupee coin from mom's dressing table to buy bubblegum. I can no more afford to be oblivious to monthly budgets, aate-dal ka bhav, month ends and inflation. For the first time I realize what the real worth of each single rupee is. Amazingly the learning didn't stop even after I got my MBA and I was sitting idle and bored................but why did it have to be in this beggar like way ??!!?!!??

The lasting melody of IIM I

2008-03-02T14:51:00.012+05:30

I was in the backseat of a cab when the grand gates of IIM Indore opened to welcome me to it's abode. I was a 21 year old scared of the new world and shy of the new family that will change my life.

But now I am driving out in my own car, in the driver's seat with all the world to embrace. There is just one thing that makes it difficult, the campus road will be left behind. The gates will shine on my back, my room will be alone without me. The classrooms will look pale without the chattering and the business magazines. Sadness just grips this little heart and squeezes the blood out from it. No matter how much water I drink, my mouth can't just seem to regain the moisture.

All this because I didn't make friends here....I became a member of a big family....

Suddenly I want to forget all the pride, ego and poison that's there. I become drowned with emotions, photographs, videos and not so old memories. Nights feel so soothing...I just want to sit in the wind, stare out to the sparkling horizon and think about things that were so little once and suddenly become all so important. Things like saying no to a party, saying something stupid to a special friend.

Placements are only a teaser. Everyone wants to help out people who are sitting silently in the waiting room. I would not have talked to that someone ever, but I feel the need to just go and talk to him about his day. It's the connect of this campus that makes me feel proud for the underdog who got placed. It's an awesome sight to see everyone applauding in unison for one particular chap.

Then there is the downloading frenzy everyone gets involved in. The race of clocking the most GBs just keeps going on, but in between all the photographs and videos become the chartbusters.

The best way to fight the wait to separation is to go out for a drive in the midnight. Just keep going wherever the road goes. But the best part of the drive is coming back to the campus, seeing the bright blue logo of IIM I from far. Then you feel proud about it, and hope that this arrival will reset the countdown and you will start another phase of B-School life.

And in the early morning, you have to do a tough task. A crime. Dropping your friends off to the railway station and airport is a punishment. The sin is nominating yourself to be the one dropping off and taking the opportunity away from others. A just punishment for being greedy and selfish. But when the moment comes, god knows what happens to the communication between the heart and the mind. All that the heart wants you to do, just doesn't find the courage to reach the brain. If that much courage was there, the love from the heart would have reached the arms to go and hug your best buddies. But you just stand there, like an idiot you drop the bags off, do a formal handshake, give a salutary pat on the back and say something stupid like "All the best". It's a great to be there with them, but the eyes feel scared to look up, for they will shout out something you don't want to say. Something like " I will miss you my friend" . The lonely and sad drive back to the hostel is off set by the sunrise and the hope of meeting your friends in few days time. And yes, the sight of those grand gates makes you feel like being in your mother's embrace.

Boys don't want to cry, so we just listen to soulful songs. That is the best escape, a background score for your mixed emotions. And while we listen to those songs, we do our packing. We fill up big boxes with books and clothes. As the things just keep pouring into the boxes, the shelves become empty. Now this is when it sinks in and breaks your heart. The emptiness of your room, reminds you of the 2 years of the greatest time of your life. The emptiness kills you from inside, reminding you every second that this is over. No more deadline extensions. Packing up is the toughest thing to do, it's physically draining, but more than that it's an emotional trauma. There are certain things you just can't put in boxes...

How do I move my bonding to this campus ? How do I courier my friendship with so many people ? There is no box to keep them .... nothing to move them...

The bridge to .......

2007-09-15T03:17:00.001+05:30

I had promised to myself that I will not blog about this, but now I don't find any reason to escape it. I hope this would serve as my mark of respect for the two friends I miss having around.

We were returning to our campus after a Section A dinner party, when Kunal told me that Nitesh and Neha were missing since evening. Neha Singh, Nitesh Aggarwal , Kunal Gaurav and Vishal Kaushal had went for an outing to Choral. What we got to know was that they were missing and their phones could not be reached. I was unabashedly telling others they must have wandered here and there and would return soon. Their phones were unreachable since evening, that was not a cause of worry, I thought, because Choral was out of cellular network coverage. So I had everything to believe that we would hear from them soon.

The moment I reached the campus and walked towards the mess, scenes became more serious. Roshin met me in front of the mess and told me that they were missing and a meeting has been called. Just the way she said it, the look on her face, the folded hands, the anxiety in her eyes made me shake. It was more serious than what I had thought. The director soon walked in the mess to address the anxious group of more than 300 IIM I students. Then it struck us, they had been washed away by the strong current of the river Choral and had been missing since. But I was still hoping to find them.

Meanwhile, I got to know what I would hate for the rest of my life. The media. I had only heard jokes about there shamelessness. They are all true. One reporter just after getting a 'hot tip' came to our campus and started asking people that "Your friends are dead, we want the photographs of them and the photographs of their bodies". They were not dead, not yet, the only thing that could be in it's grave was the soul of this cameraman. Another one actually had the guts to say "Your friends are dead, how do you feel ?" These are the exact words, no exaggeration; these are the exact same words that came out of the media 'personality'. It's understood they would and actually have to be indifferent, but there things known as ethics, etiquette and simple human sensibility that needs to put to use. Even criminals and prostitutes have some shame. And the same media will show each and every one of us in bad light, if anyone of had let the anger rule over our emotions.

At around 10 other two had come back to campus after searching for Neha and Nitesh for more than 3 hours along with 5 others. The look on their face was glum, but hope never died in me. I got as much information as I could about the incident and about the place. Around 20 of us from the 2^nd year agreed to go to the place at sun break and begin searching ourselves. We were talking about the incident and how to go about our search when suddenly a news came in that a news channel was showing a video clip of the time when Neha and Nitesh were caught by the stream. We all circled around the TV, which was showing a mobile cam clip of two people stuck in a river and holding on to a rock. We couldn't make out who they were. The faces weren't clear. Then we heard a scream . It was Neha, she was screaming for help. It was no doubt about it that it was Neha screaming out for help. My heart sank and I couldn't watch it anymore.

But Hope, it was all we had. I still believed they were stuck on some bank. That night was truly sleepless at IIM I. I don't remember anyone sleeping that night. I couldn't stay in my room, I was awake all night. Before morning came, I prepared four bags filled with medicines, torches, walky-talkies and food for our search operation. I had utmost faith in finding them.

At 5.30 we reached the site. The choral bank where Neha and Nitesh had come to was seductive, it was a narrow and a shallow stream. It was filled with big rocks and one could cross the stream simply standing, not even wetting his or her ankles. Choral did not seem dangerous at all. It was river stream between mountains, with a light mist. It seemed kid stuff. And that is why it was dangerous.

Neha and Nitesh were on one bike and Kunal and Vishal on the other. Kunal and Vishal had halted midway for a quick bite and were 15 minutes behind them. So when Neha and Nitesh reached early, they went near the stream and sat on one of the rocks not very far from the bank. By that time it had started to pour. And when it rains in a place where there is no soft soil and only mountains, the rain water comes trickling down to the river. In this case , this little stream. And it rained so heavily that the stream expanded in width by at least 6 feet on both banks and gained a strong current , with the addition of 5 feet of water level. That is what surprised both Neha and Nitesh. They were stuck on that rock. When Kunal and Vishal arrived, Nitesh was already struggling to hold on to the rock, while Neha held on to Nitesh's leg. Many other people had already reached that place, and were trying to help. But it was dangerous for even a champion swimmer set foot in the stream. The stream had suddenly turned violent and could even sweep off a big buffalo, and the local villagers say it does. So the only hope they had was a rope line. Nitesh was being thrown a rope-line. And then it happened, while he was trying to reach the rope, he lost his grip and the stream took both of them who didn't know how to swim.

(This is based on the information collected from onlookers, local villagers and does not have any backing of evidence. This recreation is merely a perceptual collation of theories and hence mere speculation.)

The place would have been serene and beautiful if there no rescue person looking for 'bodies' (as they said it) in their orange life jackets. We had come to look for Neha and Nitesh, not bodies. So we drove alongside the river to place where there was a checkdam. The stream was much steady here, I was hoping to see our friends soon now. But as I just got down, a policeman announced that they had found him. We ran to the place. I was quite keen to meet Nitesh. So I ran my heart out, so did others. But then I saw Rahul coming back. He had tears in his eyes, for his best friend. I did try to calm him, but it's only useless to do that. Anyway, I tried to proceed to the place, this time I did not run. Infact, I wanted time to stop. But I was there at that site. Nitesh was lying face down. His shirt was taken off by the stream probably, which made it more horrific to look at him. His back had injury marks. His hands and legs were stiff. And his fingers wrinkled. I finally got the courage to sit besides Davind, who was there too, and stare at him for few minutes. I got a glimpse of his face, his eyes were closed. They could show the pain he had experienced, like the winced look we get when we are getting an injection shot. But somehow, it felt that he was playing a joke on us, that he would rise and scare the hell out of us and then laugh at us. But no. He did not. The 3km walk back to the checkdam where we first got the news was long and tiring. The painful part was waiting for Neha to be found, listening to the taunts by the policeman, their celebrations at finding a body and the media persons' relentless search for masala.

I got some people to leave the place as the media would start harassing those who knew them. But I think I wanted to flee, escape the truth. By the time we reached campus, Neha was found and all hope & joy was lost. We were lost for the next few days. I couldn't help imagining what it would be without Nitesh and Neha on the campus. Nitesh was undoubtedly one of the most utility guy on campus, he was also close to me because he was working with me on an event we organise. Neha, was one of the brightest of the lot, and the bubbliest and friendliest of all people in the campus.

Th real pain was inflicted by the stories thrown around by the media. The awkward statements by some officials and the pain of keeping their seats in the class unoccupied. But I know for certain that they have occupied a lot love and respect in my heart. Someone wisely said - you never will know the value of what you have, until you have lost it.

This is Nitesh and Neha

Two hours before reaching Choral

I feel Neha's eyes are still calling out to us.

----- They will be in our hearts forever ------

It races past me

2007-08-21T02:51:00.000+05:30

Life is silly. It comes back at you. I always have loved driving on Delhi roads. I can't stand the traffic in front of me drooling. I always try to find a way to the front. This is my idea of being a leader. I like to overtake other vehicles. By doing so I am able to prove that I am better than 'you'. I find it satisfying. I do this usually during my trip from college to home. I overtake cars, I do it one after the another. I do my overtaking for 40 kilometers. For 1 hour. I tend to believe I am winning. I believe I am now able to beat the very people who gave me ideas on how to drive a car. It's my accomplishment. I had loved someone. I had pursued her for many years. I showed my full dedication to her for many years. And all that while she had considered me only a friend. But still I felt different for her. I always let her know that what I felt for her. I always felt I was leading her. I was leading her in our relationship. I always thought I loved her more. I had always imagined myself as the one opening new doors to our relationship. I was ahead.

Then one day, I decided to slow down. I just let my car glide at 50 kmph. I did not change the gear to get more revs from the engine. I let it cruise. It was so serene. The cars went past me. They did not go past me in a whizz. They went by me only as fast to let me admire their beauty.
I had stepped off. I had let my lady take control. She had glided past me. She controlled what doors our relationships opened. And only then I realised that what a beauty she was. She was more than beautiful, she was truly loving and caring. I had realised now, that what a boy I had been. I had a childish crush on her. I had pretended to be ahead of her. Only that I did not know, that every time I overtake another car, another car awaited me. I could not beat that jinx. I had to follow the one who truly felt love. I had to realise the importance of the one leading my life by slowing down, giving away the lead.

I feel relaxed now. Now that I know, I dont have to find my way past the traffic, I can listen to the radio with more calm. I can appreciate the beauty of the surroundings. I now know what life means, and brings to me. She loves me more and with more fidelity than what I can return. I fell for a beauty outside, I am now in love with the beauty within. Because I let it go past me, I could now understand what the other car had inside. It had an engine that ran smoothly, and did not have to rev up to feel beautiful. I know what she is now. I know now it is not a race. I can't race past it.

Mango Frooti saves the day

2007-05-26T00:45:00.000+05:30

This is just going to hurt a little bit - Ogden Nash

One thing I like less than most things is sitting in a dentist chair with
my mouth wide open.
And that I will never have to do it again is a hope that I am against hope hopen.

Because some tortures are physical and some are mental,
But the one that is both is dental.
It is hard to be self-possessed
With your jaw digging into your chest.

So hard to retain your calm
When your fingernails are making serious alterations in your life line
or love line or some other important line in your palm;

So hard to give your usual effect of cheery benignity
When you know your position is one of the two or three in life
most lacking in dignity.

And your mouth is like a section of road that is being worked on.
And it is all cluttered up with stone crushers and concrete mixers and
drills and steam rollers and there isn't a nerve in your head that
you aren't being irked on.

Oh, some people are unfortunate enough to be strung up by thumbs.
And others have things done to their gums,
And your teeth are supposed to be being polished,
But you have reason to believe they are being demolished.
And the circumstance that adds most to your terror
Is that it's all done with a mirror,
Because the dentist may be a bear, or as the Romans used to say, only
they were referring to a feminine bear when they said it, an ursa,
But all the same how can you be sure when he takes his crowbar in one
hand and mirror in the other he won't get mixed up, the way you
do when you try to tie a bow tie with the aid of a mirror, and forget
that left is right and vice versa?

And then at last he says That will be all; but it isn't because he then
coats your mouth from cellar to roof
With something that I suspect is generally used to put a shine on a
horse's hoof.

And you totter to your feet and think. Well it's all over now and after
all it was only this once.
And he says come back in three monce.
And this, O Fate, is I think the most vicious circle that thou ever sentest,
That Man has to go continually to the dentist to keep his teeth in good
condition when the chief reason he wants his teeth in good condition
is so that he won't have to go to the dentist.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mr. Ogden Nash never penned another version of his beautiful poem to describe the horrors I face at the hands of even more barbarous human - The Barber.

I was 5 years old when my father took me to a barber. That was my earliest visit to a barbershop I can remember. The chair used to be a bit unprepared for 5 year old, so they put a plank for me. Pirates used to make their captives walk the plank, these men with hinged swords made me sit on it. Children cry and whimper on the barber's chair. I am grandson of a freedom fighter, so hold my chin high. I look the boy in front of me in the eye. Then the villain of the story pushes my head down and I look at black strands of hair falling on the white sheet. I am deeply worried as to what will happen to my head. I don't remember looking at myself in the mirror after the cut. I don't utter a word to my father. I just hold his hand and keep looking down on the floor. And I walk out on the street. My father knows that I have been through a tough time. So he stops by a shop and buys me a Frooti. In those days Frooti used to be big. Really big. I sipped all the way to my home. I had full concentration on the pack of Frooti and the straw. It never seemed to finish, or was it that I never wanted to finish. I was just a little kid , I couldn't let myself be recognized in public without proper headgear. I had no hair. My mother still teases me about that day when I walked in bald in my home sipping at the Frooti pack, eternally looking down and not speaking. I had a fundamental, sovereign, social, republican, whatever right or left to be shy. There was no hair on my head. My head was naked !

Till this day, I have trouble with getting a decent haircut. I have haircutophobia. Still, I go to those pirates more often than most people. Because I know the previous haircut was a mess. It always is a mess. Because these people did not go to Arts school. They never tried giving themselves a haircut. How can they feel the emotions of those they use for their sadistic experiments? The point is, they don't listen to you. I'll say the hair has to be cut to the medium length and they will use the lawn mower on my scalp and will prepare it for the next match between Barcelona and Real. The thing I most hate is their love for the physics of stress and strain. I think they purposely pull at your hair, so that they can pull out all the yards of hair that is inside the scalp and do away with as much as possible at one go. They just snip their scissors anywhere they want. They never use any scale or any instrument to ensure the height their scissors are snipping is the same everywhere. The most stupid feeling comes when they pass a resolution to divide the hair into two different countries. The Federal Republic of Germany and the German Democratic Republic. This division makes me look a Nazi. It makes me look like someone who thinks that Hitler is the next best (hair)style guru after Beckham. No matter how much I spend Rs. 20 or Rs.200, the result is the same horrific journey. I realize that I have trouble communicating with them. My knees start to shake. I never have felt that nervous even when I talk to a beautiful girl. I just nod my head and mumble something senseless with showcase confidence to make the barber feel I am too sophisticated to listen to him. So he takes out all his frustration on my hair. To make me feel good, I still buy myself a Frooti.

Between two seas

2007-05-19T00:54:00.000+05:30

There are 54 potholes before the van reaches good road from the airport. The driver is driving slow thinking we have just touched down in Bangalore from some village in Bihar. He thinks that high speed will scare us to death. Anyway, there are two months for me to criticize a city many love. So I settle down in my hostel room at Indian Institute of Management Bangalore. The room has a cot that is deployed in many hospital wards. I have seen the same bed in prison cells in western television shows. This jail cell has Internet. The one we used in 1998. Yes, 'the click and go to Goa and come back to see the page loading' Internet. We are told that is because the network is being repaired. We get a raw deal at a very very mature institute. The campus is fabulously green though. The hostels are a maze. And I love the climate. About the food, I don't bother. I just fill up. But there is a restaurant just outside the gate, Status. This restaurant is any manager's heaven. TQM food, food from north, food from south, even food from China, just-in-time service, customer relationship management, everything on the menu is available, standard costing (they don't charge you for sitting there for half hour and eat nothing) and of-course Strategic Location just outside the place where the hungry managers of India are being cultivated. I hereby declare 'Status - Andhra Style Food' the best restaurant ever. I hope they read this and give me a discount on the Biryani.

Bangalore has a strange traffic sense. Everyone is so much in hurry. People in Delhi are in hurry as well, even more, but they know how to avoid a deadlock. The intelligent people of Bangalore decide not to use their intelligence outside their offices. Everyone enters an intersection, the cars face each other and their is deadlock at every intersection. If only one person had the patience of letting the other person pass, everything would be fine. But no, every Bangalorean pays taxes for the road, so they must be on every part of it. I think this in not the fault of the good people of Bengaluru. It is because the intersections do not have traffic signals. And I used to think that traffic signals are a menace ! Even office corridors in Bangalore should have traffic signals, you can spill your coffee if someone cuts you off.

Bangalore is heaven for those who want to go to office, relax at home, spend all their income and end up drunk every weekend. The fun places to hang out in Bangalore are .......ummm.........offices.........ok let me try more.............Forum mall........ [please note : I will complete the list the next day].....OK I asked an experienced Bangalorean...these are the places..

Pub
MG Road
Pub
Brigade Road (That's basically MG road again)
Pub
Forum Mall(did I say that again?)
Pub
Wonder La
Pub
Garuda Mall
Pub
Pub
Pub
Bangalore Central
Pub
A place where people sit and drink
Bar
Office cafeteria
Bar & Restaurant
Office pantry

I think Bangalore is the most fun city. Trouble is I don't drink, so I have to spend Rs.500 just to sit in a pub and listen to my friends chat in their high spirits.

I never said why I was in Bangalore. The reason in summer hardship,oops, summer internship at Wipro Technologies. I was a part of an army of 191 management summer interns at Wipro Technologies. You don't need to go back to the previous line, I'll write it again. 191 management summer interns at Wipro Technologies. Anyway they were giving me money to be a part of the army and hopefully a good first stint at the workplace. The moment I got down from the bus at the Electronic City Wipro campus, I realized something. This is a place a person can get lost. Not because the place is new or the roads are winding, it's because there are 15000 people in this office. The gate is the place where you realize that you are just employee no. 12000381. You are a mere person, you are not a IIM I student, you are not Ayush Paul, you are just your badge.

My guide is a busy man, he is delivery manager. He manages deliveries. So he is in UK all the time, delivering. But he is the one who showed me the way. I had originally got some timepass project. He asked me to work on something that will help him to crack a client he has not been able to do. That is why I respect him, because he gave me something sensible and useful to work on. And he is a total no nonsense person, he wants only the result, he is not interested in the Karma thing. I like it ! He assigns me to a buddy. I have never seen a person who can talk so openly about his employer and he is so so prompt. I hope that is the culture at Wipro. I spend my day bad mouthing Wipro and some people who run it, even when they are paying me and expecting nothing from me. I do my project as well.

The place where I sit is surrounded by managers. All sorts of them. I can't even open forwarded attachments without fear. They don't share the extension phone with me. That is so sad. They are always busy. They are always on the phone negotiating and clarifying. I don't know, if they know that I exist in their cubicle. I would love to know them, but Azim Premji gives them so much money that they have pledged their life to the monitor and the VoIP phone.

I fortified my friendship with few friends while in Bangalore and met new friends. Kovid was from my institute, so we were quickly sharing PJs. I discovered that he recited the Oxford English Dictionary when he spoke. He would throw in weird words and phrases, as if he was Sidhu. Manaspreet and Kulpreet couldn't get the logic behind my jokes, so they crack their own. Vaibhav form my engineering days was as inquisitive as ever. He has this strange way of asking questions every time. He even asks questions when he is answering someone else's questions. But he is an expert at work. Of the new people I met, I think the mentionable are TISSians and Shipra Sharma. Shipra Sharma, the most helpful girl ever, was asked by my friend, Divya, to guide this little kid around the city. And so she did. She got me my mobile connection. Romit , TISSian 1, was doing his internship at Google, and probably that is why it seems he is always looking for something. TISSian 2, Shaveta, which is her correct spelling, is too relaxed when she speaks. I don't know from where does she get her patience. The buddy program she runs is very deceitful, you are made a 'buddy' and then you just have to agree to everything she says and she acknowledges you with a 'Yes Buddy!' in her calm voice. But she is fun. TISSian 3, Vidhi is the angry young woman. See how I disguised young with woman, she will be happy to see I referred to her as young. She always wants to shut me up. But now I like her, because she owes me money. She is a real hard working HR manager. Suman is married to a merchant navy guy, who I presume is a very Joyous person.

This city between two seas has the ability to make people feel like machines. I just hope I am very wrong, because most people in Bangalore love it. I love the city's auto drivers who crib for 1 rupee, because they at least run on meters. I love the expensive food, because it is the only sort available. I love the buses which have signs in Kannad only, because they are more frequent and comfortable. I love this crowded city, because it is making it's crowd self sustained, wealthy and hopeful of the future. And this city between the two seas is far away from the shore to let any tide touch it. I hope Bangalore makes me fall in love with it.

And yes, Wipro Technologies is a very nice place to work, if you want to. People just bad mouth it, because they have no other topic to talk about and the general feeling that the employer is Satan's subsidiary.

I think I spoiled the sentimental ending...anyway...

Randomly Missing the days

2006-12-17T01:57:00.000+05:30

The best thing about being young and tiny is that you care for no one. I miss those days, when I would be by myself. The world was all good. No one was critical of what I did. I loved to play, soil my clothes and dared to imagine what I wished. I did not worry about any girl or subject or money or career or politics or ………or…..or……

I was cute, very very very cute. Everybody loved me. And I loved to hug my mom a lot, jump on her stomach every now and then. I would worry when my dad would be late from his MNC. I miss my mother’s baby talk and my Dad’s simple middle class moustache. I miss those days when I could negotiate a rupee for the bubblegum. I miss those days when I would sleep off in the bus and forget to get down on my stop. I really miss the water bottle and the BMX bike. I miss those people who would pull my cheeks and give me pat on the back for no reason at all.

There were those days in school when I was wild, when I was trying hard to fall in love. Love stories in the movies are so strange. They are never implementable. There are trees in my school, but I am certainly no great singer to go around them singing love ballads. So the strategy comes down to sharing pickles. My mom has a recipe of Mango pickle that someone so loves that I have to love the Lemon pickle the girl brings. She is a quite girl, and she is sweet. The pickles are a great way to start a conversation and probably a long friendship. I miss those days when I purposely joined summer classes of Physics to arrive early in School and wait for that angel to arrive. I miss those days when I could see my favourite girl everyday. To fall in love with someone, you have to first toy around a bit. You have to artificially start a water fight. Get chased and then ask out for a packet of Uncle Chips at the nearby market. I miss those 6 to 7 PM chat sessions over Yahoo Messenger. I used to be a phone maniac, I could talk endlessly on the phone with that someone I miss terribily. I miss those days when I could come to school without the fear of studying.

Everyone misses college, because there is so much to miss from college. The canteen, the corridors, the classroom, the back benches, the night outs, the *bling-bling*. I miss those long drives to college and home. Those drives that were soothing in the morning and sweaty in the evening. I miss the rajma-chawal of my college canteen. The best rajma-chawal ever. There are varieties of people in college. You simply cannot know everyone, but simply cannot forget anyone. You just miss them. College is the era of awakening for everyone , the time of becoming a rebel. You simply miss the days when you were angry for something your friend suffers. You miss the evenings that were spent in the empty corridor simply to delay the journey back home. I miss the people the most. I miss the joy of helping everyone I know. I miss the effort required to just to cheer up the juniors during their placements.

I miss being carefree. I miss being cute…being loved….being spared for the silly things I loved to do. I miss the silly things I did. I miss the people I have respected, loved, worked with, fought, made up with, travelled with, cared for. I miss my life of being Ayush, being Aunt Pauly….being the innocent boy of the neighborhood.

Well all this is a result of singing mushy songs, the joy of completed chapters, cheese egg parantha and insomnia during exams. But I know I will miss the this place. I will miss everything I have done and everyone I have met.

Torched

2006-11-04T03:46:00.000+05:30

We had moved into our new house in April, 2002 and this was to be our first Diwali in our new home. 4th November, 2002 was the date. I was excited about the evening's celebration. I was not planning to burst crackers, because I had chose to pollute less, but I was busy decorating the whole house, putting up the lights. Our flat was looking very beautiful and I was busy calling everyone and wishing them Happy Diwali. Father brought us some surprises that day, a new 29 inch flat screen Sony TV and a huge microwave oven. My mother was obviously overjoyed.

My parents decided to visit my cousins who were actually in the next block itself. I had a minor tiff with my father earlier. So I sat in my room with a long face. I was alone in the house. Trying to get over my anger. Then my uncle called and coerced me into coming over, which I didn't want to because I was busy being angry. But anyway I decided to go over to their place. Me and my cousin got ourselves busy by bursting some crackers. I had been out of my room for barely 20 mins when I noticed that the lights of our place were out. Our flat was on the 9th floor and I was on the ground. The keys were there at my cousin's place on the 4th floor. So I did not stress myself to go check out the possible fuse. Then a guard ran across us shouting "yaar kiska flat hai woh?" (whose flat is that?) I inquired why he was running around, then he told me that a flat was on fire in E-Block. I did not even bother asking him which flat was it. Lights off, no one at our flat, it doesn't get easier than that to guess what was going on. E-1003 was on fire.

I made an instant dash to my cousin's place. I told my father that our house on fire and we two ran towards our flat. I took the stairs to 9th floor, father took the elevator. I reached earlier but I realized that I did not have the keys to open the door. A young neighbour was in the corridor with bleeding fists. Amit had broken all the window panes to try and find a way to get in. I thanked him and I was sorry for his hand. I measured up the situation till my father arrived from the elevator few seconds later, with the keys. By then buckets of water had lined up in front of our door.

Just as the door opened, a huge gust of smoke, hot and dark rushed out, enough to throw us off balance and leave us in tears. Since the lights were out and the smoke was dense, we could not see anything. Since I got to know the fire was not in the drawing room or the kitchen on the right, I thought of making an inroad. I creeped down to avoid the smoke and made my way into the kitchen and removed the gas cylinder from there. I came out with the cylinder safely. I thought it was not such a bad idea. Since no one could see through the smoke pales of water just being thrown around, without even affecting anything. My father was making his way to the source of the fire. It was my room. He had to come out as the smoke was too dense and air and the tiles very hot. The smoke was causing more problem than anything else. I went across the drawing room and opened all the doors and windows to let the smoke out.

The water hose was now in action. It was my father who was courageously going towards my room and spraying water there. People kept switching as it was very hot inside and the smoke was too much to handle. I finally got to see a glimpse of my room when I held the hose to throw water there. It was as if there had been a blast. There had been a blast actually. Just after I had left my room, when I was waiting for the elevator, I had heard a very loud boom, but it was Diwali. The guard had later confirmed that he saw the air conditioner of my room blast out from my window and fall to the ground. It had fell 9 floors and had landed in front of a parked Zen, apparently scratching it's front bumper. I had just manage to avoid the blast in my room, otherwise I would not have been writing this post. The fire was brought under control when the Fire Brigade did arrive. I had not received any injuries, but my father had burnt some hair. He was exhausted and very disappointed. It was our new house, first diwali, everything new in it and it had went into flames. My mother was finally brought to the seen. She was purposely kept away. She was so happy to see both of us alright. We are glad that nothing untoward had happened. I was rummaging through my room that night, I could just see a destroyed window, a destroyed bed and a lot of blackness. I was feeling bad, and then the board under my foot cracked and a 2 inch nail punctured my shoe and made nice hole in my sole. Ouch! The real painful part was pulling it out. Jesus Christ! Maybe that was an indication that things could have been worse.

The next day started with a postmortem. My room again, it was all black but there was bright sunshine coming through the new expanded window. All my clothes had become ash. All my books and notes had turned to carbon. The collection of my expensive watches had now become some black thing. All my things had been burnt. Then due to some miracle I could pull out a file from underneath the rubble that had survived. Fortunately, it was a file of all my certificates and mark-sheets. A fire that had melted the blades of all the fans in the house, that had turned walls pitch black had spared these pieces of paper. Important papers. That is the power of knowledge. We had to move to temporary flat, where we had to live like refugees for 3 months till the house got renovated. We never got to know the real cause of the fire. Someone claims to see a rocket putting the shade over our air conditioner on fire. My mom still suspects that she had placed a candle near a curtain. But it is still unclear. Who cares now. We take extra precautions now. Our house came out looking even more beautiful. It still does hurt but the bottom line is I still love Diwali. I just remember that day as 4th Nov 2002, a day that was.

The Runaway Marriage

2006-09-23T00:03:00.000+05:30

It's a Sunday on 24th September 2006. Alok Singhal is getting married today. He was in college with me. He is getting married to his girlfriend, then a fiancee, now wife, Deepika. I was excited to be there with my friends. Fortunately, IIM Indore managed to give me vacation in such a way that my last day at home would be the day when Alok would tie the knot. Interestingly Alok had too arrived to his place from Mumbai for the weekend to get married and take his wife with him there.

I was doubly excited as I expected to meet most of batchmates after a long time as well. The first stop was the petrol refilling station. To great my luck, the petrol pump stopped in between while the fuel was being pumped. A delay of 15 minutes. I am a person who is very particular about time. IIM Indore has transformed me into a person who is 'finicky' about time. So I was irritated. No frustrated. Anyway, I did get onto to the road finally. Turned on the music...Ahhh...rolled up the windows....pushed the Air Conditioning button .....and voila....HOT AIR !!! Freaking )*#@)*# A.C. was not working!!! Super hell !! Anyway, I whizzed past the traffic. I maintained a speed limit of 70 Kmph. I did not dare go below it. Tommi Makkinen would have been proud to see a budding rally driver, who could manage to make a Maruti 800 go past Skodas and Lancers. It's all part of the anger game. I met my 'gang' at the place they had mentioned to me. Fortunes of fortunes, they had an accident, burst tyre and one car less. But I was there to save them.

When we reached Alok's place, our expectations were given a slap. It was very quite at his place. Peaceful. Alok was sitting on a bed, with all the elders giving him some blessings. The ghodiwala was waiting outside, to give our gadha a ride. Suddenly two drummers woke from their slumber and started beating the hell out of their drums. 10 minutes later they were gone. Quick ! Mr. Alok Singhal was desperate to get married. He hurried through the religious mumbo - shumbo at his home. And mounted the 'stallion'. The journey on the horse was not be very long. Only till the neighborhood temple. The baraat was a huge crowd of 18 people including the 7 friends of Alok. The boy didn't even let the baraat stop for a second, even for photos, let alone little dances. Going through those lanes where this man once played 'catch' with his friends must have been funny. I didn't get time to think much about it, because Mr.Groom was in a hurry to reach the marriage venue. So he got down at the temple and jumped into Vivek's car and we ran. We ran like hell. We twisted and turned corners. Took weird shortcuts. Anyone from outside would have thought that we were kidnapping the groom. We could not blame them, because we were running away with a guy dressed in a glitzy outfit.

Meanwhile, the bride, Ms.Deepika Goswami , oops now Mrs. Deepika Singhal, was fully dressed and using her mobile phone to lambast our boy here. She was hungry. She was hungry in a red saree and gold jewelery. Pizza huts are very good places. The people at her place had seen an advertisment on television where a fully dressed, bejeweled bride walks into Pizza Hut. So they did the same. Deepikajee went to Pizza Hut in a shocking red saree with moderate jewelery. People must have thought that some bride has runaway , or this girl is new to town. Eyes were on her, so the food was a bit hard to digest. But she ate, in Pizza Hut, in a red saree. She didn't get any discount for helping Pizza Hut follow what they preach on television.

Alok reached the wedding place on time. He straightaway went to the mandap and was all set to go around the holy flames. I was amazed to see how fast a marriage can happen. It just took the clock to move from 3:00 Pm to 5:00 Pm, and Alok and Deepika were married. Both the families were seemingly happy with how things had went. I was amazed. Space age marriage. Absolutely no hassles. He also had a reception planned in the evening. But I had a train to catch to take me back to Indore. I had story to take back with me. A sensational, superfast, "chat mangani , instant byaya" wedding.

The Highway Man - Alfred Noyes

2006-09-17T23:39:00.000+05:30

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding- riding-riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter, The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching- Marching-marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

Trot-trot; trot-trot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Trot-trot, trot-trot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding, riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!

Trot-trot, in the frosty silence! Trot-trot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed,
With her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back,he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding- riding-riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This is a poem I fell in love with when I was in my tweens....
the words paint the whole story in front of my eyes....
Words never had been so magical to me...
Romeo and Juliet would have loved to live...to hear tale like this...

A Hazy Masterpiece

2006-09-08T22:31:00.000+05:30

Winters are really romantic in Delhi. I love the fog, it makes me feel I am in heaven. Things look cleaner and everyone looks cute. Late November of 2001 was not so chilly. But the sunshine in the foggy winter mornings felt very nice, whenever it got the chance to hit my skin. That morning I boarded my school bus and found a seat behind the exit stairs at the back. There was more legroom in that seat and I could see more of the outside world from that seat. I was listening to Instant Karma on my walkman when my bus turned it's final turn to reach the final stretch of the road. Shaan sang into my ears 'Hum bewafa' with the soothing and ambient music by Bally Sagoo.

I could see, that I could not see far ahead on the road. The fog was thick here. This road which led me to the school, had trees on both sides of it. The trees covered most of the road. In summers these provided shade and in winters....an aura.

Music can do wonders. And slow music can do miracles. It made time move slow. Things moved past me in slow motion. I could see a hazy yellow spot in the sky. Sometimes I could catch only a glimpse of it throught the leaves. In the fog I saw a shadow walking the road with long flushing hair held together by a black band. I turned back to see the face, but eyes fail when beauty blinds. Then it vanished, the bus was faster. Instant Karma could not manage to make the bus run slowly. The bus halted in front of the school gate. I was the last one to get off because I kept waiting for that figure to reappear from the fog. Just as I got off, a girl split the fog and she slowly appeared. The warm sunshine showered down on her through the leaves just then. It was as if an angel had appeared through the clouds. An angel in a gray woolen skirt. She was also wearing a gray coloured sleeveless sweater. Gray was at it's elegant best. It took hours and hours till I could see her face. A small baby face with red cheeks is what I saw. Spellbound I was, paralyzed is what I became. I kept standing there on the road holding onto the bus' handle, gazing at her. I knew her. I knew her name. I wanted to say 'Hello' to her. It felt the world was moving past me. It was the bus, with my hand. My paralysis was cured, the music was starting to fade away now. Classes were to start. But that scene was imprinted in front of my eyes...forever. I see it now as well.

Touchdown

2006-08-28T22:27:00.000+05:30

A water tank, that was my first sight of the IIM Indore campus. On that bright shiny day the gates of the campus looked as grand as that of a palace. The winding road took me, my parents and my three bags past the academic block and to the hostel block. I got a room untouched by anyone, that obviously excludes the workers who built it. E-207 was a neat room, sufficient for me and had a marvelous green door. I was among the lucky few who got rooms at the newly built E-block. My father and mother did most of the unpacking and arranged my stuff neatly. They insisted on doing that, as I was bad at that. Me and mother went to the mess to do so some food survey. Caterers at IIM Indore are very smart people, after all they were at IIM too. They knew when parents flock the campus, so the food tasted like ...like ....food. My mother is a very observant lady. More than that Dr.Rashmi Paul is a bit too frank for my comfort. While having our lunch in the mess, she noticed that the girl across the table, Neha Saxena, looked extremely similar to Divya. Divya is my best friend, I know her since school. So my mom blabs out her great discovery so loud that even Neha's dad could hear. I could just pop my eyes out enough to make my mother look away!

The next morning began with the drill session at 5.30 AM followed by the Self Awareness & Discovery sessions (S.A.D.) While introducing himself one person failed to get up because he had pulled a muscle. Later in the morning, I met the same person in front of the bathroom. I asked him about his leg, he replied that the &(&@# leg feels very &@*)($@ painful. He was going to take a bath, so I thought it would be wise to tell him that the water is boiling hot in all the taps. He said "toh accha hai na...main usme pair dalega...toh garam paani mein woh mast thik hoyega!" This chap from Mumbai was Kunal G Sukthankar. Then I met him again during the registration, there we chatted and got friendly. He was my first friend at the campus. Through him I got to know Pranav. He was an over sized hippie, and he needed a high five ever 10 minutes. Maybe that is a ritual in his native land. Some people are not introduced, they just happen. Shreyas is not a person, he is a phenomenon, a marathi phenomenon. This huge man had one thing common with me - whackiness. People at IIM Indore were going to have a migrane with both of us around and working in collusion. Neeraj Sansanwal was also a occupant of a room in the corridor same as mine, next to Kunal's. This Harayani lad had a very disciplined and simple life. I liked that sincere attitude. Then in a couple of days, Anirudh Muchhal arrived in E-Block. We caught hold of this local and tried to give him fundas about living in the hostels and about the enlightening morning sessions. He became to be known as Muchhad, he became our local guide. Soon I came to know the three girls ; Roshin, Kavita and Akanksha. Roshin was as lazy as a rock and was from Delhi. Kavita had a sweet gujrati voice, one which would cause diabetes to the listener. Akanksha preffered to be the silent one. I came to know Neil through some one I do not remember, but he was a simple person. He looks like Mr. Bean. And he sometimes looks like he is a US returned gujrati. He has a collection of shiny shirts that he wears on Sundays to dazzle the city. We all created something that we needed so much here. A family. Don't let your imagination go wild, think clean. We soon started sharing our initmate feelings and how we missed home and the special ones.

A talent night was organized on our second weekend at IIM. It was to be a inter section competition. Anirudh Mairal sang his heart out and we rocked along. Then came the biggest flop of all time - a skit involving me in a double role. I had to enact two professors who were charcters in a badly written skit about some time machine. Fortunately I did hear some people laughing while I was on the stage. I could only save some face. But then something happened. As Nikhil Malhotra of PGP-2 said "Hooda happened!". Until that day Santana was my favourite guitarist. Full stop. I was shouting my lungs out to cheer up the section A band. Other people thought I was mad, psychopath. They were damn right! I enjoyed that evening a lot. I was starting to love this place called Planet I. My flight had finally touched down. Welcome to IIM Indore, Ayush Paul. Have a nice stay!

Rang De Basanti

2006-08-20T03:34:00.000+05:30

Rang De Basanti. 70 rupees per ticket. 4th row from back. I was with Avantika, Vivek, Kartikeya, Ravish, Neeraj, Rupali and Gaurav. The characters in the movie were becoming mature. They were waking up to life. We were in our final days of college life. We were sharing our last laughs together. The characters in the movie were well known to us. They were us. Everyone of us had dry mouths in the end of the movie and a thought in the back of our mind.

Three months before the movie 'hit' us, we were all sitting nicely in the winter sun, chatting. The practical examinations were going on, the college fest was 4 days away. Ravish pops in a 'masala' news item to us. A lecturer had asked students obscene questions in the practical examinations. We are all angry to hear what had happened. Furious but immobile. I don't know what happened to me, but I did not say anything to anyone. I just got up and started walking furiously towards the laboratories to find the 'culprit'. I wanted to confront him, maybe rough him up. Maybe. I did not say any word to anyone, I just darted to do what I wanted to. Maybe some volcano had erupted somewhere in the pacific that made me loose my cool. But that is a phenomenon that happens only in Indian comic books. We could not find the man who was to face the music. More information trickled in, he had also verbally abused a student and used physical intimidation. Girls reported that they were being purposely being asked to give their viva-voce last, when there was no one else in the labs. The IT 4th year, got together and wrote a very measured complaint against that person. We are asked to meet the Director the day after and testify against an enquiry officer. We had stood up for our rights. This was the first time I saw differences melt. Cirumstances ! We were up against the wrath of the faculty, particularly those who were friendly with our culprit. We did not care. We did get justice.

The winter months were drawing to a close. RDB had become a rage on the screen and off it. Some years ago, Jesicca Lal was shot in a South Delhi pub by two brats for not serving them drinks. The two accused were arrested and Shayan Munshi, who was present then, had told the police that those two arrested were indeed the people who shot here. Now, in the spring of 2006 , he declares that he made that statement under duress. The accused were released. Jessica had been murdered ...again. Delhi was outraged. Never had this city been so united in demanding justice. I had never seen Delhi in such a mood. RDB had inspired, influenced, ignited people's hearts and minds. Candles were lit at India Gate by those who supported the Lals. News photographers took photos to match the angles that were in the movie. The emotions were high ..... it was clear....Delhi was unhappy...protesting ....RDB style.

Youth for equality. This was not just a group .... this was a feeling. A feeling against the government's decision to divide the society into castes and creeds. Against the decision to raise the reservation percentage in institutes of higher learning. The doctors of Delhi had opened the front against this autocratic decision. Support trickled in. Peaceful protests everywhere. Everyone was making wise statements. The protests were without high temper. The youth protested in all ways possible, text messages, televised discussions, street rallies, talking to people at intersections. Surprisingly all the political parties did not have any comments on the issue. It seemed if the political capital had moved out from Delhi to Kanyakumari. AIIMS doctors were on a rally hunger strike. People from our college thronged TV Studios to make their voices heard. But the world of they youth is manipulated easily. The agony of the youth was very similar to that of DJ, Sukhi, Aslam and others. Many related their experiences of the rallies to the phenomenon called RDB. The songs of the protests? Khoon Chala...Khalbali...and of course...Roobaroo.

We were enchanted by the hangout places of DJ, Sukhi, Aslam and company. A road trip was the answer to our fantasies. We guys and Avantika drove towards Uttar Pradesh in an Indica and a Scorpio. First stop - Fatehpur Sikri. We explored every corner of the complex. We reached Taj Mahal, Agra in a hurry. The evening Taj was different. It was a very soothing sight. Each moment was inspriring. Back in our hotel room, we did the most enjoyable timepass in months. Bluff, a card that is all about lying was to be our source of enjoyment for the night. Avantika taught what the game was all about. I am a quick learner. I bluffed my way to ecstacy! Now I was playing games with others. I was enjoying it. The next day began with a visit to the visit to the Agra Fort. The view of the Taj from the fort is the marvelous. Better than what it is from the Taj complex itself. We drove towards the holy towns of Govardhan, Vrindavan and Mathura. On the way to each of the places and our short stint there, we got to know what India really was. Extortion in the name of forefathers and god is prevalent everywhere in the heart of India. Casteism is the law of the land. No one dares oppose it. India did not seems shiny in these places, where people had to live a restricted life. Suddenly my opinion against reservations in educational institutes started to change. I saw a reason now why reservations were required. But I am still against the increase of reservations, because these quotas are not for the oppressed. The rebellion is fading out but the anger is not....we are being divided again...we need a Rang De Basanti.

A bitter sweet symphony - Part 1

2006-05-11T21:28:00.000+05:30

On 5th August 2002, while listening to the Orientation Lecture in the library I kept cursing my fate....870 rank in CEE and I still can't get into DCE...what the ....A simple sardarjee whom I met in the couselling, Simarjeet Singh, gave me company and asked me how I liked that girl there with the short one. I didn't pay attention, that girl was Charu Sharma and you know who is the little one, Rupali ,of course. Simranjeet strongly felt that she had too much make up, maybe she could share some with us.

Outside me, our sikh friend and Apoorv were greeted with seniors , who tried to rag us but they were not trained properly. Simranjeet tried to scare them away by saying " I AM SIMRANJEET SINGH KHALSA". Khalsa ? Where did that come from. Nice tactic, I would say. Then I got to know some goofy people like Mr.Divya Kr. Gupta, stung by the DCE bug. I got friendly with this fellow patient. And we got chatting. Then came the trio of Mansi, Avantika and Vivek Garg. Mansi , I thought was a girl who had stolen hoola hoops from the circus to use as her ear rings. Vivek I thought was a big flirt. Got that right. And Avantika , I thought she was sent by Mansi's family to protect Mansi from boys like .....like.....Ravish. Yes, the late entrant but instant Ravish. He was welcomed by some , and he was given way by some. And there was Heena, the local landlady, godmother and yes very Punjabi.

I was sleeping at the last desk, when Mr.Communication Skills called out to me. He asked me why I was sleeping? I said.....yaaaaaaawnnnnn !!! And I told him that I came all the way from Ghaziabad. And Alok Kumar turned to me and gave me a brotherly smile. People from GZB like people from GZB, that's the general rule. And hence I got to know Kartikeya Parmar. I learnt rash, mindless, fast driving from him. I henceforth have accumulated a lot of notoriety on the road because of those lessons.

We people - Me, Vivek, Avantika, Neeraj, Divay,Mansi and sometimes Kartikeya had one thing in common...Maharaja Surajmal Institute of Technology. The year of 2002 was as happening as it could be. We were one really weird group, we had this liking for noise and controversy. I couldn't forget those moments when Mansi would get hyper and we would all get behind her and bring her back to 80 beats per minute from something like 200 ! Then she would be the cool gal again in a matter of minutes. And we would be backing to cracking PJs. Then there were those moments when we would huddle around Vivek and counsel him about his love life. Oh ! he cried like a baby. I remember Ravish breaking down as well. Divay too and maybe Avantika. DAMN !! I never cried ! Shit, I was the black sheep. Maybe I had a heart of stone. But I do remember when I was very depressed. I couldn't get into DCE was good enough, but to add to it, my house caught fire on Diwali. It was our new house , that got burnt, and I lost all my possesions and all comprehension of Maths, Physics and Chemistry.

But then I tried hard to get back, with some help from the photocopied notebook of Mansi and support from Vivek. With the new year came some new life into the frail body of Ayush Paul. I enjoyed college to the max. The fest was cool, I danced my heart out on the first day and twisted my ankle on my way back and made sure that I didn't come next day. Sister Avantika gave me all the inputs of the fun they had on the other days of the fest. I was jealous and heartbroken. Speaking of heartbroken, I did break some hearts too. I had this habit of making all girls my sister, and it was not appreciated by some girls. College culture started to fly into the minds of facchas. Love was in the air. Many proposals went here and there. There were few within the group. I didn't get any, poor me. I still haven't got any. So sad of me. But yes I was an object of desire for a few. Some did flirt with me, and that was all. So you can now say that I'm being unbiased. We were people with a real apetite for chat and fights. We chatted all day, fought and made up. I think that must be reason we are still a good group of IT people. Who cared for each other.

At the end of first year, we had begun to gel like like...fevicol...and I got through IIT Screening the first time ever. But not through mains. I had fallen in love by now......in love with MSIT.

A bitter sweet symphony - Part 2

2006-05-11T21:27:00.000+05:30

ETME-110 - Mechanics - Marks Obtained=47 - Credits Earned =0, that’s how the second year started. That Bee Gees song was a perfect fit for the moment - Tragedy. GGSIPU had a nice way of telling me that I shouldn’t give IIT mains a day before your mechanics semester exam. Point noted. For those who still don’t get it , I had managed to earn a backlog or if I simpy put it I had failed. But that is just OK. I knew what I’m capable of and moved on.

We had come of age. All of us in the group were now in possession of the teenage toy - the mobile phone. We people are Information Technology students. We need a mobile phone. Mobile phone provides 'information' and it is the latest 'technology'. Hence Proved, that we all rightly needed mobile phones. Maybe that was not the right reason. Everyone in my gang, or the group if you like, were now in a relationship. They were in ‘el oh vee ee’. I say they, because I used to apply an anti-cupid cream. I was spared. Lucky me. So to keep in touch, the lovestruck require mobile phones. Hutch, Idea, Airtel, MTNL , Reliance, you name it , we had it. What we didn’t have was the balance required to make a call.

Studies got interesting for the first time in my life. Data structures was being forced down the throat of many, but I liked it. Because I was good at it. Our proctor, Monika (erstwhile Nagpal) ma’am got to know us better. She was a nice lady to get your scolding from. We liked her, because she liked to give us the freedom we wanted from the college life. Then there was Himani ma’am, yes the one who looked more like a student . She laid our 'Foundations To Computer Science'. We enjoyed her smile and her laugh more than the tautologies and weird theorems. Nevertheless, it was a very enriching autumn session. I got to know I was good. The whole semester I did was study. I got uncomfortable with some people in my group by now, which was sad. I wished it had never come to this. I should have been less idealistic and more practical. It made a huge crack in the group. I place the blame on no one. Although, this was mended in the coming years, slowly.

The next semester brought someone who every one knows by the name ‘Golu’ sir, to the campus. He would ‘talk to us’ about modulation techniques and gave us a lot of hope of becoming real engineers. We liked his style. It was cool.

Now, introducing ……… Vikas Garg. In some time to come he would provide inspiration to the stand up comedian Sunil Pal for his character Ratan Nora. This guy must have weighed 25 kilos or something. And he could hide behind a coaxial cable. So we never played hide and seek with him. The poor guy met with a horrible accident. He got hit by an Indica while on his bike. And he became an X-men. He was fitted with a steel rod in his leg. He was now Wolverine’s Indian brother. He gave his practical exams from an ambulance and arrived at Bharti Vidyapeeth’s College of Engineering in an ambulance to write his semesters. He is now very well.

Some more things happened in between, I started driving to college now. I had now a pair of spectacles to give me a clearer vision of my life. I was getting somewhere.

We had enrolled for summer training at CMC. I got to discover a language that I would become very good at. Microsoft’s Visual Basic 6, now with power boosters. Contains added problems and deficiencies. However, I became a good programmer with it. I learned how to go about a project. I discovered that I could become a leader. The awakening had begun…..

A bitter sweet symphony - Part 3

2006-05-11T21:25:00.000+05:30

I had entered the finest time of my life. The third year of MSIT, is something I will never forget in my life. I had just completed summer training which made me a confident chap. The subjects this time were very well clubbed together. Each subject complemented the other and I got to know how a computer really works. One fine day Alok called and asked me if I was willing to work on a freelance project. I said yes and didn’t ask about the monetary benefits. I Guess money did not matter to me. It was a Parking Manager software that we had to develop for the parking lots in Connaught Place. It was quite a task to understand what our client wanted. Eventually we never understood what he wanted. Anyway, I worked days and weeks to get that thing working perfectly. All that integration with a web cam, the low power PC it had to run on and with the dot matrix printer was a big ask. We did it; we got only Rs.2000 per head for it. We tried to sell the software to local mall as well, but the mall management did not have the belief in Information Technology. Anyway, I was satisfied that I was able to fine tune our skills. Maybe if we had the knowledge of software models early on, we could have done better. These were only early days.

MSIT used to organize a fabulous event called Exuberance. It was our beloved cultural festival. I wanted to be a part of it. Shipra and Saumya of my class offered me a position in their dance troupe. I gladly accepted. I got Vivek in as well. We were outstanding. You could make out easily that it was our dance troupe – Six Senz, which was practicing. We were uniquely horrible. ‘Dhoom Machale’ was to be our dance track, I was in protest. But I was not the boss, so I silently became Govinda. I did manage to sneak a peppy track in the sequence. All the members of my dance troupe were busy in some other events in Exuberance. So they did not feel it necessary to practice. I kept pushing them and we did squeeze in some practice. On the evening of our performance, we were enjoying it in the backstage until our call came. My dance partner, Shipra, got nervous. That was infectious. All those GTBIT people were really kicking it. Then it came, and we were so welcomed by our home crowd. We went off the stage with the “MSIT balle balle” chants all over. I was feeling like a superstar! Like Mithun Chakraborty! And then we went dancing in the jam session.

By December the technical festival’s preparation had started. We pondered over names for the events, the new events that we could introduce and the usual head banging. I was primarily entrusted with the task of designing the software for the prelims and the registration. Besides I was responsible for the first ever overnight website design contest – Tech Spider, along with Shubh from CSE department. I remember being awake 3 days and 2 nights at stretch, a first for me at least, to get the things right. We did get it right fortunately. Everyone in the management was happy about the event. We managed to create a brand called Virus. We had been infected. I had never loved tea, until those sleepless nights. I had to take it. Please forgive me God. Simultaneously, IT had won the silver in the football tournament. We had played better than the BCA team in the final. We were done in only by a golden goal. I pledged to get them next time.

There were just 15 days left for our first placement process. The Cormens had given way to the R.S.Agarwals. Everyone in the 2006 Batch was now a placement guru. The junior batch would come to know of this fact in a year’s time. HCL Technologies meant the world to everyone. It was the best company in the country in March 2005. That was what we felt then. Of course, it was to be outcaste by many as just being another ‘Pappu Software Wale ki dukaan’ in some months to come. 18th March 2005, was to be a long day. The seniors were there, to help us out. They had put a lot of effort in this. I had failed to use those opportunities. The presentation was delayed by the “teething problems” as the HCL Guy said. That man was visibly tensed by us. We were hooligans in formal wear. Like the Italian Mafia minus the cigars. Somehow, the presenter kept selling HCL Technologies only to me. He was talking only to me. Did I shave only half of my face? I checked my tie. I made sure that I was not wearing one. I couldn’t understand why I was being compelled to pay attention to him. He showed us a slide about the potential growth at their excellent workplace. It showed a tilted sword, above which was a depiction of the career ladder at HCL. I got the hint. The sword will always hang over you! After the presentation the usual Q&A. Obviously we were too eager for the test to ask questions of our own. The guy on my right got up and made us even more anxious. He had a question. He congratulated the owner of HCL, Mr.Shiv Nadar, through those people for getting some award. Then he narrated the whole HCL Tech website back to the people from HCL. Argggh…! Get over with it!

I sat on the first desk. Mrityunjaya behind me. People say ‘All the best’ or ‘Best of Luck’, usually. He was different, “Ayush, you are the only one who can get through”, he said. It was a bit less than flattery. Obviously, I can’t be the only one. Results came, I cleared the written stage. Everyone was shocked, only 15 had cleared. I was confident about the group discussion. It was my domain. I cleared that too. Down to 9, now. To the interview, in a pair of faded jeans and 3 pages of resume, I went. I met the same guy in the interview who was invigilating in my room. We had chatted earlier. He had got to know that I loved data structures and TOC. I had marinated myself. He would be heating up the oven, to grill me! Tactical mistake. My first interview and I was greeted by a bouncer. “What if I say I don’t select you?” the HR hotshot, Amit, said. “There’s a big world out there. I would try again at other places, including HCL.” I said. “Somebody’s loss is someone else’s gain”, take that!! What was I doing? I don’t remember how I had gathered the courage to say this. Anyway the interview went fine otherwise. When outside, to calm down everyone, I tried(please note – tried to) by singing out of pitch songs like “Hum honge kamyab”. Then came the results. “Congratulations Abhijeet Singh Lekhi , Saumya Bhardwaj, Pratul Kr. Singh and Sachin Grover”, announced Mr.C.M. Sharma. I said to myself , it’s alright. “There’s one more, Ayush Paul!” I would have dropped dead if was 5 years more old. The offer letter in hand the HCL merchandized cap on my head, I was thrown up in the air, by a jubilant lot. Vivek was there to make me more excited about what I had just achieved. He had also changed a flat tire of my car that day. I never thanked him for that. I was amongst the lucky 5 to get the job that day. I never looked backward then on. Although the woods were dark and deep , there were miles to go before I would sleep………miles to go before I would sleep……………………….

A Bitter Sweet Symphony . Part 4

2006-05-11T21:18:00.000+05:30

The emotions were high after the first MSIT batch passed out. The MSIT Hub needed a new moderator. Pratosh, the man behind the hub, gave me the privilege of being the one. So I went about showing off my heavenly powers over the group. Email posts from a mysterious email address caught my attention. Someone with a signature – “keep smiling” was posting emails very regularly. I thought I could send a funky reply to this person and assert my authority just a wee bit. So began a series of mails between us.

Mail No.1, Me to Keep Smiling Through the Hub:

Hi!

I've always wondered who this "keep smiling" is. So who is this? You better reveal yourself to me. You better pay heed to my words. Because I’m the moderator of the hub and I can, you know, wield my powers on you. Don’t ask me to keep guessing! Anyway, yeah already replied to Morpheus (Pratosh) met the Oracle (you) and I realize that I am the chosen one. But I'm no Neo, I'm just plain old' me. Yeah the HUB is great, and I take real pride in it. I will take care of the Hub as Pratosh, Jaggi and many others did.

Chillax yaar,
Bye
Ayush

Mail No.2; Keep Smiling To Me through the Hub:

Dear Ayush,

Good of you to be a team man.
Ask Pratosh about Keep smiling,
Or meet me in room no 103 at your convenience.

Best wishes,
V Kumar

That name, V. Kumar, sounded familiar to something. Jalaj, my senior from CSE, was online to help me figure out who V.Kumar was. Then it struck me. “Shit! Shit! Oh…..Man!! I’m dead!!” I said. It was much bigger an exclamation that. It had to be. Mr.V.Kumar was only the Head Of Department of Computer Science Engineering. I had bossed around with a Head Of Department. I could see my mom, walking up those stairs on Republic Day to receive ‘The Param Veer Chakra’ from the President. I quickly wrote an apologetic letter to him. It turned out fine. To my good fortune, Mr.V.Kumar happened to be one person with a great sense of humor. I think he still is.

Placements at the college were going great. One by one all of us were getting placed. Few were not so lucky. It was bad to see them that way. All were good people. So I did try to help in my own little ways. I would take pride in announcing to the world, to MSIT at least, the successes of my comrades. I never received a report on how much that helped. The dreaded CAT exam was inching near. I had taken a week off to give those final touches to my skills. I had worked hard regularly for this. 20th November was the D-day, exactly a week after my birthday, which went by without much celebration this time. I had been called to the college to give my internal practicals. I now had a strong excuse to explain my poor performance in CAT, if the need would arise. I had been interrupted.

On the CAT day, I met Varun Goel of ECE. Nice chap. Made me feel comfortable for the test. Inside the hall, weird rituals before the test were being carried on. Someone was in deep meditation. Another one was struggling to find the perfect angle to write from. I was cool. The test ended. The jury had announced - the paper was tough. I had done fairly well, which was a problem. Fairly well is not like Fair & Lovely, it does not give you success. So I had to be anxious for 2 months.

The day of reckoning arrived without announcement. I was helping the juniors in the preparations for this year’s technical event – Virus 2K6.

“8170644 – Sorry, you have not been selected for GD/PI.”

This message flashed the screen when I checked my result at IIM Ahmedabad, IIM Bangalore and IIM Calcutta. Disaster. I learnt Ishan Sethi, from CSE, had calls from IIM Ahmedabad, Lucknow and Kozhikode. I was too upset too feel proud for him. So we went to watch a movie – “Bluffmaster”. After the movie on my way back, I received 3 calls from Ravish, who said I had 3 calls from the IIMs. IIM Lucknow, Indore and Kozhikode had asked me to come for GD and PI. Was I being bluffed? I made sure I was not.

I had been called to Sapient Corporation for a job interview. I was not too anxious about it. I already had a job. So I went there with the intention to use it as a test ground for my MBA interviews. I was wearing a stunning black suite and waiting in an interview room. Two young ladies, who were employees there, went past by me and said “Good Morning, Sir!” The suite had proven it’s worth. I cleared the whole process, thanks to the black suite and the tie.
I had a total of 7 admission interviews to attend. I did attend them all. And I got rejected at many of them. Many around me had secured a final admission call from some institute or the other. I had none. The great dream was becoming awfully scary. Then one fine evening Ishan called me up to wish me. “Congratulations,” he said “you have been selected at MDI”. I was overjoyed. Something, finally! Then the day came when everything was to come to an end. No more speculations now. The results of all the IIMs came out except one. I was there in the training and placement office when the good news came. Mr.Sethi had got through IIM Lucknow. I did not. But still I was very excited. I went about the campus announcing the good news. I didn’t care to check the rest 2 results. I thought MDI was a better choice than IIM Kozhikode or Indore. I was confident about Indore. The internet seemed a happier place at home. It showed –

“Congratulations Ayush Paul! you have been selected for PGP 2006-08 at IIM Indore.”

It was hard to believe that I had been selected. That after a long time my confidence had translated into actual results. I was among the chosen few. I had been always at the end of the line….but I had now learnt the trick to get inside with rest of the line….