outstanding student

When I graduated out of 10th standard, my school gave me an award citing me as “Outstanding student of the year”. All that i had done to earn it was to talk too much in English Grammar class and thus get chucked out. Ever since i got that award, i have been trying my best to live up to the title.

I joined a different school in the opposite corner of the city for my 11th standard. Fifteen days into it, Ms. T, a highly senior and respected and feared teacher caught me talking in the last bench. She asked me to immediately get out of class. Having been emboldened by the award i had just received, i picked up my books, went up to her (the door was in front of the class close to the blackboard), said, “Thank you ma’am” and walked out. Being a newcomer i obviously didn’t care for reputations. I became a hero overnight.

This school proved to be fertile ground for me to display my outstanding talents. A couple of months after i had ‘staged a walkout’, i was caught in the assembly line (yes, this school believed that nursery kids and 12th standard students should be treated alike and hence made us line up everyday before we moved to our classrooms) with my collar button open and necktie pulled down (having been for 12 years in a school where we could wear sneakers as part of the uniform and there was no tie, etc., i could simply not reconcile myself to the idea of a necktie). I was asked to step out of the line and was made to stand in the school grounds for an hour “in the sun”. I found the November sun much better than the chill of the classroom and spent my time making small talk with some construction workers hanging around.

There were numerous other occasions where i proved myself. In my 12th, i was asked to get out of class for not doing my homework. I walked straight into the library and got down to some serious JEE mugging. Then there was this occasion when half my class was suspended because one of us (the teacher didn’t know who) sent an obscene message (something as bullshitty as “how the c**t are you?”) over the network. Remained outstanding until my mom had a chat with the principal after which i was let in.

However i wasn’t awarded the “outstanding student” award as it required that the recipient be outstanding for five years while i had put in only two years. Ravi, the guy who got the award, by the way, is my classmate here in IIMB.

My career took a severe beating in IIT as i had been forewarned by my uncle (who was a good friend of many of my profs) that no “misconduct” will be tolerated and if i attempt anything like i did in my school, i would take a minimum of eight years of B.Tech. I took temporary retirement and an uneventful four years passed during the course of which i became a ‘bachelor of technology’.

However i made a rousing comeback as soon as i stepped into the hallowed portals of IIMB. On the very first day, i had gone out between classes to wash my face and i find the door shut on me. i politely (something i find it hard to do – be polite) knocked on the door and the kindly prof. swamyji let me in saying that i was pardoned because it was the first class.

There was a lull again as i attended all but one of the classes in my first term. However, today, 2/3rd way into the second term, i became outstanding again.

We had a marketing case presentation today. Generally we put night outs the day before the presentation to complete it. Surprisingly yesterday we found the assignment to our liking, started early and would up by 1 am. We prepared an extremely long and comprehensive presentation. Some groupmates wished that we be called to present while i wished that given the length of the presentation we be simply asked to submit the slides.

I had a good sleep and attended the first class (and had a good nap there also). Next was the marketing class. As usual, i paid my respects to the coffee shop nad not so usually, decided to stop by on the way to wash my face.

Shit happened. I go to class at 10:12 (for a 10:15 class) and find the door locked. A polite knock doesn’t work this time (perhaps it was too polite and the prof didn’t hear or preferred not to hear). I open my phone and find that i don’t have the numbers of any of my groupmates! I frantically start messaging everyone in my class whose number i had. Only Ravi (he too was an outstanding student – remmber?) replies. he says that our group hasn’t been asked to submit and may be called upon to present. I vow to write a blog on this as soon as i’m back.

I wait outside the door. I perch myself on the ledge trying to hear whatz happening in class. I decide that if the next group called isn’t mine, i’ll go back to hostel and get a newspaper. After what seems to be an excrutiatingly long time (though it was only 15 minutes), the first group winds up. I brace myself thinking my group may be called and I be screwed. Soon there’s a message from Ravi. He had seen the wrong group number earlier! Our group had been asked to submit and there was no need for me to stick on there. I heaved a sigh of relief and walked back to the hostel. First thing i did on getting in was to start writing this. Now i guess i’m done with my masterpiece. Hope you liked it.

By the by (!!!), I hope to repeat this many more times and graduate out of IIMB with, among other awards, the prize for the “most outstanding student”.


Placement Committee committed a grave injustice to me today. IN the name of helping us all out for the summers and “in view of the larger cause”, i, along with a few others was asked to donate my table for the placement process! You have to place your table outside your room by 5, they said. Else we’ll be forced to debar you from the placement process.

Hence at 4:55 this evening began the painful ordeal of shifting things out of my table and on to the floor, bed and everything else i could lay my hands on. First casualty was my beloved comp. I had to disconnect carefully each and every component and carefully shift them on to… .the floor.

Then came the uncomfortable process of shifting certain stuff back on to the ledge as i found my floor too cluttered… finally after an hour’s struggle, i managed to get things in perspective…

the amount of dust i raised must be enuff to give me a head cold 2 days before placements! four cups of coffee haven’t been able to cure it!

however the most uncomfortable part of the assignment is to work with the computer screen on the floor! i’ve put my chair aside and settled myself down on the floor… my keyboard balances on my lap as i sit cross-legged on the floor with my back to the bed. the mouse is on my side…

and my hands are paining maajorly as i’m not used to typing with my keyboard on the lap. and i’ll soon get cramps in my legs for sitting cross-legged…

hence i stop here… more later…

the bastard files – part 1

The last 3-4 days have been among the worst days of my life. I mug all night for a quiz on Saturday morning and royally screw it up, even forgetting parts from my own presentation. Get depressed. Then i make a breakthrough in my Application Exercise (apex) and get maajorly kicked. That is not to last for long as my room is invaded by my apex group-mates who start cribbing, “Rambo (prof) will screw us dude. do something.” I start doing something…

All of saturday evening and sunday morning I work on apex. Sunday afternoon I go for this KQA quiz. There is a question about the sufi equivalent of Nirvana. Clue is that it is related to a 2004 song. We list out movies released in 2004 and yuva is one of them. but we give it the go-by. WE get on with the prelims. prelims over, answers are announced. the answer to THAT question was “Fanaa…. “. two weeks back at a party where i’d gotten drunk for the first time in my life i’d dedicated that very song to a certain somebody. The third line of that song was the status message of a certain somebody else. and i had missed it. can’t describe how low i went after that. quietly took an auto back to campus. started studying for hte marketing quiz. had a thousand forms to fill up. did that. wanted to write that the most significant incident of my life was when Pallavi ditched me. but placement committee shot it down. rewrote the form. worked on apex. continued getting screwd.

monday morning, i go for the marketing quiz with full enthu. five questions. i thot i’d answered two right. for the first time in my life i put 0 in a quiz!! later in the afternoon i give lunch a go-by as i go all the way across town for a big prize money big bullet point quiz. teammates are yet to arrive. me could’ve had my lunch peacefully after all.. they finally arrive. we write the quiz. miss qualification by one point. it was a long and painful (we ran into a couple of Rajyotsava processions) on teh way back. when i got to campus, having tucked in a brown masala dosa on the way, my eyes were burning. couldn’t work for a couple of hours. didn’t find anyone to talk to either. everyone was busy.

ten o clock, i sit down to do my math assignment for tuesday and one of my apex teammates comes in and starts lecturing about how i may be freeeriding in the group. problem is he thinks only those who put night outs work. i don’t have the habit of putting night outs but i work anyways. he gives me a lecture, puts hajaar senti (he happens to be a pretty good friend of mine else i wouldn’t have cared) and goes. i start doing my quant assignment at 12. teammates turn out to be freeriders. and i feeel constrained in CC. start feeling giddy, hungry and tired. but there’s an assignment to be done. put some excuse and come back to my room. do the assignment in the next four hours (quite a shoddy job i must say) and send it across to teammates. they expect me to put fundaes ot them. but i want to sleep. i’ve hardly slept for 2 hours when the alarm wakes me up. i have an hour to write the report and make a powerpoint presentation. put hajaar fight and send it across. class happens to be at 12. turns out all my teammates had chosen to bunk the class!! i was sure to get screwed. sat down in the last row tensed up. there yet another apex teammate comes and asks for fundaes. I start putting fundaes. thankfully we aren’t called to present. Class gets over. I get back. Realize that I had promised to go deliver invites for our fest. Given my busy apex schedule I tell Rachna I want to opt out. She blasts me. There go my chances of getting into FII next year.

I?m so depressed I try to talk to every possible person on bracket. Simply can?t get a conversation going. Get depressed yet again. so I start writing this. Then I see the mail that Rambo has scheduled a 15 min. class at 3 in order to make up for his leaving us 15 minutes early this morning. Leave my blog halfway and go to class. I just came back and wrote this last line.

The trauma of letting go?

I bought it for eight hundred rupees two years ago. It was the maximum I had ever paid for a single piece of clothing. My dad was aghast as he didn?t see what was there in those blue trousers (without pleats that too) made from thick cotton with rivets near the pockets that they cost such a fortune. Adding to the value of the item was a label saying ?Lee? near the backside. ?Eight hundred rupees for this thing!?, he thundered. ?I won?t get you another pair of jeans unless you wear this atleast eighty times?.

I have comfortably outlived his estimate. I have worn it at least a hundred and sixty times in the last two years. And washed it at least thirty times by beating it against the washing board behind my house. What was a brilliant indigo colour has become white near the thigh region. The cloth has been frayed in many places, with at least three proper holes with diameter greater than a centimetre. Constant wear has made this once tight-fitting pair of jeans baggy. I had to buy a new belt recently as the old one made of fine leather failed to hold up these jeans.

But now, sadly, it seems it is the time to let go. ?Boys from respectable families such as ours shouldn?t dress like hippies?, says my dad. ?If you are so fond of it, I?ll get you two new pairs of jeans but please don?t wear these faded ones?, says my mom. ?You may get away with it saying it is ?fashion?. But what will people think of us if they see you like this? ?Can?t even get their son proper clothes?, they will say. I don?t want to see these jeans again?.

When all powers of reasoning fail, it is prudent not to continue a battle. I have finally agreed to my parents? suggestion of discarding my old pair of jeans. But only after I have found a suitable substitute, I have told them. They seem to have grudgingly agreed. And as if to make a statement, I have told them that I will be wearing only those pair of jeans till I find a substitute.

Yesterday I went to the ?mega-mart? near my house from where I had bought those jeans two years ago. ?Blue Lee Jeans, something that looks like this one?, I tell the shopkeeper. Unfortunately everything he shows me are either too loose or too tight or too long or too short or if they satisfy all other criteria, too expensive ? upwards of three thousand rupees. Finally after a lot of rummaging, he pulls out another pair. They fit me to a T. The cost is reasonable. There is only one problem ? they?re already faded. Fat chance my dad?s going to pay for THAT. Even if he does, that means I don?t get any other new clothes till maybe I start earning. I walked out.

I went to all the Lee outlets in town, with no luck. I decided I should be willing to pay more for a pair of jeans. I decided to go for ?Levi?s?. Once again the problem arose ? too tight?too loose? too short? too long? too high? too low? too dark? too light?. I gave up once again. This way, I tried probably all the brands available in town. There was simply no replacement. I knew that no two PEOPLE are the same. But it was only now I realised that the same applies to jeans also.

So here I am, wearing the same old dear jeans of mine. Who cares whether there is a hole in the wrong place or if it is fully faded or if it is extremely dirty. As long as I feel comfortable wearing it, I don?t care two naya paise for what others say. For all you know, I?ll be wearing these jeans all my life. Like the guy in the live-in ad who goes into the washing machine wearing his jeans.

five star treatment????

When we learnt that we were going to be put up at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel during our stay in Bombay, and that too free of cost, we jumped. For five out of six of us, it would be the first time ever we would be staying in a five star hotel. But Neha didn?t seem too excited. She simply said, ?Taj Bombay? I just love the Thai food there!? We simply exchanged glances and went back to mugging for the impending exams.

A week later, as our battered black-and-yellow cab pulled into the Taj, we braced ourselves for the supposed five star treatment. By the time we had paid our driver, some housekeepers had taken off our luggage, which was hanging precariously on top of the taxi. We walked in, trying to put on the air of a thoroughbred CEO. We found a reception as we walked in but were quickly redirected to another ?just down the corridor?. Not too used to being directed around, we decided to find our own way to this new reception. Fifteen minutes passed and we hadn?t found the place. We decided to reduce the problem to a known problem. We went back to the first reception, and took the help of one of the stewards there who quickly directed us to the new reception. It was half a minute away from the first!

We then went through a unique experience as we autographed a number of forms that were waiting for us at the reception. Then we were asked to go into a small ?security room? where we had to identify our baggage! Thankfully the desk boys had unloaded everything. Next, before we were to enquire about our dinner arrangements (it was past 11 pm), the nice Mongoloid lady at the desk said, ?There was a function for you this evening but it got over. We had arranged a special dinner for you and that too got over!!?. We were shuddering at the thought of paying for our own food at the Taj. She continued, ?hence we are giving you free coupons to have tonight?s dinner at the #$!^ ? ?. (sigh of relief).

We quickly went to our rooms, dumped our luggage there and came back down for dinner. We presented our coupons and were told we could have one soup, one main course and one dessert. After spending an hour on the menu card trying to locate vegetarian dishes, we finally ordered. We then came to know what five star treatment means.

The average time taken for the delivery of a soup is about thirty minutes, with a standard deviation of one minute. The main course takes approximately twice that time, once again with a standard deviation of one minute! As for the dessert, the lesser said the better. There was an item on the menu saying ?Malai Kulfi, Rs. 215?. An order was placed after calling the waiter not less than a dozen times. Forty five minutes later, he brings a small cup with around 100 ml of hard orange ice cream with a cashewnut stuck on top. I remember Bowring Stall where we could get kulfi a thousand times better than that for one-fifteenth the price.

On the way back, we saw a fat blonde guy who someone said looked like Shane Warne. Having met Anil Kumble a few years earlier, I thought leg-spinners were a nice lot. But my opinion changed quickly after Shane (The Aussie team was staying in the same hotel as us ? such an honour right?) hurriedly scribbled his name the torn air ticket Vinod presented him. Not a ?hello, how are you?. No reply when Neha tried to start a conversation with him. Not even a smile. Gilly, your team isn?t too good at PR.

The next morning proved to be one of the most eventful of my life. Having had to come down for a formal breakfast at 7:45, I went into the bog at 7 am. I had left behind all my toiletries in Bangalore at the expert advice of a friend who?d stayed at the Taj numerous times. After brushing with ordinary Colgate toothpaste and a brush which left ulcers on the inside of my cheeks, it was time to shave. There was a small packet which said ?Gillette Series Shave Gel? and a Gillette Presto razor alongside. No brush, no after-shave. I felt let down. I like to use hot water to wash my razor while shaving so the next task was to figure out the exact series of steps in which to turn the wash basin tap so that it delivered hot water. Having failed miserably I settled down to having a shave with cold water. The skin on my cheeks goes cold whenever I think of that shave I had. I am happy to say I cut myself only once that day!

The next step in the process of my getting ready was to take bath. There was a bath-tub (no time to soak myself though) and a shower on top. Now an earlier problem reappeared. How was I going to get water at the right temperature out of that shower? Ten minutes of turning various knobs in various directions got me water at the right temperature, but out of a tap at the level of my shin. It took ten more minutes before I could turn a few more knobs and get the water out of the shower! After similarly grappling with the soaps and other solutions, I managed to present myself at the breakfast table at 8:15 sharp! It was too late for Apurv to join me in my ritual, which is the reason I believe he didn?t get the cash.

Many more such interesting events happened during my 2-day long stay at the taj. I guess if I were to describe them all to you, you would be phenomenally bored. Hence I stop here. If you were with me on that trip and remember some other goofy thing I did, let me know. I?ll write another post on that.

Gopi Gupta, Vegetarian

It was my first day in IIT Madras. As I walked into class, Prof. Iyer was taking attendance. ?Satan!?, he called out. I could see all my new classmates shuddering at the thought of having the devil himself in our class. Fortunately no one answered (one could clearly hear the collective sigh of relief). I started talking to the fellow next to me. Found out his name was Chetan and that by some quirk of fate it wasn?t called out during the attendance.

Welcome to Tamil Nadu, the land of muffed up pronunciations and spellings. The inventors of the ancient Tamil language must have envisaged the difficulty kids have in learning an alphabet. Hence, they decided to keep the alphabet of Tamil as small as possible and assign a multitude of sounds for each character. They even designed the words in the wonderful language such that there would be absolutely no ambiguity in pronunciation.

But this unambiguity was limited to Tamil words. What these scholars did not envisage was the invasion of Tamil Nadu, Chennai in particular, by people hailing from north of the Kaveri. In most of the rest of India, there is a beautiful phonetic alphabet, with each character representing a distinct sound. Sounds that are not represented by this phonetic alphabet are altogether excluded from the language. This system may have its disadvantage that kids need to learn to write 50 different kinds of characters rather than the 20 of Tamil but in the long run, its use is very efficient.

Now, with non-Tams and non-Tam words being an essential part of Chennai, we have a few delightful misspellings and mispronunciations, mostly by the locals. Thus you can have Sappadhi (chapatti for the uninitiated) for lunch and can do your project in Network Lap (network lab). And your favourite spinner may be M. MuraliTharan (a name that sounds extremely alien to one who thought MuraliDharan was one of the names of Lord Krishna). Just stand at some arbitrary location in Chennai and look around you. There will be atleast a dozen words which seemed grossly misspelt but the local goes about as if nothing is wrong with it.

Now what does Gopi Gupta, Vegetarian have to do with all this? For starters, Gopi Gupta is not a ?he? but an ?it?. It was on our hostel menu last week. On one hand, people wanted to taste this exotic sounding dish but on the other, they didn?t want to be cannibals. Finally, a few reluctantly took a few spoons of it. It was neither exotic nor human flesh. It was just our good ole? Gobi Kofta! So much for spellings.