TAGGED TILL DEATH !!!


Hmm...this tagging business seems to be the latest tone buzzing in the campus after hundreds of obnoxious forwards in my mailbox (as pointed out by Dash). As a novice in blogging, I will certainly take up the gauntlet thrown by Shishri. However the topic I must say is as boring as reading the MORONIC VERSES composed by our very own Dash. Still here are the 8 must-be features in my perfect lover:

1. She should be RICH. And by rich I mean rich of thoughts not money; as girls with riches are generally bitches.

2. She must be SICK. And by sick I mean sick for me not physically; as girls with sickness generally suffer from weakness.

3. She must be sweet as a TART. And by tart I mean a pie, not of the character as a kaaam wali bai; as girls who are tarts give me kick starts.

4. She must be SIMPLE. And by simple I mean simple of character not of qualifications; as girls who are simple have less pimples.

5. She must be HUMBLE. And by humble I mean humble of nature not of Birth or Origin; as girls who are humble seldom grumble.

6. She must be LABORIOUS. And by laborious I mean laborious in work not in bed; as girls who are laborious are generally late in commminnnggg (coming to home of course)

7. She must be ITCHY. And by itchy I mean having itchy feet(travel enthusiast) not itchy skin; as girls who are itchy generally like B-TEX sorry B Techs.

8. And lastly, she must like CHINESE. And by chinese I mean chinese good, not chinese food; as girls who like chinese put mine at ease. (wallet yaar...grow up)

Well well well, this was not so tough. If you have any such girl in mind, plzz write about it in the comments. Its absolutely FREE!!!!

All I would say in the end is that friends GAG someone, STAG someone but dont TAG someone. It suxxxx big time !!!

Life at Cross-RAILS

(A rib-tickling 100% authentic saga of a present IITian)

The Indian railways have a labyrinthine network of 81511 Km and the network is ever burgeoning. But every new train that is added adds also to the confusion and difficulties of some poor, befuddled people whose lives get entangled in the cobwebs of railway to such an extent that makes us guffaw at their pathetic predicament.

This anecdote is about a perfectly sane IITian who had probably his worst day in the office. The DP hols had just begun and as with all of us, pangs of nostalgia began to gnaw at him. He had to go to Ranchi but the water-tight schedule of the mid-sems had forbidden him from making a reservation. So he chose to go via JAM by ISPAT Exp scheduled at 8.30 a.m. the next day. So thrilled he was that even the last 2 days ‘night-outs’ could not muster up enough sleep for him. Further adding to his woes was the high decibel music being played in the wing to mark and celebrate the end of the mid sems.

Suddenly a sinister idea sprang up in the mind of one of his mischievous friends who woke him up. After a brief tête-à-tête, through cogent arguments he managed to fuel him with enough tempo to convince him to go by the 5:30 a.m. local train to JAM. (Considering the biting cold, the tempo needs to be very high man) And this is where the trouble began.

With snoozy eyes, he began packing his bag at 4:00 a.m. prepared for a 3^rd consecutive night-out (I can tell you that too needs some cali). Suddenly he realized that it had gone very late and after hurriedly bidding good bye to all his mates, he set off for a rickshaw. The rickshaw puller was an old one but they somehow managed to reach the station at 5:30 am. Now a quandary of whether to take a ticket or not enveloped him. The sluggish pace of the queue made him dash towards the sub-way but half way through he finally found himself short of enough audacity to travel WT. So he again ran back to the ticket counter where a middle aged railway virtuoso (experienced campaigners generally found on every platform with a typical load-mat-le look) told him that the train would come on platform 1 at 6:30 am.

Relieved and tired as he sat on a bench, he saw a local train come and halt at the cusp of platform 1 and 3 in the same direction. Startled and amused by the surprise arrival of a train before time in India and also by the almost empty compartments, he gleefully captured a window seat and the train set rolling. As he kept wondering about the empty compartment and the frigid atmosphere, Lady Sleep got the better of him.

Suddenly the cacophony of a station roused him from his kip. He found an old rustic woman poking at him and asking him his intended destination. He jabbered “Jamshedpur” nervously and her answer was something that took him off his feet. Yes she said,”Eta Tata na, eta MIDNAPORE. Jodi Kharagpur jete hobe, to tara tari samner train ta dhore nao….DAURAO… ”

From whatever little Bengali he knew, all he could decipher was that it did not sound good. He leaped out of the bogie, ran madly across the platform and just about managed to cling on to the train. Obviously he had no ticket and so the curses to god for destroying his sleep and his journey were also mingled with prayers to keep the bete noire for all WTs – the TTE away.

When he finally came back at square one i.e. Kgp again, all his energy and enthu had sapped. He had a couple of idlis at the station, and after giving a host of abuses to his friend who had suggested the morning train, he reclined on a bench. He couldn’t go back to the hostel fearing the ignominy and the spate of sardonic comments and concomitantly decided to reach Ranchi, come hell or high water.

At 8.30 a.m. sharp, two trains arrive simultaneously at Kgp, the ISPAT Exp which was the ground zero of our hero and the STEEL Exp which goes exactly in the opposite direction. Our hero misunderstood the announcement (which I myself have never been able to decipher all my life) and started scurrying to Platform 5. In the process he kept thinking of why the others didn’t budge when the platform of arrival has been suddenly changed. But thinking them as yokels and seeing 1-2 persons also jumping across the rails towards platform 5, he assured himself. When the train arrived, he saw TATA-HOWRAH Exp written on it as against the usual HOWRAH-SAMBALPUR Exp. Perhaps in the 4 months hiatus, the route has been truncated up to Tata only, he surmised. Though why it’s TATA HOWRAH and not HOWRAH TATA still baffled him. Still trusting his hearing of the announcement, he stepped inside only to find it choc-a-bloc with passengers.

As the train gathered speed, he managed to win some sq. feet of space to plant his feet. He endured the throes like a stoic and chuckled to himself at finally being en route to his destination. But the train didn’t seem to stop at any intermediate stations perplexing him. He again assured himself by the logic that may be in the 4 months time, the train had been made Super Fast. After 2 grueling hours, the train finally stopped and he peeked out of the window to find the name ‘SANTRAGACHI’ etched on a yellow stone. Now this name was familiar though he had not come here many times. Again he tried to assure himself that maybe Santragachi was en route to Jamshedpur but for him too, this was too much. He knew that his game was over but as a final nail in the coffin he furtively asked from a vendor where was this train going. He gave him a weird look and answered “HOWRAH”. (While some others smiled at this stupid question)

Our hero was dumbstruck. He saw a local train on the other side of the platform facing Kharagpur and following his knee jerk reaction jumped out of the train. This time he went straight to the driver and with expectant eyes asked “Dada! Kharagpur chaloge?” as if hiring a rickshaw. The answer of course was a flat Naveen Prabhakar NO. He turned backwards only to see the back of STEEL Exp throwing him good byes kiss.

So here he was marooned in the middle of a ho hum platform, famished, dozy and terribly flustered. To beef up his anguish, he saw his bete noire the TTE converging at him with nimble steps and glary eyes. Notwithstanding all his pleas and Overacting (his gave it all he had learnt in the inter hall drams this year), his wallet became lighter by 200 bucks as he was left for the next jam-packed local train to devour whatever morsels of patience and endurance was left in him. As he stepped on the Kharagpur platform at 2.00 p.m. suffering miseries galore, he summoned up all his courage to give it a final try as he saw another local for Jamshedpur parked on the flip end of the longest platform in the world.

He ran for all his might for the entire 1 km with a heavy bag on his shoulders and finally managed to capture a seat. But then pangs of hunger impelled him to go looking for food on the listless platform only to find all the stalls shut for lunch. Now this was enough, too much. He collected his valise and with drooping shoulders cantered straight towards the exit.

On his way back, he rang up his wingie to intimate him that he was coming back, sending him into fits of laughter. Everyone stood with bated breath and pounced on him as soon as he reached the hall, shredding his dignity to pieces with the humor sword. He too could do nothing but smile at his repute’s death procession.

So we finally come to the end of this ordeal cum odyssey. I hope you enjoyed reading it. The only thing I want to tell you is that if you consider this guy to be a freak, an oddball...better watch out. May be next time its your life which is at cross-RAILS.

un-SENSOR-ed

(A tribute to my 3^rd year INSTRU pals)

The alarm kept honking as I lingered out of my bed on a Thursday afternoon, drawling sundry curses to the imminent bugbear of mine – the Instru lab. Quickly completing my morning, rather afternoon ablutions, I skimmed through the day’s newspaper to be dumbfounded at the news of an impending Terrorist attack on our tranquil blackboard jungle – the IIT. However trusting the ratiocination of the Terrorist groups, my fear was dispelled.

I quickly transcribed BABU’s (my dear lanky friend’s nick name) discussion with a little paraphrasing and after putting on my rumpled shirt, gravitated towards the mess. I won’t expatiate more about the mess as it has already been comprehensively discussed by one of my instru cohorts (with an Einstein hairstyle and DASHing looks) in his blog. As we reached the lab, Prof Dutta was already half way through the roll call. My labby (a dyed-in-the-wool Maulana AZAD fan), Babu and myself no one had read the manual. Still we kicked off the experiment on a wing and a prayer.

As both of them scrupulously fabricated the circuit, I craned my neck to fathom the mood of the Lab. Prof Dutta had his proverbial smile etched on his lips as he conferred with Mitro regarding attendance. Now this guy is a perennial late comer, a treat freak and of course as he always vaunts bout himself, the highest AIR amongst us (“Tor AIR kii, ball ball”). The ephemeral silence in his group was soon crushed to smithereens as an altercation broke out between Mitro and the happy and GAY Brazilian star Kaka. The gauche Gamauch, their third lab partner, was gawking at the pandemonium helplessly when suddenly we heard some commotion, a welter of sounds which portended a menace approaching the lab (if I got my Doppler effect right).

Yes, it had happened. Every soul stood rooted to the ground in stunned silence as we saw 3 semi-veiled terrorists silhouetted against the open door. “Hands-up!!!” was the behest of one of them which was promptly reciprocated by every one of us – be it the G.Sec, Deptt of Electrical Engg primped in his trademark masculine pink shirt. Or be it the perpetual crammer Tau still looking askance at the unfinished manual.

The Instru 3^rd year studs had been taken hostages by the militants who I conjectured to be from Lashkar-e-Taiba (the only name I know). I must admit I was game for it provided they promised not to bereave our families. At least the Lab was out of question. And one person whom I would bet all my money for appreciating my thought was the notorious Neal n Nikki pair who managed to wear the typical ‘Hum-Beta-Peace-Marega’ look even in such a calamity.

However amidst all this mayhem the terrorists looked completely unperturbed. They asked a butterball to sing a song for them which turned into a bane for the terrorists and a boon for the trio of 3 most coveted cards in a deck – Satti, Atthi and of course the Ace. They mustering up every bit of chivalry left in them allowed the trio to leave (this by fluke saved them from a few crafty karate strokes from an ACE black belter and thus saving them from a few HALLU cinations).

They called a Maratha looking dude (name inspired from a Gutkha major) from the herd and asked him his name. “Suraag M Sacche...errr M Sacche Kharaab…no no Kacche Suraag M...Srry”, “SHUT UP” they cried. Well long appellations have some inherent disadvantages; sometimes they can really befuddle you. Suddenly they were accosted by my labby (the same AZAD fan I told you bout). The kind of Poltu he is, he apparently was trying to make some kind of a pact with them, we reckoned. 10 minutes after he had taken one of the terrorists to discuss the agenda, we heard a shot fired. SHOCK everywhere...is he dead?? A chill ran down everyone’s spine. “Perhaps they misunderstood him…he spoke in English you see”, Babu said. “Or might be he punched his tummy a trifle too hard…you know the way he always does do become friendly with professors and lab in charges”, I muttered.

The gauche Gamauch was slowly segueing into his Drams mode. Seeing his ultra grief stricken countenance, even the terrorists couldn’t stop chuckling to themselves. “What a schmuck!!! Was he your relative or what?” they asked. “Hum hu...mm nnahhi jaa jaante”, the petrified Gamauch jabbered. In the meantime, Babu became lachrymose watching the Rakhis on his wrist…you know they are the eSN’s of my life – he said. As I went on to console him, I saw Pollock dada take out a TFS Rs. 50 receipt and solicit the terrorists into buying it. “Is baar hum tumhare liye Mission Kashmir lagayega…TFS mein evening show dekh lena tumko hum allow kar dega”, he said. Asking him to shut up for Allah’s sake, they turned their attention towards Neal Bose who was busy breaking the instruments of the lab – his age old fantasy. The time was past 4:30 and we all know that no one can impel him to stay in the lab past 4:30. He said his one last eternal words ‘I SON WILL KILL PEACE’ (Guppi Singh’s translation of his original Hindi dialogue) as he leaped across the stools towards one of the terrorists and with all his might took a multimeter and incised its pointed probes into his belly. But alas!!! As a sad anticlimax, the probes of the multimeter were broken. He himself had intentionally broken it in the last lab and now he would have to pay through his nose for his fantasy – the fantasy of breaking instruments in instrumentation lab. His partner Nikki Bond started fisticuffs with the terrorists to save his partner and best friend Neal but sadly both of them were shot outside the lab grappling with them till their last breath.

Their holy blood crept in slowly in the lab with a typical SDG viscocity (slooww flow) which made the DASHing Einstein (still in his last night hangover) puke. Kaka became queasy at the sight of both the blood and the puke and had a great yearning to go to his favorite hangout place ‘CHEDIS’ to smoke the ‘Peace’ pipe. Flabbergasted by all the heroics and bloodshed, our treat freak Mitro asked the terrorists for a Treat to celebrate their successful shooting.

Another shot!!! This time in front of us. Blood spouted out in copious quantity as the entire lab became inundated with human plasma. Gamauch was trembling with trepidation as Babu regurgitated for the first time. But we suddenly saw some movement in the reposing cadaver. Our branch Kholu stood up to everyone’s astonishment smiling as I saw the blood drenched faces of our Neal, Nikki and AZAD fanatic pop up from behind. Everyone looked at each other and at the same moment with a perfect NEHRU HALL synchro, all of us jumped up in jubilation and the ambience became rife with cries of “HAPPY HOLI….HAPPY HOLI” as our seniors masquerading as terrorists joined the party with their Gun shaped Pichkaris.

It was one of the most colorful and adventurous holi of our life. For the first time we realized that we with our DASHing yet intellectual dude, happy and Gay KAKA, gauche but hyper cute Gamauch, poltu but a marvel-at-heart AZADian, the cantankerous yet affable Mitro and everyone else make up the most frolicsome group ever. We just have to keep smiling and helping each other out coz as is said in Ice Age – that’s the way we live in a herd.

Love you all. We are licensed to chill. Let’s do it!!!

- Rohit Prateek

(A 3rd year proud Instru)