No. I am not talking about the one that is yet to dawn upon us. I am talking about the month that went by. I appeared for six whole exams and not one of them needed creative writing as a pre-requisite; let alone humour. Actually, some of the answers I wrote would have made Dave Barry proud. In the sense that if it weren't for the supervisor keeping a constant vigil over the class, I myself would have burst out laughing at what I was writing. I am hoping that the Professor will give me credit for making him laugh.
No, seriously. I had no answer to questions like the following:
1. "What is the composition of the landfill leachate?"
2. "What is the composition of the landfill gas?"
3. "If a city generates 5000 tonnes of Solid Waste everyday, do you think Ganguly should be ousted out of India and not only the Indian Cricket team?"
Actually, I confess to having answered as many as ONE question from the above honestly and unfunnily (if there is any such word as unfunnily)
Other things that I did in the past month, other than mug up around a thousand odd pages of material for each exam, include :
1. A visit to INS Vikrant (Time spent : 6 hours in total)
2. Seeing the movie, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Really well made movie. I thought the book was the second worst ever written by JKR.) (Time spent : 6 hours in total)
3. Thinking about my blog and the day I could start writing again. (Time spent : 196 hours in total)
And here I am, writing once again, in what my dash board claims is my fortieth article. And I realise that I have been unable to make you junta laugh. I think it's a result of the examinations I went through. Or it could be the trauma of the news of Ganguly's return to the Indian Test Team.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
A Sabbatical
I am taking a sabbatical from writing.
Why, you ask? Well, it's simple. Because I want to. Because it is the will of the Almighty that for a few days the Divine Spark which glows inside me, and which is a source of humour and enjoyment to all, should go kaput! Because I have a seminar presentation on the 11th and I have not yet decided what I am going to speak. Because my exams start from the 16th and I am unsure as to which paper is when, forget remembering what I have learnt till now.
These are some of the reasons for my taking a vacation. Another reason is that after reading some thought provoking, soul searching, stomach churning blogs by some of my colleagues, I felt really hungry and drank a lot of chicken soup. It was good for my soul, but it ended up hurting my tummy. But that is not the reason for taking a vacation. The reason is that after reading those blogs, I looked at my own blog and thought : "Man, I am definitely a better writer than all of them put together." The reason I felt so is because no one else can take something and make something funny out of it like I can. Let me give you an example
A man goes to a shop and asks the shopkeeper : "Why didn't the chicken cross the road?"
The shopkeeper is stumped. "Why?", he asks.
The man says, "Because I ate it!"
Ha ha ha. Get it? Because I ATE it! Now that is something, isn't it? I bet it had you rolling on the floor in splits. It's a different matter that the shopkeeper hit the man on his head with a bottle of Phenyl, probably because he thought it was the only way of killing him and more probably because it was the one closest to him. But I am deviating from the topic again. I realised that to be really appreciated as a writer, once in a while, you have to take some topic and write meaningful stuff about it. This got me thinking and the following paragraph is the outcome of intense soul searching and deep thinking (the kind that is associated with constipated people) for a period of two whole minutes. Imagine! I gave it my best shot. Two minutes is the maximum I can concentrate for, unless I am watching sleazy stuff on the television, which is hard to come by now-a-days, thanks to Prof. Naithani or some female named that in Mumbai.
Okay, here goes. In case you have forgotten, this paragraph is the one that I have written after intense thinking. So, a warning for the squeamish. Don't read past this sentence, if hearing about exploding toilets increases your palpitation or whatever it is that makes the liver go hay-wire.
One needs to think carefully about writing what one is writing. (The sensitive and intelligent writing has begun, you dummy!) One could go on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on (Nice utility this Copy and Paste) talking about nothing in particular. I mean, what is the use if I keep on talking about nothing. I have to talk about something if I am ever going to make it big. But then, there is also the matter of pretending talking about something when actually, I am talking about nothing. All this nothing has got to lead to something for me to make sense, something which is lacking in this entire paragraph.
Whoa! I have written four hundred words already. I don't believe it. And around a hundred of those have come straight from the bottom of my heart in two minutes of intense brooding over a neat peg of rum. I am sure that my innermost thoughts have made you realise the futility of your life. So, here's a suggestion : Why don't you give all your money to me and let me do the thinking for you? In fact, if you send a cheque right now, I will probably waive a hundred rupees off the deal! Why, you ask? Because that is the kind of person I am, always looking out for others. I realise that you may need the hundred rupees to buy yourself a copy of "101 ways to commit suicide after giving all your money to crazed lunatics". So go ahead and write that cheque. I am waiting for it.
And in case you are late and miss the opportunity of the hundred rupees discount, don't worry. I always keep a Phenyl bottle handy! :-)
Why, you ask? Well, it's simple. Because I want to. Because it is the will of the Almighty that for a few days the Divine Spark which glows inside me, and which is a source of humour and enjoyment to all, should go kaput! Because I have a seminar presentation on the 11th and I have not yet decided what I am going to speak. Because my exams start from the 16th and I am unsure as to which paper is when, forget remembering what I have learnt till now.
These are some of the reasons for my taking a vacation. Another reason is that after reading some thought provoking, soul searching, stomach churning blogs by some of my colleagues, I felt really hungry and drank a lot of chicken soup. It was good for my soul, but it ended up hurting my tummy. But that is not the reason for taking a vacation. The reason is that after reading those blogs, I looked at my own blog and thought : "Man, I am definitely a better writer than all of them put together." The reason I felt so is because no one else can take something and make something funny out of it like I can. Let me give you an example
A man goes to a shop and asks the shopkeeper : "Why didn't the chicken cross the road?"
The shopkeeper is stumped. "Why?", he asks.
The man says, "Because I ate it!"
Ha ha ha. Get it? Because I ATE it! Now that is something, isn't it? I bet it had you rolling on the floor in splits. It's a different matter that the shopkeeper hit the man on his head with a bottle of Phenyl, probably because he thought it was the only way of killing him and more probably because it was the one closest to him. But I am deviating from the topic again. I realised that to be really appreciated as a writer, once in a while, you have to take some topic and write meaningful stuff about it. This got me thinking and the following paragraph is the outcome of intense soul searching and deep thinking (the kind that is associated with constipated people) for a period of two whole minutes. Imagine! I gave it my best shot. Two minutes is the maximum I can concentrate for, unless I am watching sleazy stuff on the television, which is hard to come by now-a-days, thanks to Prof. Naithani or some female named that in Mumbai.
Okay, here goes. In case you have forgotten, this paragraph is the one that I have written after intense thinking. So, a warning for the squeamish. Don't read past this sentence, if hearing about exploding toilets increases your palpitation or whatever it is that makes the liver go hay-wire.
One needs to think carefully about writing what one is writing. (The sensitive and intelligent writing has begun, you dummy!) One could go on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on (Nice utility this Copy and Paste) talking about nothing in particular. I mean, what is the use if I keep on talking about nothing. I have to talk about something if I am ever going to make it big. But then, there is also the matter of pretending talking about something when actually, I am talking about nothing. All this nothing has got to lead to something for me to make sense, something which is lacking in this entire paragraph.
Whoa! I have written four hundred words already. I don't believe it. And around a hundred of those have come straight from the bottom of my heart in two minutes of intense brooding over a neat peg of rum. I am sure that my innermost thoughts have made you realise the futility of your life. So, here's a suggestion : Why don't you give all your money to me and let me do the thinking for you? In fact, if you send a cheque right now, I will probably waive a hundred rupees off the deal! Why, you ask? Because that is the kind of person I am, always looking out for others. I realise that you may need the hundred rupees to buy yourself a copy of "101 ways to commit suicide after giving all your money to crazed lunatics". So go ahead and write that cheque. I am waiting for it.
And in case you are late and miss the opportunity of the hundred rupees discount, don't worry. I always keep a Phenyl bottle handy! :-)
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Career Counselling
I was recently called to give a talk about how to ace in CAT and GATE by my juniors at my alma mater. For those who do not understand Greek, let me tell you that alma mater is derived from the Latin words (or is it French?) alma, meaning "something" and mater, meaning "only the Greeks can understand"
Again, for the ignorant masses that roam around the internet, having no aim but to jump from blog to blog, here's an explanation as to what CAT and GATE mean. CAT is a fuzzy, furry animal whose sole aim in life is to regard it's owner with disdain until it is time for it to be fed. Whereas GATE is the thing that moves on it's hinges and serves an important function of preventing dogs and salesmen from entering your premises. And the dodos who believe what I just said are no better placed than the ones who had turned up to attend my talk about these competitive exams. (That is what CAT and GATE are, you dummies!)
So, there I was, at my old college, reminiscing the days I spent there. I have many memories associated with the place. The joy of learning new things, the joy of falling for the new girl in the class, the horror of realising that she is in fact the Dean's niece and many other things. And then there was the incident involving me and a couple of my friends. But I would like to refrain from writing it down here for the fear of letting the world know that it was we who did it! I think there is still a reward in the college for the person who comes up with information about the "Dean is a goon" scandal. Me and my friends, however, are safe because nobody, repeat, nobody, knows that we were the ones who painted those very words on to his niece's folder! Even now, I have nightmares that I have been caught for that particular misdeed. I shudder to think what would have happened to us if we had been caught. We could have been expelled. Worse, we could have been expelled after being forced to write "I will not paint "The dean is a goon" on the folder of the dean's niece" a thousand times on all the black-boards of the university. Now you guys know why Engineers are such good writers. We have undergone severe training. This is very much unlike the training that students of medicine undergo. They spend their time learning worthless things such as the size of the human stomach, how to cure cancer and AIDS, how to destroy SARS while their fingers slowly develop atrophy and consequently, their handwriting looks like some insect has been mauled over the paper!
So, anyway, now that you have forgotten the objective of this article, here's a reminder. I was talking about the lecture I gave at my alma mater. Actually, it's about the lecture I almost gave. There was a large crowd gathered outside the auditorium where I was supposed to speak. At first I thought that some sort of freebies were being distributed there. That was the only time me and my friends were to be found together in the college in such huge numbers. But, as I later realised, these people had come there to listen to me! At this point, I had a realisation. That the juniors were more "career-oriented" than I could ever hope to be. And another, more pressing realisation that the car that had brought me here was waiting with the motor running and I could make a dash for it anytime I wished. And that is what I did.
I had almost made it. The moment I was going to jump inside through the door, a strong pair of hands pulled me out physically from the car. At first, my thoughts were muddled. I thought this was all a bad dream and that I was going to wake up and find that I was late as usual for my lecture back here at IIT Bombay. But then, someone pinched me, and I was still there in my old college, with no place to run. I was forcefully taken to the stage and a mike was forced into my hands. I looked around the crowd for some known face, someone who could provide me some moral support. But all I got from the crowd was serious stares, with a look that said, "If you don't tell me what I need to know to get into IIT/IIM I am going to smash your head with the dean's niece's sandal!" Now, this put me in a fine pickle, because what the crowd didn't know was this : I got admission to IIT B because the cousin of the daughter of a friend's cousin sister twice removed is the son-in-law of the great-grandfather's nephew of the cousin brother of Sachin Tendulkar. No wait. I think it is someone related to Dr. Manmohan Singh. But you get the gist. And there was no way I could reveal this to the crowd here. So, I did the next best thing. I fainted.
When I awoke, there were a few hopeful students still standing there. A few asked me about my health. Some sought tips about appearing for the exams and the kind of questions to expect and the type of preparation to be put in. And there were the guys who had the nerve to ask me for the address of the cousin of the daughter of a friend's cousin sister twice removed who is the son-in-law of the great-grandfather's nephew of the cousin brother of Dr. Manmohan Singh. I was loathe to give them that address, seeing as in I am probably going to require that person's help again if I am to escape writing "I will not paint "The dean is a goon" on the folder of the dean's niece" a thousand times on all the black-boards of the university.
Again, for the ignorant masses that roam around the internet, having no aim but to jump from blog to blog, here's an explanation as to what CAT and GATE mean. CAT is a fuzzy, furry animal whose sole aim in life is to regard it's owner with disdain until it is time for it to be fed. Whereas GATE is the thing that moves on it's hinges and serves an important function of preventing dogs and salesmen from entering your premises. And the dodos who believe what I just said are no better placed than the ones who had turned up to attend my talk about these competitive exams. (That is what CAT and GATE are, you dummies!)
So, there I was, at my old college, reminiscing the days I spent there. I have many memories associated with the place. The joy of learning new things, the joy of falling for the new girl in the class, the horror of realising that she is in fact the Dean's niece and many other things. And then there was the incident involving me and a couple of my friends. But I would like to refrain from writing it down here for the fear of letting the world know that it was we who did it! I think there is still a reward in the college for the person who comes up with information about the "Dean is a goon" scandal. Me and my friends, however, are safe because nobody, repeat, nobody, knows that we were the ones who painted those very words on to his niece's folder! Even now, I have nightmares that I have been caught for that particular misdeed. I shudder to think what would have happened to us if we had been caught. We could have been expelled. Worse, we could have been expelled after being forced to write "I will not paint "The dean is a goon" on the folder of the dean's niece" a thousand times on all the black-boards of the university. Now you guys know why Engineers are such good writers. We have undergone severe training. This is very much unlike the training that students of medicine undergo. They spend their time learning worthless things such as the size of the human stomach, how to cure cancer and AIDS, how to destroy SARS while their fingers slowly develop atrophy and consequently, their handwriting looks like some insect has been mauled over the paper!
So, anyway, now that you have forgotten the objective of this article, here's a reminder. I was talking about the lecture I gave at my alma mater. Actually, it's about the lecture I almost gave. There was a large crowd gathered outside the auditorium where I was supposed to speak. At first I thought that some sort of freebies were being distributed there. That was the only time me and my friends were to be found together in the college in such huge numbers. But, as I later realised, these people had come there to listen to me! At this point, I had a realisation. That the juniors were more "career-oriented" than I could ever hope to be. And another, more pressing realisation that the car that had brought me here was waiting with the motor running and I could make a dash for it anytime I wished. And that is what I did.
I had almost made it. The moment I was going to jump inside through the door, a strong pair of hands pulled me out physically from the car. At first, my thoughts were muddled. I thought this was all a bad dream and that I was going to wake up and find that I was late as usual for my lecture back here at IIT Bombay. But then, someone pinched me, and I was still there in my old college, with no place to run. I was forcefully taken to the stage and a mike was forced into my hands. I looked around the crowd for some known face, someone who could provide me some moral support. But all I got from the crowd was serious stares, with a look that said, "If you don't tell me what I need to know to get into IIT/IIM I am going to smash your head with the dean's niece's sandal!" Now, this put me in a fine pickle, because what the crowd didn't know was this : I got admission to IIT B because the cousin of the daughter of a friend's cousin sister twice removed is the son-in-law of the great-grandfather's nephew of the cousin brother of Sachin Tendulkar. No wait. I think it is someone related to Dr. Manmohan Singh. But you get the gist. And there was no way I could reveal this to the crowd here. So, I did the next best thing. I fainted.
When I awoke, there were a few hopeful students still standing there. A few asked me about my health. Some sought tips about appearing for the exams and the kind of questions to expect and the type of preparation to be put in. And there were the guys who had the nerve to ask me for the address of the cousin of the daughter of a friend's cousin sister twice removed who is the son-in-law of the great-grandfather's nephew of the cousin brother of Dr. Manmohan Singh. I was loathe to give them that address, seeing as in I am probably going to require that person's help again if I am to escape writing "I will not paint "The dean is a goon" on the folder of the dean's niece" a thousand times on all the black-boards of the university.
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