I-Dent-ity afloat

NITK Surathkal, my college, was particularly different from many other, infact all, colleges of India. Let me tell how. The very first of them is the very fact that we had a self proclaimed private beach. Ahhh the beach [sigh] (yes you all non NITKian fellas, we had it all filmy style). Well, there are lots of things about the beach but anyways, lets get over it.

The 17th peculiarity (not that 2nd to 16th are insignificant, but are irrelevant as of now) was the student ID card. Yes, it was the worst of its kind, trust me. The first time I possessed mine, I was quite taken aback by its build. Precisely, it comprised of a sleazy piece of hard paper of normal ID card size. On one side, it had some usual personal details (no not printed but filled by the student with pen) and on the other it flashed National Institute Of Technology Karnataka, Surathkal with its logo and all in dirty pink color and a stupid photograph stuck. Please notice that I didn't mention anything about the seal. Why ?? Because there was none. On the first glance, you'd say it's no better than the ID card of a class-D worker from a factory manufacturing chappal soles. On a closer look, you could confirm this. And this complete set was shoddily laminated and handed over to us. Go pals, flaunt it over anywhere and you will be hailed...

Well, not exactly. This accounts for an incident when I was very much in a fix because of this crummy piece. It was the end of fourth semester and we were ready to head back home. Unfortunately, few of us (me included) didn't get the ticket from Mangalore so we got a reservation in Goa Express from Goa. Goa was not very far, 4-5 hours journey from our college; insignificant compared to the 36 hours journey ahead. But it was much more painful this time, my friend Saurabh (Chul was he called) and I had our computer sets. Reason being my stupid fantasy of getting a laptop in the fifth semester (which I didn't). We, somehow, managed to reach the desired platform with our luggage. The boarding and all were pretty mundane and that was the end of all our miseries.

No, it was just the beginning. An hour or so passed and we were, as usual, doing nothing. I saw the TTE approaching. He was darker than dark, stout and, surprisingly, donned a black coat in that extremely hot summer day. He was behaving quite amicably but suddenly he left everything and swaggered towards us. No problem Sir, we had what he did not want to see, the tickets. But he didn't ask for one. What he asked was whether we got the computer stuff a registered parcel or not. Damn, how did we know if such a thing existed and, even if it did, exactly required. I blurted out "We don't have any knowledge about registration" to which he replied with immense pride "ab toh penalty lagegi". The last one came like a hammer. Chul, with sheer smartness, started obfuscating as if he had already planned all that but it made matter even worse.

In no time, the TTE was accompanied by an RPF constable (I still have no idea why on earth did he call the constable). The next 20 minutes went on with his blatherings regarding the rules and regulations and blah blah blah, we kept on impressing upon the fact that we were college students. Ultimately, he asked for the big thing, our ID cards. I, within a blink, snapped it out from my wallet and handed it over to him. And then I froze, Chul too, guess he realized the same thing which I did. For the next 5 minutes the TTE kept on examining the card with utmost scrutiny, and also looking at us in askance. We were still frozen, I knew what ran in his mind. [What the fuck is this ?? Am I a stupid. Ha !! Busted]

He blurted it out "ye toh nakli hai"
I promptly answered in a broken voice "nahi sir, yahi hai, asli hai"
"nahi nahi ye nakli hai, seal kahan hai ??", said the TTE.
Chul, as if enjoyin' the whole conversation, retorted "sir, lagta nakli hai but hai asli"

Ok, that was it. The TTE got mad. He bitterly requested us to pay the penalty or get down at the next station. I was frenzied by the idea of both. I rummaged my wallet, my bag, all my stuff I could in search of my library card (it gave a genuine look at the least and had bar codes and a seal too) but I was unsuccessful. Meanwhile, Chul and the TTE, already started with their penalty negotiations, were unable to settle at an amount. The TTE was demanding 700 Rupees and Chul offended him several times by prompting a much lesser amout.. 300..350..400.. and then finally to 700. I paid half of that. Oh God!! Back those days, it was a whopping sum; parting myself with 350 was a sacrifice of 35 shifts at the night canteen. Anyway, the TTE left with the money and for the rest of the trip I tortured myself with an uncanny feeling that all that was faked by the TTE. Well, only he and God knows.

For the next two happy years of my college, whenever I was asked for an ID card outside college, I always produced the library card and, by Jove, never lost my identity.

Booze out LOUD

India Gate

Gawwwd !! I hate it. Anand Caterers has been at its best since the last survey and the price hike but precisely, still sucks. No its not that bad, I see the interns around, quite excited for lunch. After all, who gets a hotel kinda food, that too daily, that too for a paltry ten bucks. But I detest it, guess that's the reason I have switched to dieting (one fruit lunch, KC gets me a couple of rotis, Lambu his homemade curry, Chinu his half the paraantha, and how can I forget DD - yeah, she too has cut down her meals, to eleven rotis as of now - who spares me with her dessert). Darn it !! Bad lunch.

But India Gate (I have no idea why we call that that) keeps the spirits on, that's the only reason I wait for lunch, to lurch in those shady areas of ST building, to sit back and relax behind that carmine wall, we call it The Wall - a masterpiece in itself, to laugh at our drivels or to quibble over the fact that some arbit wench should be called a fatso or not. Ha !!

Workplace, no boy !! India Gate is a whole lot different. Its vagaries unravel all our stuffed professionalism and brings out the bon-homie of our group. Our managers surely envies us, seeing us seizing all the fun. Ye ye yeah.. we surely do.
It's a place I meet my friends, just friends, for a quality fifteen minutes. Those fifteen minutes, I guess, at India Gate are worth eight hours of my stiff mental state, 'cause there, I feel... just nice.

Misanthrophobia

Sattu, the dastardly ghost was scurrying down the subway smoking furtively ('cause public smoking is banned) until he meets his cold war foe, Jhinga...

Jhinga: dude, do you believe people pose us a danger ??

Sattu: yeah man, I sure do starting today, a tantrik just fucked me.

Jhinga: [gloats] Oh those fuckers are dangerous, once one of 'em beat the shit out of me. Since the day, I don't hook up with all kinda people...

Sattu: then what kinda people.

Jhinga: [proudly] people who eat cadbury. By the way, whom did you hook up with ?

Sattu: an alcoholic bastard, didn't know he ran out of the bar after mooning the drummer's wife.

Jhinga: and why ??

Sattu: I wanted to have a cadbury...

once said

रमेश के मामा बहुत बड़े व्यापारी थे...

Pilot

Have been thinking of posting since months, too much of stupidity in mind you see, but was busy in some stuff, stuff that I thought significant and important, stuff that I thought could get me through my plight or I must say plight of the contemporary world. But yet another time am poleaxed by its nasty whip. Bitch, its not my business anymore...

Got a forwarded mail yesterday that more or less relates my story...


bizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttt... bad days ahead :(