GOA JAUNT I.V. ( PART-1)

Here I come with another SERIES!


RANDOM SURVEY TO KNOW “WHICH YEAR THE ENGINEERS FIND IT MOST FULFILLING, EVENTFUL, DISASTROUS, And ACRIMONIOUS” WILL INDICATE THE THIRD YEAR OF THE ENGINEERING DAYS AS THE MOST ………..

It is THE year of which your seniors warn you when you are busy with your ADMISSION process.
The third year for CRCE PROD 2009 started with RANDOM GROUP FORMATIONS for even more RANDOM and BIZARRE PRESENTATIONS. The GROUPS were finally formed after well over 2 months though they were supposed to be formed in 2 days. (And the aforementioned paragraph is JUST not needed! JUST to summarize the Sem V rituals, does the author mentions it)
The presentations, the ARDUOUS journal-file-sheet-completion and the subsequent SUBMISSION took another 2 months. Then the VIVAs were conducted in November. 4 of them were OFFICIAL and 2 were in addition. The theory subjects were UNCHARACTERISTICALLY cool.

 The PLs served as mini-vacations. Aayush, Malhar, Nadar and I indulged into GROUP studies. OR was the subject preferred. Mallu and I would come prepared with SIMPLEX models while Aayush handled Game theory and Simulation. And we would gather together for the KNOWLEDGE SHARING. Again, UNCHARACTERISTIC. INTERESTINGLY, in the OR paper, I messed up in SIMPLEX and AAYUSH in GAME THEORY. This time, CHARACTERISTIC.

With the OR paper came the news of the postponement of DJF. So, it meant that the exam which started on 7th Dec, 2007 will conclude on 14th Jan, 2008. 40 DAYS!!!!! Actually 20 days to be honest. The two days immediately after a paper is a welcome break. For MOST of the engineers!!!!!


The entire class had been pining for an I.V. since the beginning of the third year. The college did not agree, quite CHARACTERISTIC. It was thus decided upon for an unofficial I.V. Till the PL days, nobody really zeroed in on the destination, mode of travel and the I.V. duration. ‘BAS, JANA HAI’ was decided. Fixed. GOA was the destination tacitly understood, wanted and preferred. Duration and mode of travel was considered to be decided later as the exams would begin. An exam paper was likely to be postponed. Train would help us cover the distance up to GOA in 11 hours. So, TRAIN travel got FIXED too. The OR day helped us fix the departure day to GOA.

15th January, 2008. A lot of mutual convincing followed among the friends. Afzal,Pranav,Bangia, Kedar, Anoop, Graham and others were certain they won’t be a part of the trip. SHAAA!!!! KYA YAARR!!!!

The Non-diploma people were told that the Diploma people were ready. And vice-versa. CR did it. Just to get started with the ticket booking procedure. A few tickets were bought initially, but they required being re-scheduled. TOO MUCH OF RE-SCHEDULING AND MESS proved that efficient BillOfMaterial makers are not necessarily sound-itinerary-planners.

MI got over by 4th Jan and cricket practice began. HILARIOUS it was. Cricket practice between two exam papers. I am sure that our class cricketers are the only engineers to do so. And immediately after 14th Jan-DJF, a nice-eagerly-awaited-Goa-trip. Within 12 hours of designing a jig or a fixture. The GOA FEVER did not allow me (and I’m sure all) to concentrate on DJF. Half of the day was spent on the phone. Some 131661633 calls were made by me to my fellow people; all discussions on the GOA trip.

“24 more hours, BOSS!!!!! And we would be in GOA!!!! BAAAAP!!!!”
I would find myself in a reverie more times than usual. For a moment I thought of starting to pack for the trip. For the first time in my life, bag-packing was the most important thing to do for me.

Who says Engineering isn’t eventful!

********************************************************

It is 5:55 P.M. I am done with bolting the fixture. Hatching is still to be done. And hatching is a makeweight activity which gives the DRAWING a certain kind of a FEASIBLE look. The sheet contains a manually-drawn-compass-drafter-free-anything-other-than-orthographic-projections-FIXTURE. I least care for whether the fixture can even hold a single workpiece. Forget about clamping it. I want to be out of the exam hall. I want to scream just as it is 6:00 P.M. I want to get back home. Do the packing thing. I fix the morning meeting time with Iyer, Nadar and Aayush.

EXCITEMENT WAS IN THE AIR, IN THE BODY and in everything.

( To Be Continued......)

MISSED RECALLS! ( PART-4)

It is yet again a LOOONNNGG POST.

For the VIVA, it is mandatory to come in a formal attire. Not mandatory, but something you should never avoid; just in case you face a difficult situation in VIVA, it might help. It is (Supposedly) an indication to the External (also the internal, whose memory isn't sharp, enough to forget your face) that you are VERY serious about the VIVA (education in general) and you are not CASUAL about it. You should also carry a pen, a clutch pencil ( Specially for the production guys) and an eraser( RUBBER) to a VIVA.

I reach the first floor and head towards the canteen. I glance inside the new CNC room opposite to the canteen. To check if the External has arrived. The central region of the canteen is occupied. Every time a classmate enters the canteen, the viva-prepared-heads swivel from the books towards the classmate. Bangia, Kedar, Anoop, Dravaspe, Neel and Sanam are seated in a circle. Iyer wants to study alone, not in the canteen. Neel ( my VIVA partner most times), who's usually better prepared than me asks "Kya Bhadku? Padha hai naa? I left tolerance chart." Delegation of preparation is another aspect for success in the VIVA. One should plan and decide the AREAS of preparation and divide the entire syllabus 50-50 with the VIVA partner. Preferably. Because, 100 % preparation is usually not possible. So, 50 % is better. The zero possibility of 100 % preparation is not applicable to the likes of Bangia, Khatri and Ganesh. Dravaspe comes prepared with the questions that are usually NOT asked. He throws them towards Bangia. But, Bangia being Bangia, is the only one amongst us who has answers to all of those questions thrown at him. He is smart enough  to even point out which questions are wrong at the first place.

A few more people join in. The first group is inside the VIVA room. For my batch, it was mostly Ganesh and Rashmi. Sometimes Anoop too would join them if it is the3-at-a-time case. ( Keyur, Ninad or Nagariya for the other batch)The second group waits outside, hastily doing the file 'Go Through'.

Being an OPENER at the viva is tough.
Reasons:
1) You have no idea what would be thrown at you. Questions I mean.
2) You do not know if the External is COOL or otherwise. And whether you can use phrases like "SORT OF" or MIGHT BE" and get away with them.
3) You do not know if the Internal is his own 'self' or is it that he suddenly has become harsher.
4) You do not know where the professors intend to concentrate-file or lecture pedagogy.
5) You have to remember each question that is asked to you for the benefit of the people to follow. ( Tough task really. Because, you would find it best to forget what happened in the viva as soon as you are out of it.)

The Benefits of not being an OPENER (luckily):
1) You know whether you should keep your file on the table or on your lap.
2) You know that a few questions that were asked earlier will be repeated.
3) You know the VIVA intensity. ( External cool or otherwise)
4) You know which topic is SAFE to be selected if asked to choose a TOPIC from the file.

I and Pranav get busy with a topic. Pranav is busy trying to explain to me TOLERANCE CHART. Iyer and Bhide join in too. Bhide gives the who-cares look. Pranav and me discuss about the efforts put into the FILE preparation. Rashmi and Ganesh are out of the VIVA room and they get surrounded in no time. Every one, individually, ask the two openers "kya poocha?". Kedar and me join in some conversation.
The conversation we indulged into is about a situation described as under:


DIGRESSION 3.0

We are seated beside the School Canteen Wall. The shadow of the wall is enough to sit under it and to open our files to read. The file consists of a lot of graph papers and tabular information gathered during the practicals attended earlier. In general, it was the subject related to ( I GUESS) temperature, enthalpy, entropy, petrol and diesel. The Laboratory is situated in the school building adjacent to the school canteen. It is the only lab in the world which has a SHATTER as the door to enter into the lab. Like the SHATTERS which most of the shops have. There is a RUMOR that the VIVA Groups are not as per the roll numbers. They are made randomly, on the spot. Anoop prays he is not grouped with a certain opsimath ( You see i pick up words with so much of thought in it. I say opsimath. The one who's slow at learning. But, the opsimath learns eventually and that is important. We all are opsimaths somewhere or the other).

The Professors, along with a lab incharge, FINALLY arrive at the place. Their serious faces make you realize that it is not just a practical exam and that there is a VIVA to follow. Though we are told to pick an answer sheet roll no wise, the groups are randomly formed. Everyone prays that they do not have to perform the REFRIGERATION experiment. Not because it is a tricky exp. but because it is usually performed individually.Big task. So, the groups are formed. The entire batch is told to fill-up the answer sheets. Everyone gets busy with producing the ROTE Observation tables on the sheet. Few even manage to vomit a few READINGS on them. Half of the batch is told to perform the practicals before the other half. While the other half is busy with their ADDITIONAL-TO-THE-PRACTICALS viva.

The group I belonged to was the only group having 3 members. Others had 2 members each. Anoop was paired with the opsimath. Kedar and Afzal were the other two in my group. We were required to perform an experiment 'with' and 'on' the 2-stroke diesel engine. We headed towards the diesel engine.

We quickly glanced at each others' answer sheets. And found out that all the three had 'tables' that were *mostly* the same. A few MINOR yet important changes were quickly made in the answer sheet. A few columns missed earlier were now in place. PHEWWWW. SIGH.

The professors signaled to start with the experiments and instructed us to call them as and when we finish with the PERFORMANCE. I noticed that the Diesel Engine is taller than Afzal. It is a huge engine cemented in the base. We all knew how to do the experiment. At least, we thought we did know. We had seen someone else perform it. We thought that would help. All the 3 of us waited for some one to start the proceedings. Finally, we began.

We tried some stuff on the diesel engine. We thought we were ON THE TRACK. After about 15 minutes, we were ready to start the diesel engine. Anoop had just abused his partner. He was on the Petrol Engine. After sometime, he was quick to realize that there wasn't any petrol in the petrol engine. So, he was seen climbing on a stool (the furniture thing) to put some petrol inside the engine so that he can perform the experiment successfully and pass. Hilarious!!


Afzal, who was the athlete amongst us, was told to do the honors that were the starting of the engine. ARDUOUS exercise it was.The activity involved rotating a lever REALLY REALLY fast. Though, in which direction was not finalized by us. We left it to Afzal's discretion. I took to holding the leaking water pipe. Holding was required in order to restrict few parts from popping out from the pipe. Some belt-pulley apparatus too had to be taken care of. While Kedar did the job of looking after the whole experiment. Afzal started rotating the lever furiously. Afzal was doing a great job, we thought. But, the engine JUST did not take off. He tried again. With more effort this time. But, the engine was still calm. Afzal tried it again. No result. We were left clueless. No answer to the problem. We asked the crisis man, Bangia. He had seen earlier that we were doing it the right way. But, the engine had some other ideas that day. Then we saw Mr.Gurav walking towards us. We told him our predicament. He told us to try it again. Afzal geared up again and took hold of the lever and rotated furiously. Mr. Gurav signalled to stop. His normally happy face turned into a STRAIGHT face. We thought, LAG GAYE BETA. He remained calm for a second. And then uttered " AREY LEVER ULTA GHUMAIGA TOH KAISE CHULA HOGA!"

^&*#%)*&^$&^^

So,finally Afzal zeroed in on the right direction of rotation.The faster Afzal rotated, the more the engine jerked. And Finally, the engine took off. Enough to grab the attention of the entire lab towards us. We were happy now. The apparatus i was holding was jerking tremendously. Water was gushing out from god-knows-which-place. My whole lower body was by now drenched with water. Felt nice. Then, Kedar also bathed. The engine produced a lot of noise. The Internal came nearer the engine. Saw us doing some stuff. Waited there to follow us more. And the belt pulley went berserk just the same time. Some more mishap followed. Suddenly, we saw combustion gases oozing out of the exhausts. We all looked at each other.Puzzled. Then came in the picture Mr.Gurav. He waved both his hands towards us and shouted " HATH JAOOO! HATH JAOOO!" Just like Amitabh Bachchan in Kalapatthar. I thought we had done something that meant TOTAL distruction of the engine. But, luckily it wasn't the case. But, enough to make the Internal say " You people don't know anything about the experiment!"

We somehow calculated 'something' and filled up the entire Observation table. The VIVA was the only part left now. We had to wait for our turn. Kedar and I got some much needed time to dry up ourselves.


We were called at the VIVA desk after sometime. The External sat to the right of the Internal ( While this information is just not necessary). Kedar was in the middle of the three of us. Clearly because we thought he knew the subject better than the other two in the group. I sat to the left of Kedar. And Afzal to the right. The external saw all the answer sheets. The first question was directed towards Afzal.


External: You think there is any mistake in your answer sheet. That is in the OBSERVATION Table, the headings of the column.

Afzal: No, Sir. ( Confidently)

External: There is a mistake.

Afzal ( Trying to re-consider his earlier reply): Ok.

External glanced at me and Kedar.
It was followed by some SERIOUS technical stuff. Only Kedar knew a bit of it though.

External to Me: Do you know ***** Cycle?

Me: No, Sir.
Afzal ( grabbing the attention of the profs) : I know. I know. I know.

Internal: OK, draw and show.
Afzal thinks hard and draws something.

Internal ( with his famous chicky laugh ): Yeh to KHUD ki ATLAS Cycle bana raha hai.
The Profs laugh looking at us. Kedar and I join them too.

External to all of us: What is the full form of ISFC,BSFC?
I nodded to show i-have-never-heard-of-such-stuff.
Kedar got one of the abbreviation correct.
Afzal again did the I-know-I-know-I-know thing.
Afzal to the Profs: Indian Standard....errr International Standard.....ahmmmmm ....?????????????/
External to Afzal : It is INDICATED SPECIFIC FUEL CONSUMPTION. That's why I asked you whether all that you have written in the answer sheet is correct or not!!!
Both the profs had a great laugh at us. SERIOUS, they appeared to me.

DIGRESSION 3.0 ENDS.


( To Be Continued....)

LATER.

QUICK GUN, AIR GUN!!

 A really LONG post this is.

There was a time when I was more athletic than most of my mates in the school. (This IS truth. The post is not meant to be a self-adulatory piece of an e-page.)Only lost to the RED LINERS (red line {marks such as 15,02,1/2, quarter of 1,etc. remember?}On the report cards- GET IT???). The RED LINERS would be 1.5 times taller than me, 2 times my age, 2.5 times heavier, 3 times intelligent (at dodging only), their strides would be 3.5 times longer than mine, and thus their winning chances would be always greater. I remember the time I wept uncontrollably when I lost in the 100m race for the first time in my life against these 20 years old runners.(I am on a losing streak since then as far as athletics is concerned) That was in the 6^th grade. That too, exit in the very first round. Be it cricket, relay-race, ‘potato race’, ‘hopping race’ (hopping with the feet in a jute sack) AABA-DHUBI, kitty-kitty and even lagori, my participation was obvious. WINNING was (is) always certain. (I GRIN)

Years later, in an annual sports day organized by my CHS, I won (as usual, I GRIN AGAIN) a really weird event. The category in which I excelled was considered as an EVENT by a few of the 30-plus BADE LOG thugs who have been organizing the annual sports day, year after year. The BADE LOGs dealt only with very SERIOUS issues like the sports day and often did show their kin & keen participation in the ANNUAL GENERAL MEETING (AGM). In the AGM, they would discuss on Topics like NO EVENT FOR TODDLERS, JHOL in the SATYANARAYAN fund, LACK OF CRICKET BATS, MORE RUBBER BALLS LOST IN THE COCONUT TREES THAN THE ACTUAL NO. OF COCONUTS ON EACH OF THEM. One can NOT assume an activity to be a sporting event when the activity is as retarded as bouncing a basketball  in a pre-marked circular area of infinitesimally small radius as many times as possible by tapping the ball with one hand.

[1) with the ball bouncing from the ground only once between successive ball-taps &  

2) Ensuring that the ball does not bounce twice between two successive taps.

3) Both 1 & 2 mean the same.**

Well, no need for such a long text to be inside the bracket.]

Nevertheless, the champion (a booster the readers say. I assume. I DO NOT GRIN this time.) in me, did not cave in to the weirdness of the EVENT. I won the event by managing to bounce the basketball 190 times in a minute. Try doing that yourself and you will acknowledge the valor in me. (I GRIN AGAIN. I hope the reader is not getting annoyed by this GRIN stuff and does not start throwing pointed objects at me.) I was surprised that the BADE LOG did actually count my ‘no. of bounces’. Didn’t they have any other meaningful work to do on a lovely Sunday afternoon?  CAUTION: It is a different issue participating in such events than organizing one such. For example, the critics don’t question Nisha Kothari for ‘acting’ in RGV bloomers. But, RGV is always thrashed when he makes films like AAG, SHIVA 2.0, etc.  I bet watching the movements of a snail (the movements are faster than Laxman’s motility in running between the wickets.) is far more action-filled an event than watching a basketball being bounced 190 times in a minute.

The prize I got for winning this event was an airsoft gun. (The prize sponsored by the ever-increasing maintenance collected every month by the CHS) The one that resembles the guns used in CID, or even in the low IQ and zero creativity films (high budget of course) like QAYAMAT.. Akkal Under Threat.. (The actual sub title is CITY UNDER THREAT, the movie stars the PHILANTHROPIST Riya Sen & the beneficiary Ashish Chowdhary)The gun has a magazine which can contain 100 yellow colored plastic balls (bullets).

The readers have the right to know the reason for my flattery blabbing about the GRAND event I won or the GRAND prize I got for my winning. The airsoft gun was of little use to me. It was useful only when I had a severe urge to play a prank on the often snoozing watchman at the CHS gate. One yellow plastic bullet on his severely mosquito-bitten leg and it was enough to cause him sleeplessness for decades. Phew. But, that was bachpan. It has been 10 years since then. I still have the airsoftgun with me. Sometimes, I let my over healthy-very athletic-flubber like-flabster-9 years old-cousin to play with it, provided the gun is not aimed at me anytime. This often-visiting-naadaan cousin of mine finds a stock of 100 plastic bullets highly insufficient. Everytime. So, my mother T does not fail to give her flabster son (me) instructions to arrange for some more stock of those yellow plastic bullets. And there is only one store in the ENTIRE (home to 2 million people) Andheri where you get these bullets. Also, whenever I visit the bazaar, my mother T makes sure that I am subjected to some weight lifting activities such as buying vegetables (Yes! I can choose fresh ones from the rotty-ratty ones).

The Andheri Bazaar is not really a bazaar. It is like 100 Kumbhmelas (minus the stampedes) in one. Only difference being, the presence of multi-communities. One can purchase anything-under-the-sun from the Andheri Market. Even the yellow plastic balls. So, on one fair vacation afternoon when I usually enjoyed my NICE LOONNNG HIBERNATING siesta, I was forced to go to this bazaar to get those yellow plastic balls for my aforementioned cousin. I also took my cousin along with me. So that, next time there would be a demand, the cousin can manage himself. The cousin took the airsoft gun along with him. And of course, I was thrust with a long list of items to be bought, thus raising the GDP of Andheri like never before & helping  me burgeon new muscles every where on the body. We reached the shop, bought the yellow balls (200 this time) & were on our way to return after the purchase of other ‘listed’ matter. (Of course, anything-under-the-sun)

The now-happy-faced-cousin had refilled the magazine with a 100 bullets by then. Just as we came out from the narrow lane where the shop was located, to the main road of the bazaar, I heard a yelling voice. The crowd was absolutely stunned. Barring a few initial yells & cries, there was silence all around. Meanwhile, my cousin was still in his ‘airsoftgun world’. There was a man standing beside a rickshaw, hogging on the limelight the onlookers provided. He was yelling at a seemingly-teen-aged-batata hawker. The manner in which he yelled was enough to show that he had more alcohol in his body than blood. Another man, sitting inside the rickshaw on the passengers’ seat tried to control the yelling man, saying “USMAN BHAI! ANDAR AA JAO!”  Moments ago, the yelling man had stepped out of the Auto & ordered the poor hawker to give him 2kgs of potatoes. The hawker obviously was surprised by such an odd behavior. He was tad too slow to react. The delay in the execution of THE Order was enough to make the NOW-YELLING man angry. “SUNA NAHI KYA? 2 KILO BAAND. LAGTA HAI TU NAYA HAI! PAISE NAHI DOONGA KYA? HARA** !@$*$(%(^&*%!!” . The other person in the rickshaw found it difficult to control the situation. He kept saying” USMAN BHAI RAIN DO! JAAN DO!!” (Usman Bhai rehne do! Jaane do!Chodh do!” in more understandable text!) But, Usman bhai was in no mood to abide. After an array of unprintable, a gun that was partly visible from under his shirt and hooked in his trousers was in his hand now. So, it meant that there were 2 GUN-men on the bazaar road. The other being my cousin. I noticed that there was a chance that the situation might   become un-watchable, un-hearable & certainly unthinkable i.e. the 3 bandar wala phenomenon. People started running wherever they could, in any direction. I quickly hid myself and the small-gunman-with-me behind a ‘cheap-pirated-CD’ wala’s CD board. This board gave me & my cousin (who, by now, got aware of the tense situation) enough cover to hide ourselves, as well as, watch the entire sequence of operation. We were roughly 25 feet away from the ‘CENTRE STAGE’. The batalawala teenager had turned pale & was jaundiced with fear and shock. The gun was pointed towards him. I could imagine the batatawala’s precarious plight. Because, even the airsoft gun pointed towards me by my cousin, would give me a panic attack. Forget about a real artillery unit loaded with ‘real’ bullets. The hawker was reduced to tears. The crowd was hypnotized as if watching a brilliant Sachin Ton Highlights. By then, the guy with Usman bhai was out of the auto and the autowala seemed to be highly desperate to get his auto out of the mess. The bhai just did not stop uttering the unprintables. ‘Somebody’ had to do ‘something’ to stop Usman bhai. The guy with Usman bhai had failed miserably in doing so. The hawker’s cheeks, that had turned yellow, suddenly were given a red tint by two tight blows from Usman bhai. Killer silence followed. My cousin stood still behind the CD Board, inching slowly and steadily hiding behind his more corpulent cousin. SOMEBODY HAD TO STOP IT. The inebriated Usman bhai was just out of control, depositing two more blows on the hawker’s face. He moved aggressively towards the batata stash & the road got inundated with potatoes with one potato coming in our direction. So, it was TOTAL nuksaan for the batata hawker for no particular fault really. Then, Usman bhai tore the batatawala’s shirt. The money cached inside the inner pocket of the shirt was now all over the road. The batatawala was now on his knees, pleading for some respite. While there was an unprecedented supply of unprintables from the Usman bhai. I looked at my cousin, thinking that it might be for the first time he had been in proximity with BAD words, delivered at such small intervals, each having a distinct meaning. BUT, he seemed OK with it. GEN X, I thought.

The other guy with Usman bhai was half his physique. He, too, seemed to be in the third world of inebriation. I cursed the crowd including me, for shamelessly watching the entire episode. Forget the ladies, the MEN should have intervened. Meanwhile, my cousin urged CHAL JAUYA ..CHAL  JAUYA.. (Let’s go..Let’s go) He promptly handed the gun to me, showing complete submission.

TO get out of the mess seemed difficult indeed. Nobody moved. Even the slightest turbulence would have been enough to divert the bhai’s attention. By that time, the CD wala also hid himself behind the BOARD. When I noticed him coming behind, he gave me a weird smile. Coward smile to be honest. He saw the gun in my hand. The smile was replaced by a ‘tongue-out’ expression. He asked to me”Bhai,khari hai kya?” I did not respond.

My mind grew restless like a honey bee. The situation needed some one to be brave enough to stop Usman’s assaults. The word ‘brave’ and me were like opposite poles. They never met, even once. The cousin tried pulling me out of the BOARD. I held the gun in my left hand. I rested all the shopping bags on the ground. Loaded the gun. Aimed it at the gun-man through the wonderful screen that was the CD Board. Glanced at my cousin. The cousin’s circular eye slots seemed rounder than they actually were. I aimed at Usman Bhai. Usman Bhai aimed at the batata hawker. I shot at Usman Bhai. The yellow plastic bullet’s path couldn’t be traced. But, the next moment saw Usman Bhai withdrawing his hand back. He shook his hand violently. The yellow bullet hit its target. The pained Usman bhai got irritated by then. When the pain subsided, Usman bhai seemed to be more certain at pulling the trigger. Before he could go any further, another plastic bullet hit him. This time it was on his leg. Then, one more on his affluent belly. This was followed by a bullet on his face. His reaction to those hits resembled to Salman Khan’s dancing steps. The next few aims were targeted at Usman’s groin area and his face. He looked like a severely cramped DEAN JONES of the tied test. The airsoft gun grunted each time it fired a plastic bullet. But, the noise in the bazaar was enough to muffle the sound from my gun. It was the batata hawker’s luck that the OTHER BHAI thought that Usman was actually cramping badly. “BHAI, tum AKAD rele ho. Isko baad mein nipta denge!” were his words to Usman bhai. Few more blows from my side assured him that. Usman, himself, grew uncomfortable. The plastic bullets were too tiny to be spotted. That was the key for the success in curbing Usman’s intentions. The other bhai some how got Usman inside the auto. He took that gun from Usman’s hand. Before leaving, he ordered a water bottle for Usman’s sake. I Hope that some water would have solved Usman’s SO-CALLED CRAMPING problem.

**************THE END (FINALLY) ***********************

I take this post as an opportunity to ask my fellow readers what they think about the above situation.

I was not brave in this situation. In most cases, I’m not. So, what was it that worked or probably can work to avert the harmful consequences of such situations?

What would be the readers’ reactions to a similar situation as the above?

LATER.

APOLOGIES!

 
 I have received a lot of flak over my post IRRELATIONAL ... ! A series of anonymous comments by a few who claim to be my friends has prompted me to put an end to it.I don't know who the so called CHAMCHA is?

My post was not directed to a person or an individual in particular! Few anonymous people supported me for my post! Many did not! Since those who did not support it claim to be my friends, it is my responsibility to ensure that i do not cause them any further harm even when i don't intend to do so at the first place itself.

Really sorry if unintentionally i have hurt the sentiments of those anonymous friends. Sorry for those adjectives as well. The adjectives were not put  keeping in mind a particular person. I don't intend to be and nor am i , a back stabber!


LATER.

BLOGGER DAY!!!

 TODAY has been a blogger day! As if every blogger has had a tacit understanding that he would be apologising to his non-existential readers for his prolonged absence. Bloggers pretend to be busy, working and MOVING while the truth is that there is not much too say!
Tomorrow is the Woman's Day. Any thoughts on it, guys? I have a confusion between the Mother's day and the Woman's Day. Though that does not mean every woman is my mother. SIGH.

That bad luck of possessing me as a son is unique and that good luck of being a son of such a great MOTHER is even more UNIQUE. If i respect my mother, it is implicit that i respect every woman.

 HAPPY WOMAN'S DAY! And an appeal to all women- decide upon and zero-in on a MAN'S DAY as well!

 My choice of MAN'S DAY is 30th DECEMBER. Any views?

So while everyone's updated, i update too, while almost!!!

MISSED RECALLS! ( PART-3)

The news that the first two students have finished their viva spreads rapidly like a wild fire and all the ‘WALLtures’ finally enter the college and head straight towards the Canteen.

DIGRESSION 2.0

THE COLLEGE CANTEEN.

It is the place where every engineering student spends more time on journal (or ASSIGNMENT or FILE) completion than on pleasing his appetite. There is some esoteric & unusual joy in this LAST MINUTE (read GOOTE JAAM) journal submission.

Our Canteen was never a STATE-OF-THE-ART establishment. Most of the colleges don’t sport a nice canteen. Our Canteen was good enough for A-CHAI-A-DAY. Every year, the college had a different canteen contractor.

“Lot of politics is involved in it”, said the SELF ADULATORY current contractor to my HIGHLY INQUISITIVE MIND. Only saving grace to the canteen was the subsidized THALI. And that too, if ordered at the SCHOOL canteen situated next to the work shop. The THALI, that was available at the school as well as college canteen, would be prepared at a common place. And some part of it went to the college canteen. But, devouring upon it in the school canteen was always preferred. Some regular privileged exponents of it were JAI, MHATRE, VILAS and many others including myself. I always finished my Tiffin box prior to the lunch time. And then of course, the THALI in the lunch time. Enough sources of drowsiness required for the PRACTICALS to follow thereafter.

The college canteen resembled a BRICK BHATTI (furnace)and a place smaller than Sreesanth’s left nostril. A place where there was always an ear-shattering noise of the CHINESE kadhai. And a lot of coughing due to the pungent tadka pampered by the lack of enough exhausts fans. I won’t go into much detail regarding the CHINESE served. I remember how a student had been a recipient of a lot of flak for his heinous act of praising the CHINESE served at the canteen in a local tabloid. The seating arrangement consisted of a few NILKAMAL white chairs and tables, lighter than a piece of feather.


Despite its shortcomings, it was a place where not many professors frequented. Except for APPA and his buddy CUCKOO. These two weren’t busy enough to order food upstairs. The fans were in place. A table big enough to keep an incomplete full-imperial sheet on it. A table big enough for at least 8 students to indulge in a highly profitable business that was the ‘MASS COPYING’. A yellow stain of oil on a sheet or an assignment was a frequent case. Fortunately for us, the professors never decoded the cause of the oil stain. No risk involved as in the case of the drawing hall. You dare bunk a class to complete a drawing sheet, and the DON will make sure you tear the sheet apart yourself.

A Student (at the drawing hall bunking a class to complete a sheet): AN EARTHWORM.
The Don (the ever vigilante pays a surprise visit to the drawing hall): THE SALT.
The Student (told to tear apart his OWN-NOW-FULLY-COMPLETE-WITH-AN-EVEN-MORE-COMPLETE-STENCIL-ENHANCED-NAME-PLATE-ON-IT-SHEET): SALT ON EARTHWORM.

DIGRESSION 2.0 ENDS. (For Goodness’ sake, the readers say; I assume.)

I sit in the canteen awaiting my turn, though not eagerly, but hoping that my VIVA gets over early and I go back to the PAVILION (Garden) and enjoy some BOX cricket with CHINU Sandwichwala and his family. I sit there indulged in a reverie in which I see myself enjoying a cheese cube immediately after the VIVA shot. It feels like HEAVEN. TOTALLY. (Not many know this. I kept it as a secret and of course, not any more now. Safe-guarding myself and the cheese cube from the obvious predators)






(To Be Continued…)

THE HOLINESS OF HOLI!!

            The children in the picture will not attain the school tomorrow!       

In some parts of India, Holi is celebrated over the period of 16 days in the month of Phalgun. And I hate Phalgun for its notoriety of being an EXAMS month. In Maharashtra, more particularly in Mumbai, even more particularly in case of the 8 to 9 years olds, the advent of Holi is roughly 2 weeks before the HOLIKA DAHAN. The emptying of water bottles in the school bus was always so much of fun. I remember my herculean effort to let my thirst take a back seat so that I don’t fall short of water to be used for more useful purposes in the school bus.

Holi is celebrated in almost every country, now-a-days. Exceptions of course are Azerbaijan, Sudan, Somalia and Zimbabwe. The first three countries are the only few countries were the Indians haven’t migrated. If the Govt yet again ‘renews’ the RESERVATION policies, then probably we can see a few Iyers, Iyengars, Agarkars, Joshis, Gokhales, Desai,Sharmas playing Holi  amongst themselves in the remotest famine-ridden Somalian deserts. In Zimbabwe, one packet of Gulal is costlier than a Rakesh Roshan flick.

Even Google is playing Holi today.

Holi to me is like Sachin Tendulkar to the Team India. Actually even more. And making a ‘list’ of almost everything is my passion. Any jokes on PASSION, ACTIVA, or SPLENDOR will not be tolerated. So, I make a list of why Holi is one of the dearest festivals to me.

1) PURAN POLI.

The Holi is a SPRING festival. Or more rightly, the beginning of the end of the WINTER and the beginning of the SUMMER. My logic, thus, says that it is the right time to devour on Puran Poli which is considered a bit HOT for the body. EAT 10 of them at a time and you will probably understand, more so, remember forever. I have experienced this. The activity burgeons, quite miraculously, a pimple on a human ear lobe. My PURAN POLI antics are so well known in the vicinity that I get texts from near-by AUNTIES, kakus and MAUSHIS when they prepare ‘these’ jaggary-stuffed-tur dal-white flour-polis.

PURAN POLI WITH LOTS OF TUP (GHEE) ON IT = TONGUE-ORGASM!!!!!

"Holi re Holi puranachi poli"

                           PURAN POLI WITH TUP ON IT!

           Eat these many Puran Polis in a single sitting!

2) WATER BALLOONS. (AND ALSO THE 25 paise wala THAILIS)

 

They might be unsafe, not fit for 3 years old children; but they are fun.  During childhood, every year, I had to undergo a stiff task to convince my parents for the purchase of water balloons, at least 4 packets, each of different size. Parents would worry over the safety, rather the lack of it actually, of playing with the water balloons. I always knew parents would finally allow, followed by some CAUTIONS-TO-BE-TAKEN-WHILE-THROWING-THEM-ON-ELDERS. My parents would buy safety goggles as well to safeguard their son from an unanticipated balloon attack, though I never ever used them. I would get up early at around 4:00 A.M. so that I had a stock of at least 200 balloons with me, with enough water in them, at the time of an attack from the neighborhood. Kids of my age fought a battle with the neighboring CHS Girnar. We had gone one step further in calling Girnar as PAKISTAN. And our CHS as INDIA. 

CAUTION: Balloons can contain any fluid ranging from egg ingredients, colored liquid to tap water (only special cases though). Some errant anti-social elements use some AGE-LIMIT-INCREASING-DEATH-DEFERRING-BODILY-FLUID as well. So, BEWARE!!!!

3) PICHKARI:

   

 PICHKARIs, and that too those fluorescent-yellow/green or fluorescent-pink or fluorescent-orange ones. Of course, with 2 containers with a capacity of storing at least 1 quintal of water in it. 

                          

      MY CHILDHOOD COMPANIONS!!  I LOVE THEM!!!

    

The guy is not me! REALLY!

4) BHAANG:

     CAUTION:  You can find this post being published numerous times.That’s not my fault.

Cannabis (bhaang) seeds into milk, followed by some boiling of the emulsion, with lots of dry fruits in it, tastes awful. But, its more pleasing effects on the nervous system are awesome. Especially when consumed in copious amounts using large LASSI utensils.

Try laughter and bhang together, I bet you will continue with the laughter for another 6 hrs if you manage to stay awake. So, it is highly recommended to the students giving BOARD exams so that they can manage the rote lessons.

5) BONFIRE:

    The killing wetness & the shivering body due to the HOLI HAI atmosphere is enough to be a reason for a visit to a physician in the near future. Thus, the HOLIKA DAHAN BONFIRE is always a respite from the coldness. While my family is busy with performing the puja and aarti near the bonfire, my wet form is more interested in the gathering of the coconut offerings from the bonfire that are part-roasted in the bonfire. My mother T finds the coconut KHAVAT (rotten in MARATHI) and declares that the coconut offerings have reached the ALMIGHTY.

 My wet face quickly dries up. There is a mysterious coolness in the heat and warmth of the bonfire. It reminds me of those wonderful hours I spend reading a book under the coolness of the candle light. SIMPLY DIVINE. And I wonder how a candle light dinner with a loved one can be!

HOLI HAI BHAI HOLI HAI!!!