Mayuri... (and no! it's not a girl!!!)

Manisha Xerox is a small photo-copying store behind our college that has already attained quasi-legendary status as a Mecca for any student desiring a copy of any document. The man running the place is a shrewd individual who has resorted to the clever technique of keeping extra copies of any document that he feels may be required by more than one student. Thus when the other students come they can simply 'buy' a copy rather than bring along an original to be photo-copied. He was the first photo-copying shop to set up in the vicinity and having complete monopoly over the trade, he had set his rate to a far too exorbitant 75p per copy. Now, even though there are other photo-copiers around offering services for much lower prices, he still seems to do fair business. It never ceases to amaze me!
The focus of this post though, is not Manisha Xerox but a rather non-descript, louche joint that sits right next to it.
“Mayuri Hotel”, the sign informs in Hindi. 'Hotel' is far too generous a term for it. It reminds me of one of those old Western Saloons. It's an extremely low-key affair and one would under normal circumstances not even pay it a second glance.
So why were today's circumstances not normal? Well, Siddarth (Dani) and I were standing outside Manisha (or to be more precise the shop next it), when lo and behold, a bevy of college professors come out of Mayuri!! It included a healthy mix of chaps from the Computer, Electronics and Mechanical Departments.
It wasn't the sight of the professors that startled us, but rather the number of them. It was a well-known fact that a couple of professors sought refuge in Mayuri occasionally, but we had no idea so many of them frequented the place. Some of the faces in the group too surprised us. Renowned professors whom you would NEVER associate with that cheap place!
After they left, Sid and I decided to pay the place a visit - try and figure out what those guys saw in it. When we entered the place was totally empty. No sooner had we seated ourselves at a table, than a waiter-boy placed an ashtray in front of us. That itself was enough for us to understand the motive behind the professors' visits. A 3.45pm stress busting cigarette or two! If we needed further proof, the gargantuan stack of cigarette packets on the shelves supplied it.
For the record, Dani had a soda and I had a cup (make it a glass) of tea. The ambience of the place was actually pretty nice. It kinda makes you forget that you are just 30 meters from that hellhole you call college. The soft music playing in the background gives you that village feeling, and the place was surprisingly clean given its shady appearance.
The posters on the wall seemed to belong to a decade long past and to our astonishment, the prices seemed just as medieval. It's one of the few places where no matter what you order, you will quite likely end up paying the bill in coins!
We're thinking of making another appearance there one of these days when it's actually filled with profs. And who knows, maybe even light up a ciggie! And kiss our term-work marks good-bye!!

The Truth be Known...

Far too many people have waxed eloquent about the supposed positve qualities of VIT; counterfeit allocutions by faculty members at various events, fake speeches by parents during the Annual Day function, phony articles by sycophantic students etc. Hence, my aim today is to represent the true picture in the form of an uncensored diatribe where political correctness has been intentionally ignored.

My first complaint involves the unnecessary load of journal-work that is ruthlessly dumped on students. There is little sense in the machine-like copying of vast quantities of information, which is often wrong and rarely ellicits more than a fleeting glance from the concerned staff. In fact, this semester one of the assignments involved the copying - word for word - of an Intel Manual! I have seldom come across anything more ludicrous!

Absolutely nothing of any merit is achieved through this asinine exercise. Never will the student learn anything, for he will do nothing more than copy blindly from his mate's journal, who in turn will have copied it from someone before him. As this chain of Chinese Whispers (or should it be Chinese Transcriptions?) progresses, the amount of errors in the write-up inevitably undergo the process of cumulation. Thus a majority of the students will have write-ups that contain more mistakes than correct statements!

The simplest solution to this problem is to simply do away with the idea of write-up's. Completely. The focus should be on comprehension and not scribe-like blind copying, Thus at the end of every practical a student will have to fill up a printed sheet with his observations and conclusions of that practical turn. The student will then be subjected to an oral examination by the concerned staff member followed by the staff member signing his sheet. This sheet is then filed away and need not be looked at again until the final submission. This idea will work extremely well for FE and SE practicals. A slight revamping may be necessary to adapt it for TE and BE practicals.

The teaching staff aren't the greatest in the world either. Of the five subject lecturers I have this semester, one is a hypocritical, schizophrenic megalomaniac; another is as capricious as a Persian Sultan; the third is as ignorant about her subject as Mickey Mouse (at least she's honest enough to admit it though!); the fourth spews out a steady stream of words at a rate faster than Ricky Ponting, ensuring all of us are fast asleep; and the fifth is, well, decent.

Most of the staff speak English only a little better than I speak Hindi, thus providing for entertainment as well as 'education' during their lectures. The lectures consist of the mechanical repetition of information that they have learned by rote from some book. In fact, I remember one professor last semester who was a little more clever; he didn't waste his time learning anything by heart, but instead employed the better expedient of simply carrying the book to class and copying it ad verbatim onto the board! Asking questions to any of them would be fruitless, for even on the extremely rare occasion that they actually try to listen to (and understand!) the point you have to make, they will be incompetent to provide an answer.

The sole reason they command any respect from the students is because of the term-work and practical exam marks that they wield. And wield effectively, I may add. Some of them are not averse to using these marks in a manner that amounts to downright emotional blackmail. This leads to scores of sycophantic students who will gladly condescend to sweeping the ground in front of these teachers.

The library staff is not much better. In fact they are far worse. Their cold eyes and emotionless faces lead me to hypothesize that they can probably trace their Aryan lineage to somewhere in Germany and share a common ancestor with the Führer himself. A smile on their faces is rarer than a Ganguly century. God forbid anyone should ever require any assistance from them, for it will be as forthcoming as gold doubloons from a miser.

I have a bone to pick with the management staff of the college too. I believe that the people laying down the law in the college are too old. This is the reason for the preposterous rules that are in existence today. They also possess a Conservative ideology which frustrates this modern day Liberal to no end. I was born into a free country, but that freedom ceases to exist when I step over into the confines of my college. I am not allowed to use my mobile phone, wear the kind of garb I wish to don or kiss a girl in college because these things are prohibited! During the Annual Gathering, the band is not allowed to perform Rock songs because it goes against the "Indian Culture"! I once even got into trouble for carrying a cigarette lighter to college!

I think the best way to improve matters on this front is to get rid of all the gray hair in the college offices. Bring younger faces into the management and things may attain a semblance of normalcy. I'm not saying all of the younger staff are better at making rules, but I feel they are less likely to come up with ridiculous canons like the ones currently existing.

The above screed already paints a dismal picture of the state of affairs in our college. Throw in a canteen that serves only over-priced vegetarian food, a severe paucity of parking space and a lack of adequate sporting facilities and the picture only becomes more bleary!

How to pass your time in college !

The following was penned down during one of my more boring lectures...


PERFECT STRANGERS
-----------------

I see her face in my mind's eye,
She looks at me and aloud does sigh.

I know her eyes, her nose, her lips,
Her cute dimples and the curve of her hips.

I know everything and yet have no clue,
About who she is, or what I should do.

She knows me too, though nought can she tell,
About who I am, or where I dwell.

We've talked a thousand times before,
Plenty of stories and jokes galore.

That we're in love, there can be no doubt,
But sheer despair make me want to shout.

The love we share is of many kinds,
But we've only met in each others minds!

A Cricket Post (for a change...)

Watched an exciting final session of the India-Pakistan Test Series today. It's always nice when a series boils down to the very last session. This time it was Pakistan who walked away with the smiles plastered on their faces. I got the feeling that Inzy could have declared a little earlier yesterday, but then hindsight is a powerful tool! Anyways, the final result today vindicated his decision.
There was a small session post tea, where Tendulkar had decided quite resolutely to duck under anything remotely short. This resulted in one not-so-short Sami delivery hitting him in the back of his helmet. He wasn't even fazed.
Now the point is, have you realized just how many times this happens in modern cricket? I mean a batsman getting hit on the helmet and just shrugging it off! Makes you admire all those batsmen who belonged to an era when a felt cap was all the cranial protection you had. I think Sachin would think not twice but 20 times before hooking or pulling a fast bowler were he batting without the luxury of the helmet. Which is just one of the reasons why you cannot compare him with batsmen like Bradman. Even Sir Viv batted for most of his career without a helmet and assaulted some of the fastest bowlers of his time with his ferocious pull.
It brings to mind an incident where Ponting had gotten hit in the jaw trying to pull Shoaib Akhtar delivery while not wearing a helmet. Many people may consider this sheer stupidity on the part of RP, I think it was a manifestation of his gutsy, I-don't-give-a-damn-about-you spirit. There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity and I think Ponting was on the correct side of that line.
I'd like to see more batsmen coming out without the helmet, even to face fast bowlers. It's fine if tail-enders wish to wear a helmet, but I feel the better batsmen of the world should not. The game's already skewed in favor of the batsmen; let's make it a little more interesting.

Time to Take a Hike!

I believe it's time to get all these senile old buffoons away from the podium. It's ludicrous to see quinquagenarians and sexagenarians teaching young students in their early 20's.
Firstly, there is an obvious mis-match of frequency between these two age groups. It's almost impossible that they will see eye-to-eye on anything. I speak from personal experience as well as that of my college mates. Neither can either group understand the mentality of the other, nor will they make an effort to do so. This results in inevitable conflict. The younger teachers ,on the other hand, are much more adept at understanding the students. They themselves have just graduated and are more aware of the problems faced by students. Also, there's much less formality required when dealing with these younger teachers and so one can freely express one's self without fear of what may happen.
It is also foolhardy to expect someone who has studied sometime during the Korean War to teach young Computer Engg. undergrads like us. I mention Comp. Engg. here because the fast pace of advancement in technology today means that this effect is more noticeable in this field than in most others. For example, it is understandable for a 60 year old to be teaching Shakespeare to people majoring in English, but not for someone of the same age to be teaching me Micro-processors!
I have always found the younger teachers to be better teachers - both in terms of attitude as well as knowledge. Of course, this like any other rule is subject to exceptions. But on the whole it holds true. My top three profs are all under the age of 30.
What are all the white- haired oldies supposed to do? Play golf, maybe?

Boo-Hoo's

Well, all those who know me will easily testify to the fact that I never cry. NEVER cry. N-E-V-E-R C-R-Y!

I don't know why. It's just that I was never very good at expressing emotion and for some reason I would never cry. I could never cry.

Even through the most heart-wrenching incidents or events, I would always have a dry eye. I was very Chandler-like in that respect. In fact I would normally try to break the melancholy or awkwardness with some joke, which would then result in my getting disapproving stares from all around.

So it will come as a surprise to most that I have cried twice in the last three days! And I've now realized that it's not all that hard to do so. I used to wonder how girls could let the tears flow so easily, but I'm now beginning to believe it's not the toughest thing in the world. I guess it's all in the first time.

Both occasions were the result of my reading a mail. Email to be more precise. The emails were dated 30th Dec and 31st Dec, and it's not the first time I'd read them. The only difference was this time, I didn't try not to cry.

I was alone both times and so no one has seen me cry yet. I guess that's one thing that's going to be even tougher to overcome - actually being able to let the tears out in front of other people. I'm not sure when (or even if) I'll be able to do that but it sure would be better to have a shoulder to cry on.

Anyways, it does feel nice to let all that emotion out instead of keeping it inside...

:-(

I just read in the newspaper today, that there was a shoot-out in Diamond Queen Cafe yesterday afternoon. It's a scary thought, since the place is not more than 10 minutes from my house and I have been there quite often.
Apparently, there was some enmity between these two blokes, and when one of them entered the place the other who was already inside drew out a gun and fired. Luckily, the bullet did not hit the target and no one was injured.
For all those of you living in Bombay or any other big city, this may not seem like such a big deal, but it disturbs me. The increase in crime in Poona in the last few years is a worrying factor and leaves me sad.
I sincerely do hope things will change and brighter days are ahead.

Happy Easter

Another week has flown by, and the end of the term neareth. It shall be accompanied by the customary scramble to get in all one's sumbmissions before the tolling of the death knell. I fear sleepless nights lie ahead...

The weather has become unbearably hot, and it's still March! I do not wish to contemplate about what it will be like in the coming two months. I wish our college would establish a strict dress code consisting of the following -

All guys must come in basketball shorts and sleeveless vests.
All gals must come in hot-pants and bikini tops.

(People like Tejas Chitnis may have the liberty of choosing either attire, or even a cross between the two! ;-) )

I'm sure it would not only serve to beat the heat, but also ensure an appreciable rise in the attendance! I'm going to drop this suggestion somewhere in college. Let's see what happens!

Does anyone out there know the price of a second hand, reasonably well maintained Mahindra Classic Jeep? And also does anyone know someone who's selling? Any information would be appreciated.

And finally, A HAPPY EASTER TO Y'ALL!! Hope you received a visit from your little leporine friend ;-) !!

I need a Break!

On at least a half-dozen occasions in the past month, I have been searching for something in my room only to find myself sub-conciously wondering why I wasn’t using Google or Ctrl-F.
Guess I have been sitting at the computer for way too long off-late!

All you Girls can wear Black Today!

Almost everyone who knows me, asks why I don't have a haircut more often? Mes amis, read on...

I go for a haircut around twice a year. I can't understand how most people go for one every month or so. I can think of few more torturous ordeals than this one. The hair-dresser's chair differs little from its electric cousin in my eyes. Even a visit to a dentist is slightly more pleasureable. At least he speaks English...
Ah, yes! Therein lies my first problem. Now, I am normally fairly garrulous when it comes to speaking in English; but should the conversation switch to Hindi and all traces of eloquence vanish like the mist on a summer's morning. Words are few and far between, and rarely consist of more than one syllable. How am I supposed to convey to the hair-dresser exactly what I want? To add to my woes, most hair-dressers are as loquacious as an old lady who's been drinking too much.

(All converstions were in Hindi and have been translated.)

The first thing that I had to do on entering the place, was wait for about 20 minutes until someone was free. The only form of divertissement present were some tattered Filmfare magazines, and since I possess less than zero interest in Bollywood, I spent my time reconsidering my decision to let go of my long locks. When my turn came, this dubiety must have been amply manifested on my visage, for the bloke pounced on it with the predatory skill of a hungry hawk.


"What can I do?"
"Just cut my hair, mate."

Might as well get it over and done with, I thought.

"Are you sure? Why don't you just straighten it? You'll look very nice with straight hair."


Yeah, of course you'd think so. It's gonna fetch you a few hundred bucks. And I prefer my compliments coming from girls, thank you!


"No thanks."
"Really? Why would you want to get rid of this long hair? I'm telling you, just try straightening it. Then you can comb it back this way." He indicates how it should be combed back. I start to look like a cross between a young Macaulay Culkin and something out of a Mafia movie.


No, you dumbass. Just the haircut.


"NO!"
"What about a shave?"
"No again."


I prefer the stubble, if it’s all the same to you.


He starts cutting my hair.
“How should I cut it?”
“Nice and short.”
“Yeah, but how short?”
“About this much.” I indicate with my finger about half an inch.
“Really? Why do you want it so short?”


Because its MY hair, in case you didn’t realise.


I don’t answer, thinking that maybe silence would put an end to his questions. I guess I had failed to realize the tenacity of this individual.

“What about coloring your hair?”


What the hell! Forget about my hair, my face was already turning red.


“No.”
He continues cutting, now focussing his confabulatory skills on other innocent customers around me. I drift away in thought.

After a couple of minutes, he brings me back to reality.

“How would you like your sidelocks?”
“Normal, nothing fancy.”
“Straight or slanting.”
“Straight.”
He then proceeds to cut them at a slant.


Why the hell did you ask me in that case?


After a few more minutes, he asks me whether my hair was short enough. He must have been blind, because it wasn’t even close to the half inch I had indicated.

“No, cut it shorter.” I indicated with my finger again.

His scissors waved around little more, and again he stopped well short of the desired mark. He proceeded to comb my hair back.

“Shorter still. And I don’t want it combed back.”
“Why? This length suits you perfectly. And if you comb it back, you will look simply superb.”


I already mentioned that I do not approve of guys complmenting me on my looks, and am even more uncomfortable when the guy doing that is playing around with my hair! I’m torn between insisting on getting my hair cut shorter and running away like the Devil was after me.


I choose the middle road. “Great. This will do just fine.” I rise to leave.

“Wait, would you like a shave?”

Does your memory need refreshing every 10 minutes?

“No, I don’t.”

“A head massage?”
“No.”

“A facial?”
“No.”

I could already see another question forming on his lips. I gave him the stop-before-you-cross-the-line look. He pays heed.

I quickly thrust the (a tad too exorbitant) fees into his hand and scram. Stopping only long enough to dishevel my combed back hair.

(The End)


Now you all know why I hate having a haircut. I’m thinking of reducing the frequency from half-yearly to yearly.