What makes this birthday special?
1. I'm still at office.
2. I'm not allowed to drink, necessarily or legally, but they make a big deal of it anyway.
3. Mum and Dad are both here, as in the same city. Long time.
4. I'm happy, and NOTHING has gone wrong today.
5. I'm with new friends and I'll be meeting the old ones.
6. I'm actually following Manasi's instructions. As opposed to doing something in the 180.
7. Oh well who cares!
So yes, Thank you- as far as today goes, to Maa and Dadda, for staying up. To Coll and Shri- for turning up (surprise surprise), Rahul (the REAL surprise) for the event co-ordination, Manasi- for the day-long SMSes. To Babboo- for that one little mail.
Everyone who called. Rishanka for the loooong birthday call :) shared with the dog.
Everyone who posted. 247 posts as of right now. I have LOADSA friends!
Radhi, Ankit, Renu.
And the office gang. Party (ALisha- rollypollyrollypollyrightleftright) abhi baaki hai!
And now, the rest of ze party! Yaaaayyyy!!!
Hum bade ho gaye!
I no more stand in the background
Just this morning, I spoke about not knowing what is happening around, and thanks to the replies and comments I got, I can say that yes, I'm a tad bit wiser and a lot more affected by this movement that I expected to be.
You would be too.
As I write this, my colleagues are uploading a video of the march taking place against corruption that happens in the country.
Shouts of 'Vande Mataram'- not only agitated, but from the heart gave the on-lookers goosebumps. You cannot compare the edge in the voices that reverberate through the Juhu air as thousands- and no one would object to that number, because it is not an exaggeration, take to the streets- to recent events such as the World Cup victory. It seems so insignificant now, that I am almost embarrassed for having taken to the streets that day.
The atmosphere is still trembling as batches of scattered residents from we can't even begin to estimate march past. When earlier this morning, we discussed the march and the impending rally, none of us expected that we would be part of it later. Yes, the initial guilt of not being an active sloganeer or having covered an even admissible distance did quieten us, but as we stepped into the streets ourselves, Himanshu (who shot a video himself, please look it up at his video, me and me again) and I hesitatingly took out our phone cameras and shot what we saw- our documentation of a struggle that fights brown skin, being brown-skinned yourself. The energy isn't at all the romanticized versions of passion and patriotism as you'd expect to see, but a raw, raw need to find lost justice.
The crowds were, if there is anything on a scale like this, representative of the country. People of every age, and this includes parents carrying young children on their shoulders, were shouting slogans which confirmed support towards Anna, and the movement's primary motive of a corruption free India.
Two things come into mind now-
First, that the march wasn't for or against the release or fasting Anna Hazare is part of. It was purely against the corruption. The people on the street are not supporting a person necessarily- this is an ideology. This may or may not be one of those hyped media issues that tones down, and finally is stamped out due to disinterest. But for the moment- seeing that the public is unanimously fighting for a currently prevalent, solvable problem (unlike the rally post the Mumbai terrorist attacks- which, consider this, were pointless- the damage was done) that may have a solution, or at least will be at the forefront in the minds of people who face this.
Second, if in any way this has to be compared to any freedom struggle, this is, as philosophical as it seems, a fight against the devil inside. Except for one group condemning the Congress, all groups were focusing on a streak of freedom against the ways that we ourselves have promoted. Pay the fine, undertake the procedure, and stick your ground.
If this is even a billionth of what the Independence struggle felt like, then I can say that I have been honored.
If a thousand people can unite for a cause like this, I can say that we as a nation may not be shining, but we do have a glow.
Old girl in the old city
As Manasi packs her bags, I'm almost as apprehensive as she is. The entire jazz about her not being around in the city is camouflaged by my fatigue of landing home 12 hours after I actually leave. While most would be concerned about the logistics of the move (place to stay, washing, food, money etc) I'm worried about her need of having any known face around. It could even be Mahadev, our eternal and never-to-be-fired dhobi.
She's so used to Mumbai, along with its sweaty, sweet, somewhat stale scents that when she doesn't enter a train on a regular basis, I think she's gonna have withdrawal symptoms. I hope she doesn't start spitting around the roads to make herself feel more at home.
Bangalore's not just dry- it's cold. And by cold I mean the kind in which you can't walk around barefoot in your house. In Mumbai you shouldn't, because dust settles here more often than winds blow and certainly more often than it's cleaned off the floor- but in Bangalore it's a physical impossibility to walk on marbled flooring in the evenings.
Her next big hurdle is getting people to like her. In denial about it, she's pretty convinced that while her first impression on most is terrible (and I can't differ there)- she makes up for it given a certain amount of time. Variable, but certain amount of time. Going there, one of the things I figured is that people don't really bother. Not about your first impression or your last. That's how South Indians are. Indifferent. Which doesn't mean she needs to go out of her way to ruin the impression bit, but darling don't bug yourself into anything. We've probably learnt this the hardest way- be yourself. Which means be your average take-shit-give-shit person.
About work. It's not like people haven't had first days ever- but Manasi's firsts are twice as dramatic as they should be allowed to be. So while she comes back from her first day of sincere application of her asocial skills and some work, I'll probably be in a state to collapse. Yes, I'll call to find out- but no, don't give me "arre kya, it was so ordinary" answer. Darling, you're gonna have to work, out of choice or chance- so make the best of it by the icing we all thank Shriya for coining as Nain Sukh Praapti. Look around. Kannadigas aren't THAT disappointing.
Please, get two mirrors for facing walls wherever you put up. On days you don't have much to do, you can sit for hours and do and redo and undo your hair or what's left of it.
Life will be different, very different. I suppose only time will tell whether or not it'll be the good different or the bad. Yes, I'm gonna miss you the minute you leave the building. It's this dread I have. All the time. Our gang of 8 had 5 left, and now with 3- it'll be somehow way too sparse for me to believe. There's a huge, empty void in the (seemingly endless) pit of my stomach. Sometimes I think about it and feel like someone cut my thumb off. I wish I could tell you about it.
But it isn't about me. I have Coll and Shri. It's you I'm worried about.
So yeah, unsolicited advice from the eternal inexperienced Yoda.
Don't be afraid of pinning your hopes on anyone or anything.
Believe in things, and let them shatter you sometimes. It's the masochist fun of picking ourselves back up and grinning into the mirror after we're done that leaves us stronger.
Go wrong sometimes, in the decisions that affect you. How'll you know what's good otherwise?
Be irrational. See how far you can go into being me. Then, if things begin to get out of control- which they never fully will- call up and we'll see how much I can be you.
Every new place gives us a new face. You may not recognise the person you've become there. But it's still you- embrace it. Never forget- home is where you are, not where you are longest.
She's so used to Mumbai, along with its sweaty, sweet, somewhat stale scents that when she doesn't enter a train on a regular basis, I think she's gonna have withdrawal symptoms. I hope she doesn't start spitting around the roads to make herself feel more at home.
Bangalore's not just dry- it's cold. And by cold I mean the kind in which you can't walk around barefoot in your house. In Mumbai you shouldn't, because dust settles here more often than winds blow and certainly more often than it's cleaned off the floor- but in Bangalore it's a physical impossibility to walk on marbled flooring in the evenings.
Her next big hurdle is getting people to like her. In denial about it, she's pretty convinced that while her first impression on most is terrible (and I can't differ there)- she makes up for it given a certain amount of time. Variable, but certain amount of time. Going there, one of the things I figured is that people don't really bother. Not about your first impression or your last. That's how South Indians are. Indifferent. Which doesn't mean she needs to go out of her way to ruin the impression bit, but darling don't bug yourself into anything. We've probably learnt this the hardest way- be yourself. Which means be your average take-shit-give-shit person.
About work. It's not like people haven't had first days ever- but Manasi's firsts are twice as dramatic as they should be allowed to be. So while she comes back from her first day of sincere application of her asocial skills and some work, I'll probably be in a state to collapse. Yes, I'll call to find out- but no, don't give me "arre kya, it was so ordinary" answer. Darling, you're gonna have to work, out of choice or chance- so make the best of it by the icing we all thank Shriya for coining as Nain Sukh Praapti. Look around. Kannadigas aren't THAT disappointing.
Please, get two mirrors for facing walls wherever you put up. On days you don't have much to do, you can sit for hours and do and redo and undo your hair or what's left of it.
Life will be different, very different. I suppose only time will tell whether or not it'll be the good different or the bad. Yes, I'm gonna miss you the minute you leave the building. It's this dread I have. All the time. Our gang of 8 had 5 left, and now with 3- it'll be somehow way too sparse for me to believe. There's a huge, empty void in the (seemingly endless) pit of my stomach. Sometimes I think about it and feel like someone cut my thumb off. I wish I could tell you about it.
But it isn't about me. I have Coll and Shri. It's you I'm worried about.
So yeah, unsolicited advice from the eternal inexperienced Yoda.
Don't be afraid of pinning your hopes on anyone or anything.
Believe in things, and let them shatter you sometimes. It's the masochist fun of picking ourselves back up and grinning into the mirror after we're done that leaves us stronger.
Go wrong sometimes, in the decisions that affect you. How'll you know what's good otherwise?
Be irrational. See how far you can go into being me. Then, if things begin to get out of control- which they never fully will- call up and we'll see how much I can be you.
Every new place gives us a new face. You may not recognise the person you've become there. But it's still you- embrace it. Never forget- home is where you are, not where you are longest.
The girl who grew up with the boy who lived.
I grew up with him. Literally, literally. The first movie came out when I was ten going on eleven, same as Potter. Started reading the books around the same time. So you can imagine what I went through when I didn’t receive my Hogwarts letter on my birthday. Muggled for life, I suppose. I started reading it on the way home from the library. It was a 339- and I hadn’t known the significance of that bus back then- and mum was sitting next to me. A guy with really low waist jeans was standing a little ahead in the bus and with every bump that the bus would go over, I’d glance upwards to check if he still had them on. Low rise was a new thing. I had finished all but the last 43 pages in the ride back home, thanks to the Pump House traffic jam.
The second book- and now we stop talking about the movie, not only because I don’t remember what they were about, but also because the directors henceforth stopped showing what was important to me- was the first ever book that made me stay up the night. And get a fever, all courtesy the excitement at the end of it. The Basilisk attacks invaded my sleep for 3 days before I could get myself to complete the book. Harry Potter triumphed. I rushed down to tell the best friend and co-Harry Potter adventurer- Manasi how feverish I felt. She’s used some tremendously long word, or at least that was what it seemed then to tell me that it’s alright, I’m overreacting. A line I never gave her the chance to stop repeating to most of my situations.
I just came across the third book. Just, not as in recently- but in the context that it happened by chance. I suppose like the others, I must have borrowed from the library. Harry was growing up fast- I was 13 with him. A lot of things happened that year, actually. 2003 brought home two of the most important boys in my life. Clarence had read the books; Collin was intimidated by the size of them. Shriya was indifferent. Harry Potter seems to be one of the least discussed topics between us, and that’s saying something because 1. We talk about anything and 2. Even today, the movie has a special place in our mind. But we’re strange. 2003 also happened to be the first time we agreed not to slit each other’s throats.
I couldn’t wait to know what was in the fourth book. Only Manasi had read it by then. I nagged her to death and back before she relented and told me the story beforehand. Back then, there were no benches in the primitive Namaskaar. We would sit at the edge of the tank up ahead and talk about it. While she told me the story, I was staring with concentration at Aashirwaad. Harry had now faced Voldemort, and the world was dark again. Manasi also gave me some advice- don’t call out his name aloud. Some believe that he really does exist. And, as expected, I walked around the building all pseudo brave whispering ‘Voldemort’ out in the darkest places. A justification- ‘whispering’ not because I was scared, but because if I said it aloud, people would know that I’m cracking up.
The fifth book was a disappointment. The entire point of it seemed to be Sirius’s death- so it wasn’t a happy point, really. Manasi has bought the book. I borrowed it from her. And it took me a really long while to plough through 767 pages of nothingness. For the first time, I had trouble picturing what some scene would look like, with reference to the fight at the ministry. The book really did not leave an impression. I did connect the dots, eventually. Umbridge and Trelawney and the entire fiasco at the ministry and Harry attacking people were odd. I stuck to my impression of what he’d gone through the past year as an emotional support. The less said the better. I went through the ordeal with a frown, and ended up without Sirius.
The sixth book was a gift from Mum. I was at school, it was a Tuesday. The rains outside wouldn’t subside. Dad came to pick me up from school that day. We were stuck outside in the rain for 7 hours before Mum joined us from Inorbit, ‘The Half Blood Prince’ in hand. Little did I know that we had another 10 hours to go till we got home. July 26, 2005 was memorable for most of us. A little wet, a little stuck- and a little more wet. Maa later told me how she was tempted to throw away the bags she was holding while trudging through waist deep waters for three hours before she got to the car. It happened to be one of her rare shopping sprees and she was carrying about 4 bags with her. What stopped her was my attachment to the book, and that she didn’t know which bag she’d kept it in.
I’d always heard about the people who’d line up in front of book stores to catch the first copy of the book on the day of openings, and somehow I wasn’t too keen. Until, of course, I met Rishanka. I’d spent the summer with her fantasising about how the book would turn out to be. On July 21, I picked up my copy from Shabd, Borivali at 6.47 am- thirteen minutes before the rest of Mumbai did. When Rishanka got hold of hers, a few minutes later, we opened the first page together, 6 miles apart. The day was spent trying to read the book between lectures and irritated professors. Both of had predictions about the book. All ten of mine came true. Harry Potter lived for another 15 hours, and our questions were answered.
If I were to go into a deeper analysis of what my take on the series would be like, I’d have to read through it again. I remember almost everything. But somehow, I don’t want to read every book again. I like the books. I love the books. I can defend any angle and any take on it. At one point of time, I could rattle off the chapter names in sequence. Pottermania- they called it. I called it love. But I don’t want to read them again now. It’s probably because I’m 10 years older than him when he started. Because now, I’d want to know the 21 year old Harry, not the 11 year old one. I can’t relate to him anymore. He’s a friend I knew when I was a child and a teenager. Neither of which I am now.Now the people around me fascinate me. There aren’t good and bad people in my life - I’ve learnt to appreciate that and I’m intrigued by the grey areas. Them and their stories. I’d like Harry to meet my friends someday. Our stories may not be legends, but every day- we’re survivors.
It’s the Harry Potter movie I’m worried about. That’s the problem. And ‘Zindagi na Milegi Dobara’. Ironic, given yesterday’s incidents. Zindagi, every day, is what I have been gifted by those who decide to kill someone else every time, and spare me once again.
Maybe I should thank them- that’s all that that’s left of me. Or of us.
The second book- and now we stop talking about the movie, not only because I don’t remember what they were about, but also because the directors henceforth stopped showing what was important to me- was the first ever book that made me stay up the night. And get a fever, all courtesy the excitement at the end of it. The Basilisk attacks invaded my sleep for 3 days before I could get myself to complete the book. Harry Potter triumphed. I rushed down to tell the best friend and co-Harry Potter adventurer- Manasi how feverish I felt. She’s used some tremendously long word, or at least that was what it seemed then to tell me that it’s alright, I’m overreacting. A line I never gave her the chance to stop repeating to most of my situations.
I just came across the third book. Just, not as in recently- but in the context that it happened by chance. I suppose like the others, I must have borrowed from the library. Harry was growing up fast- I was 13 with him. A lot of things happened that year, actually. 2003 brought home two of the most important boys in my life. Clarence had read the books; Collin was intimidated by the size of them. Shriya was indifferent. Harry Potter seems to be one of the least discussed topics between us, and that’s saying something because 1. We talk about anything and 2. Even today, the movie has a special place in our mind. But we’re strange. 2003 also happened to be the first time we agreed not to slit each other’s throats.
I couldn’t wait to know what was in the fourth book. Only Manasi had read it by then. I nagged her to death and back before she relented and told me the story beforehand. Back then, there were no benches in the primitive Namaskaar. We would sit at the edge of the tank up ahead and talk about it. While she told me the story, I was staring with concentration at Aashirwaad. Harry had now faced Voldemort, and the world was dark again. Manasi also gave me some advice- don’t call out his name aloud. Some believe that he really does exist. And, as expected, I walked around the building all pseudo brave whispering ‘Voldemort’ out in the darkest places. A justification- ‘whispering’ not because I was scared, but because if I said it aloud, people would know that I’m cracking up.
The fifth book was a disappointment. The entire point of it seemed to be Sirius’s death- so it wasn’t a happy point, really. Manasi has bought the book. I borrowed it from her. And it took me a really long while to plough through 767 pages of nothingness. For the first time, I had trouble picturing what some scene would look like, with reference to the fight at the ministry. The book really did not leave an impression. I did connect the dots, eventually. Umbridge and Trelawney and the entire fiasco at the ministry and Harry attacking people were odd. I stuck to my impression of what he’d gone through the past year as an emotional support. The less said the better. I went through the ordeal with a frown, and ended up without Sirius.
The sixth book was a gift from Mum. I was at school, it was a Tuesday. The rains outside wouldn’t subside. Dad came to pick me up from school that day. We were stuck outside in the rain for 7 hours before Mum joined us from Inorbit, ‘The Half Blood Prince’ in hand. Little did I know that we had another 10 hours to go till we got home. July 26, 2005 was memorable for most of us. A little wet, a little stuck- and a little more wet. Maa later told me how she was tempted to throw away the bags she was holding while trudging through waist deep waters for three hours before she got to the car. It happened to be one of her rare shopping sprees and she was carrying about 4 bags with her. What stopped her was my attachment to the book, and that she didn’t know which bag she’d kept it in.
I’d always heard about the people who’d line up in front of book stores to catch the first copy of the book on the day of openings, and somehow I wasn’t too keen. Until, of course, I met Rishanka. I’d spent the summer with her fantasising about how the book would turn out to be. On July 21, I picked up my copy from Shabd, Borivali at 6.47 am- thirteen minutes before the rest of Mumbai did. When Rishanka got hold of hers, a few minutes later, we opened the first page together, 6 miles apart. The day was spent trying to read the book between lectures and irritated professors. Both of had predictions about the book. All ten of mine came true. Harry Potter lived for another 15 hours, and our questions were answered.
If I were to go into a deeper analysis of what my take on the series would be like, I’d have to read through it again. I remember almost everything. But somehow, I don’t want to read every book again. I like the books. I love the books. I can defend any angle and any take on it. At one point of time, I could rattle off the chapter names in sequence. Pottermania- they called it. I called it love. But I don’t want to read them again now. It’s probably because I’m 10 years older than him when he started. Because now, I’d want to know the 21 year old Harry, not the 11 year old one. I can’t relate to him anymore. He’s a friend I knew when I was a child and a teenager. Neither of which I am now.Now the people around me fascinate me. There aren’t good and bad people in my life - I’ve learnt to appreciate that and I’m intrigued by the grey areas. Them and their stories. I’d like Harry to meet my friends someday. Our stories may not be legends, but every day- we’re survivors.
It’s the Harry Potter movie I’m worried about. That’s the problem. And ‘Zindagi na Milegi Dobara’. Ironic, given yesterday’s incidents. Zindagi, every day, is what I have been gifted by those who decide to kill someone else every time, and spare me once again.
Maybe I should thank them- that’s all that that’s left of me. Or of us.
Sunburned
Goa does that to people. Puts them in place in the larger scheme of things. You're headed for the time of your life, pretty darned sure you'll be tempted to have your first alcoholic drink, a morning walk along the sea and the tryst with a random stranger who'll live in your mind for the rest of your life.
You want to live Sam's life in Goa.
You live Sid's.
The drinks you stick to are hot chocolate and at the riskiest, it's Iced tea when you have a sore throat. You wake up ideally around 8, when your alarm is set to 6- and find that everyone around you has no intentions of budging till well past noon. You shrug and settle into the blankets with a book you have. Very idealist-single-girl.
You're riding a two-wheeler with your eyes on the road and your mind in some internal rear-view mirror where all you can see in your past is a handful of people who might, just might be waiting for you to come back home. A friend's broken heart back home makes you want to pack your bags and rush to his side when you realise how everyone needs to heal on their own, and THIS, is your time to heal.
Then there are beaches. Blue. Untouched by plastic from Ganpati visarjans and the cores of corn kernels. On one hand women in nothing but skimpy shorts, and the other, your best friend in the waves, pulling down her shirt that keeps rolling up exposing an inch of skin. You chuckle.
A fever caused by staying out in the sun makes you retreat to the room, when four hours to yourself screw with your mind and makes you nothing but a delirious wreck of emotions that human shouldn't be permitted to suffer under.
Goa makes you take decisions.
To drink or not to drink?
To spend or not to spend?
How Goa can your vacation be?
How clichéd are you?
The cabana boy smiled at you. Run? Ignore? Smile back?
Madness has unique ways of creeping up to you.
The nights are better. You're too high on sea air and exhaustion from riding and thinking and obsessing and re-obsessing, and one of the electronic world's wonders- karaoke systems tempt you to the microphone where you turn your thoughts into pre-scripted ballads and stay happy in singing your story in someone else's words.
The next day's gonna be the bloody same, and as much as you hate the monotony, one part of you craves it- your lethargic schedule is the one familiar thing in the land of unfamiliarity and unpredictability.
And then you make decisions.
Without thinking, most of them, but that's only because thinking will make it more painful. No it isn't weed (there's no bravery in that, weed and hash). So it's yes or no time. What do you want to do when you get back?
Who do you want to see?
Who do you want to be with?
What lines to draw.
And who draws these lines.
Something like the Love Laws, as specified by Arundhati Roy.
And amidst all this thinking and rethinking, about actions of the past and plans for the future- you miss the laughter of the present and then wonder 'What if'.
So long Goa, I'm no smarter than I was before I met you. Just a lot darker- inside and out.
You want to live Sam's life in Goa.
You live Sid's.
The drinks you stick to are hot chocolate and at the riskiest, it's Iced tea when you have a sore throat. You wake up ideally around 8, when your alarm is set to 6- and find that everyone around you has no intentions of budging till well past noon. You shrug and settle into the blankets with a book you have. Very idealist-single-girl.
You're riding a two-wheeler with your eyes on the road and your mind in some internal rear-view mirror where all you can see in your past is a handful of people who might, just might be waiting for you to come back home. A friend's broken heart back home makes you want to pack your bags and rush to his side when you realise how everyone needs to heal on their own, and THIS, is your time to heal.
Then there are beaches. Blue. Untouched by plastic from Ganpati visarjans and the cores of corn kernels. On one hand women in nothing but skimpy shorts, and the other, your best friend in the waves, pulling down her shirt that keeps rolling up exposing an inch of skin. You chuckle.
A fever caused by staying out in the sun makes you retreat to the room, when four hours to yourself screw with your mind and makes you nothing but a delirious wreck of emotions that human shouldn't be permitted to suffer under.
Goa makes you take decisions.
To drink or not to drink?
To spend or not to spend?
How Goa can your vacation be?
How clichéd are you?
The cabana boy smiled at you. Run? Ignore? Smile back?
Madness has unique ways of creeping up to you.
The nights are better. You're too high on sea air and exhaustion from riding and thinking and obsessing and re-obsessing, and one of the electronic world's wonders- karaoke systems tempt you to the microphone where you turn your thoughts into pre-scripted ballads and stay happy in singing your story in someone else's words.
The next day's gonna be the bloody same, and as much as you hate the monotony, one part of you craves it- your lethargic schedule is the one familiar thing in the land of unfamiliarity and unpredictability.
And then you make decisions.
Without thinking, most of them, but that's only because thinking will make it more painful. No it isn't weed (there's no bravery in that, weed and hash). So it's yes or no time. What do you want to do when you get back?
Who do you want to see?
Who do you want to be with?
What lines to draw.
And who draws these lines.
Something like the Love Laws, as specified by Arundhati Roy.
And amidst all this thinking and rethinking, about actions of the past and plans for the future- you miss the laughter of the present and then wonder 'What if'.
So long Goa, I'm no smarter than I was before I met you. Just a lot darker- inside and out.
Thank You, Blimey Mighty Morons *Burp* (TYBMM 'B')- Part 3
Hello.
I know I haven't been fair. But let's say I've had a lot to do in the past few months that this post should have come up in. In any case, I'm happy to tell you that now seems to be a good time to let ze emosaans filow, and the words to start forming- because TYBMM B seems to be in love with itself (wooohoooo) and I love being a part of the madness. On the other hand, this lot of people has an unjust imbalance- there're so many I should've known better! Then again, here goes.
2008.3.071- Karishma Panvelkar aka Kalyan-ka-nahi-karat?
A lost face wondering what spastic society volunteering she signed up for. With a fleeting glance, you know she's been up all night (add some booze there) and really not a part of the usual crowd that enter TYBMM B's holy gates- i.e. her abysmal attendance records stun the blacklist. Revered by yours truly for having impeccable hard-copies- yes I remember psycho, you did that single-handedly- her only constant best friend till date has been in the opposite class. Here's something- I always thought you were Gujju. No clue why. I haven't really shared much space with you, na? Except for the time when we both couldn't shake the na-na-na from our heads for hours post Rock On, and when we turned into Grammar Nazis in Sem 2- the ride has been like Navita ma'am's lectures- rare, not exceptionally memorable, and fairly pleasant.
2008.3.072- Jaykumar Paradava aka Vacation-man
With the average learning speed at Mach fifteen, Jay sir, aap chhaa gaye. The guy with the shy smile, specks- I often messed up between you and Raval, the only one willing to actually conquer his vices and set the record straight- I won't believe if there's a single person who would want to change the way you are. Especially since you evolved so wonderfully yourself. Something to remember would be how you asked for sometime to learn before you were asked to speak in class- Agnes Ma'am, yaad hai? And of course, the famous Tahira ma'am entry- for those who missed it, she let him in because he smiled! I went 'aaawww' there...The plays, the dramatics, and the drama- this guy is one helluva success story. And as for the nickname- Jay! Surat do hafton ke liye chhod de! Please attend!
2008.3.073- Ankit Pareek aka Pappa
Bartman. Father-figure. Love-detector. Complete, thorough, and partner-pervert. You had us listening the minute you said, in favour of live-in relationships (because she couldn't find much else to talk about). Like we've agreed upon, only a 3D loser gets into a merit list thrice. Sincerely, eugh. But all through, if there was anyone I would want to spill it out to, it was you. I mean, what was the point of not telling you anything? You already knew! The presentations and the geeky remarks about what actually is wrong with the world, the conviction that silly is not cute- it's silly and the high forehead gave you the air of wisdom (and sometimes, in the rarest cases, wis-dumb) of playing bade-bhaiya (or Bhai-sa) to all of us. Keep the wisdom flowing, may God/wife earn you a Royal Enfield!
2008.3.074- Krishna Parekh aka Lambi-Race-ki-Ghodi
Yeh bandi masst hai. No, seriously- which is how she stays- pretty darned serious. How many of you can actually point out glitches in the her silent, strong, and consistent pattern of working in the past three years? She comes in with her bag over one shoulder, glides soundlessly over to her bench, and for the rest of the day, you know that one corner's been taken care of. AMR happens to be the first project we're in together (agar pehle kaam kar chuke hai saath mein toh bataa dena boss, memory card full hai aaj kal)...but there's this reassuring thing about you. Something that says, ki homework ho jaayega, tu tension mat le- and for the likes of us lot, who'd rather do the baahar ka kaand, you, are a life-saver! And one more thing, tera dimple is, bas too cute yaar!
2008.3.075- Urvi Parikh aka Morcha-girl
Initially, I was scared of you. Kab phategi pata nahi chalta tha. But then came the antaakshari and the jokes and the madness that Brand-Urvi-Parikh brings along...with of course, bonding over the fact that we're that rare breed of Science pass-outs, and almost extinct in the sub-category of girls in that type. For some reason, you always reminded me of having to go scream at someone...a point which was elaborated when we bulls-eyed on that Haryaanvi aunty at Juhu...throwball practice yaad hai? Kya yaar, like I said- there's no student-inspired drama nowadays in class...sab professors hi karte hai! Promise me, that wherever you are (i.e. Ad or Journo or well, WHEREVER!) you don't lose that one mad glint in the eye that says, I'm out to get you, or well- let's just dance!
Phew. The third edition required a lot of recall power. I shall now put down my sword, hope for a lesser number of 'post-kab-aayega' looks from the already bored class, and well- rush to the bed.
The next few- thou shalt be in, soon!
Cheers.
I know I haven't been fair. But let's say I've had a lot to do in the past few months that this post should have come up in. In any case, I'm happy to tell you that now seems to be a good time to let ze emosaans filow, and the words to start forming- because TYBMM B seems to be in love with itself (wooohoooo) and I love being a part of the madness. On the other hand, this lot of people has an unjust imbalance- there're so many I should've known better! Then again, here goes.
2008.3.071- Karishma Panvelkar aka Kalyan-ka-nahi-karat?
A lost face wondering what spastic society volunteering she signed up for. With a fleeting glance, you know she's been up all night (add some booze there) and really not a part of the usual crowd that enter TYBMM B's holy gates- i.e. her abysmal attendance records stun the blacklist. Revered by yours truly for having impeccable hard-copies- yes I remember psycho, you did that single-handedly- her only constant best friend till date has been in the opposite class. Here's something- I always thought you were Gujju. No clue why. I haven't really shared much space with you, na? Except for the time when we both couldn't shake the na-na-na from our heads for hours post Rock On, and when we turned into Grammar Nazis in Sem 2- the ride has been like Navita ma'am's lectures- rare, not exceptionally memorable, and fairly pleasant.
2008.3.072- Jaykumar Paradava aka Vacation-man
With the average learning speed at Mach fifteen, Jay sir, aap chhaa gaye. The guy with the shy smile, specks- I often messed up between you and Raval, the only one willing to actually conquer his vices and set the record straight- I won't believe if there's a single person who would want to change the way you are. Especially since you evolved so wonderfully yourself. Something to remember would be how you asked for sometime to learn before you were asked to speak in class- Agnes Ma'am, yaad hai? And of course, the famous Tahira ma'am entry- for those who missed it, she let him in because he smiled! I went 'aaawww' there...The plays, the dramatics, and the drama- this guy is one helluva success story. And as for the nickname- Jay! Surat do hafton ke liye chhod de! Please attend!
2008.3.073- Ankit Pareek aka Pappa
Bartman. Father-figure. Love-detector. Complete, thorough, and partner-pervert. You had us listening the minute you said, in favour of live-in relationships (because she couldn't find much else to talk about). Like we've agreed upon, only a 3D loser gets into a merit list thrice. Sincerely, eugh. But all through, if there was anyone I would want to spill it out to, it was you. I mean, what was the point of not telling you anything? You already knew! The presentations and the geeky remarks about what actually is wrong with the world, the conviction that silly is not cute- it's silly and the high forehead gave you the air of wisdom (and sometimes, in the rarest cases, wis-dumb) of playing bade-bhaiya (or Bhai-sa) to all of us. Keep the wisdom flowing, may God/wife earn you a Royal Enfield!
2008.3.074- Krishna Parekh aka Lambi-Race-ki-Ghodi
Yeh bandi masst hai. No, seriously- which is how she stays- pretty darned serious. How many of you can actually point out glitches in the her silent, strong, and consistent pattern of working in the past three years? She comes in with her bag over one shoulder, glides soundlessly over to her bench, and for the rest of the day, you know that one corner's been taken care of. AMR happens to be the first project we're in together (agar pehle kaam kar chuke hai saath mein toh bataa dena boss, memory card full hai aaj kal)...but there's this reassuring thing about you. Something that says, ki homework ho jaayega, tu tension mat le- and for the likes of us lot, who'd rather do the baahar ka kaand, you, are a life-saver! And one more thing, tera dimple is, bas too cute yaar!
2008.3.075- Urvi Parikh aka Morcha-girl
Initially, I was scared of you. Kab phategi pata nahi chalta tha. But then came the antaakshari and the jokes and the madness that Brand-Urvi-Parikh brings along...with of course, bonding over the fact that we're that rare breed of Science pass-outs, and almost extinct in the sub-category of girls in that type. For some reason, you always reminded me of having to go scream at someone...a point which was elaborated when we bulls-eyed on that Haryaanvi aunty at Juhu...throwball practice yaad hai? Kya yaar, like I said- there's no student-inspired drama nowadays in class...sab professors hi karte hai! Promise me, that wherever you are (i.e. Ad or Journo or well, WHEREVER!) you don't lose that one mad glint in the eye that says, I'm out to get you, or well- let's just dance!
Phew. The third edition required a lot of recall power. I shall now put down my sword, hope for a lesser number of 'post-kab-aayega' looks from the already bored class, and well- rush to the bed.
The next few- thou shalt be in, soon!
Cheers.
Out of the closet
I am a Valentine's Day junkie, and I've no qualms admitting that anymore.
Yes, I want to be asked out on this day.
No, I don't mind the pink-routine. Or the flowers, or the chocolate.
I do keep a check on who is asking who out.
I love the way everyone's all glittery in their brains on one day.
I hate it when Manasi and I (and this time, Clarie) will be sharing the mourner's cake. No, I love the mourning- hardly anyone does it with cake- but I hate being single. I mean a lot of people tell me that it's the best way to be. Alright, maybe it is. You learnt that after heading the other way too. Now, let me learn the lessons firsthand. Thank you very much.
I don't mind the cliche- everything else I do is not, so this one thing, this once, I want it to be differently the same.
I want this entire world of people to go crazy over each other.
I'm screaming whatever I'm writing right now in my head.
I hate being all pseudo-intellectual in this matter and calling it over-rated. Is Holi overrated? NO! So neither is V-Day!
I want flowers too.
I want someone to gush over me.
I want to giggle like I'm back to 14.
I think it's alright for me to be asking for these things, because suddenly, I've decided to get out of being a closet-junkie and flaunt what I really feel.
I want to see people holding hands.
I want people to know how much 'falling madly in love' (there, after 3 attempts I finally type the 'L' word!) means to me and how I'd love someone to feel the way I do about it.
I know I'm cracking up, but I want to be honest and grin about it on Monday.
Yes, I want to be asked out on this day.
No, I don't mind the pink-routine. Or the flowers, or the chocolate.
I do keep a check on who is asking who out.
I love the way everyone's all glittery in their brains on one day.
I hate it when Manasi and I (and this time, Clarie) will be sharing the mourner's cake. No, I love the mourning- hardly anyone does it with cake- but I hate being single. I mean a lot of people tell me that it's the best way to be. Alright, maybe it is. You learnt that after heading the other way too. Now, let me learn the lessons firsthand. Thank you very much.
I don't mind the cliche- everything else I do is not, so this one thing, this once, I want it to be differently the same.
I want this entire world of people to go crazy over each other.
I'm screaming whatever I'm writing right now in my head.
I hate being all pseudo-intellectual in this matter and calling it over-rated. Is Holi overrated? NO! So neither is V-Day!
I want flowers too.
I want someone to gush over me.
I want to giggle like I'm back to 14.
I think it's alright for me to be asking for these things, because suddenly, I've decided to get out of being a closet-junkie and flaunt what I really feel.
I want to see people holding hands.
I want people to know how much 'falling madly in love' (there, after 3 attempts I finally type the 'L' word!) means to me and how I'd love someone to feel the way I do about it.
I know I'm cracking up, but I want to be honest and grin about it on Monday.
Thank You, Blimey Mighty Morons *Burp* (TYBMM 'B')- Part 2
Post-ACS, life seens a little less worthless and a little more breathy. This next set of dedications is to the next lot of colourful people, who flitted in and out of my continuously moving mind frame. Also, I figured that many of you guys may have no inclination to know what I think of you. So don't read it. But if any of you don't want me to write about you (sorry, the 10 of you published cases, but that's the tragedy of having the respective last names), please call me up and tell me. Of course, it does get to my discretion and how much you have pleased me and my appetite for the past 2 years, but give it a try, I may be in an exceptionally forgiving mood.
Meanwhile, suffer.
2008.3.066- Trupti Mistry aka Bench-chhod-na!
Uhmm, confession, you first reminded me of Shweta Tiwary- good or bad, you decide. The long tresses, the drama queen eyes and the highly animated speeched made me confident that if I die an early death (back then this thought came up during C.P. Sharma's lectures), then someone can carry on my legacy of wildly gesturing in the class. Though not as wildly, but yes- you're always a strong contender for that one. Be it dance, the endless presentation rehearsals you've had with yourself or the integrity with which you once cornered Ankit (Yessir, you appear again- though why Trupti fought with you I forgot) and blasted him, you've got spark, woman! The frustrated answers and the eye-rolling add to the glory. My favourite memory of you? "Mera portfolio le na!" I was wondering what made you think that I was THAT good, but for a Dairy Milk? Anything!
2008.3.067- Prerna Mukherjee aka BongBrains
Singularly the calmest, nicest, and most mature girl through FY and SY. Of course, the others existed, but you're calm waters. My memory of you starts before I even met you. Now, stop thinking if you're getting the wrong ideas, but apparently our mothers shared a rick from UPG to Bhavans in the long-forgotten admission days. Ah what a cosmic connection! Then you start springing the surprises. 1. You sing! The calm, soothing tone was pretty supportive of that. 2. You're part-time training to be an airhostess. Dude! Talk air! I'm an Air India baby and anything related to aviation and I feel like we've bonded (Bong-ded for you..uhm, not funny enough, na?) well bonded for centuries. And then comes the final 'oh-my-god-this-woman's-awesome' strike...street hiphopper, and Shiamak's first privileged external faculty? Thou takest the crown, mahn! I sincerely miss the 'theek-aahe-aahe-mee' girl of my class.
2008.3.068- Neel Nagda aka SMS-Scream
Probably a memory you'd never wanna relive, but I remember what you had to do when the ragging session was on! Trust me, the entire, go-down-and-propose idea was too mushy for imagination, and when you went down to the ever-colourful Rashmi, I wriggled in my seat. Not because I didn't like the combo/feeling etc, just because the live version was a thousand times mushier with a guy whose hair I couldn't make sense of doing it. And I still can't figure your hair out, so yeah. You weren't exactly talkative, but I never missed the live version thanks to....SMS! Kahaan kahaan se kis time par KYA message bhejta tha! All mushy looouuu wala texts, and JUST when I'm expecting someone's important text or really looking forward to sleep, or almost asleep and wake up with a start...I tried being immune to the timings, but nope, 12.05 am, Neel Nagda HAS to flash (the name, doofus) across my screen. Still, that's made you sorta immortal in my world of texting, so cheers :)
2008.3.069- Ankita Palan aka Palan
Of course, thanks to your namesake, you didn't have a variety in a nickname, but hey, neither did I. Well, the pioneer of vocals in the Mini-Gujarat society of TYBMM, you've made one entertaining package through these years. The dramas, then the contact lenses, and the kickass eksent- it shall live in our hearts. And our ears, but yeah, hearts being more important. The media planning project is the only one I remember, honestly, where we've worked together ("What a conincidence", said Shobhna, "Radhika and Radhika, Ankita aand Ankita!" ha ha) you're someone who I'll always related to songs, and for some random reason, Asha Parekh. I don't know why! Aur ek secret bataau? It took me a lot of time to figure the difference between you, Prachi (Patli waali) and Manali.
2008.3.070- Khyati Panchmatia aka Karaari Nachaniya
The agitated tigress. The vocal lion. And the stern teacher- add to it "Yeh bola hai, yeh masst bola hai"- and you have the most eccentric genius of TYBMM. You weren't there in FY, so no apologies for not remembering you! But when you say SY- the orientation zooms into view. Baawre and Powerless were not only eye-openers for your talent, experience and expertise, but about aspects of recognising people's attitudes as well. How you pulled any of the Orientations off is a wonder. Also, the major part- and I used to get MIGHTY ticked off because of this- The laughter and the distraction during everyone else's presentation, which was NEVER taken in good spirit when you were subject to it! Dude! Relax! Besides, we've never had a maar-peet with Sagar before. You, dear girl, gave my class a lot of firsts, and I'm proud of that.
So much for now, the next darlings will star in the next issues depending on how the hormones work around me. Pray for my papers, and subsequently, I'm sure yours will shine too.
Meanwhile, suffer.
2008.3.066- Trupti Mistry aka Bench-chhod-na!
Uhmm, confession, you first reminded me of Shweta Tiwary- good or bad, you decide. The long tresses, the drama queen eyes and the highly animated speeched made me confident that if I die an early death (back then this thought came up during C.P. Sharma's lectures), then someone can carry on my legacy of wildly gesturing in the class. Though not as wildly, but yes- you're always a strong contender for that one. Be it dance, the endless presentation rehearsals you've had with yourself or the integrity with which you once cornered Ankit (Yessir, you appear again- though why Trupti fought with you I forgot) and blasted him, you've got spark, woman! The frustrated answers and the eye-rolling add to the glory. My favourite memory of you? "Mera portfolio le na!" I was wondering what made you think that I was THAT good, but for a Dairy Milk? Anything!
2008.3.067- Prerna Mukherjee aka BongBrains
Singularly the calmest, nicest, and most mature girl through FY and SY. Of course, the others existed, but you're calm waters. My memory of you starts before I even met you. Now, stop thinking if you're getting the wrong ideas, but apparently our mothers shared a rick from UPG to Bhavans in the long-forgotten admission days. Ah what a cosmic connection! Then you start springing the surprises. 1. You sing! The calm, soothing tone was pretty supportive of that. 2. You're part-time training to be an airhostess. Dude! Talk air! I'm an Air India baby and anything related to aviation and I feel like we've bonded (Bong-ded for you..uhm, not funny enough, na?) well bonded for centuries. And then comes the final 'oh-my-god-this-woman's-awesome' strike...street hiphopper, and Shiamak's first privileged external faculty? Thou takest the crown, mahn! I sincerely miss the 'theek-aahe-aahe-mee' girl of my class.
2008.3.068- Neel Nagda aka SMS-Scream
Probably a memory you'd never wanna relive, but I remember what you had to do when the ragging session was on! Trust me, the entire, go-down-and-propose idea was too mushy for imagination, and when you went down to the ever-colourful Rashmi, I wriggled in my seat. Not because I didn't like the combo/feeling etc, just because the live version was a thousand times mushier with a guy whose hair I couldn't make sense of doing it. And I still can't figure your hair out, so yeah. You weren't exactly talkative, but I never missed the live version thanks to....SMS! Kahaan kahaan se kis time par KYA message bhejta tha! All mushy looouuu wala texts, and JUST when I'm expecting someone's important text or really looking forward to sleep, or almost asleep and wake up with a start...I tried being immune to the timings, but nope, 12.05 am, Neel Nagda HAS to flash (the name, doofus) across my screen. Still, that's made you sorta immortal in my world of texting, so cheers :)
2008.3.069- Ankita Palan aka Palan
Of course, thanks to your namesake, you didn't have a variety in a nickname, but hey, neither did I. Well, the pioneer of vocals in the Mini-Gujarat society of TYBMM, you've made one entertaining package through these years. The dramas, then the contact lenses, and the kickass eksent- it shall live in our hearts. And our ears, but yeah, hearts being more important. The media planning project is the only one I remember, honestly, where we've worked together ("What a conincidence", said Shobhna, "Radhika and Radhika, Ankita aand Ankita!" ha ha) you're someone who I'll always related to songs, and for some random reason, Asha Parekh. I don't know why! Aur ek secret bataau? It took me a lot of time to figure the difference between you, Prachi (Patli waali) and Manali.
2008.3.070- Khyati Panchmatia aka Karaari Nachaniya
The agitated tigress. The vocal lion. And the stern teacher- add to it "Yeh bola hai, yeh masst bola hai"- and you have the most eccentric genius of TYBMM. You weren't there in FY, so no apologies for not remembering you! But when you say SY- the orientation zooms into view. Baawre and Powerless were not only eye-openers for your talent, experience and expertise, but about aspects of recognising people's attitudes as well. How you pulled any of the Orientations off is a wonder. Also, the major part- and I used to get MIGHTY ticked off because of this- The laughter and the distraction during everyone else's presentation, which was NEVER taken in good spirit when you were subject to it! Dude! Relax! Besides, we've never had a maar-peet with Sagar before. You, dear girl, gave my class a lot of firsts, and I'm proud of that.
So much for now, the next darlings will star in the next issues depending on how the hormones work around me. Pray for my papers, and subsequently, I'm sure yours will shine too.
Thank You, Blimey Mighty Morons *Burp* (TYBMM B)- 1
My friends. This is a series of posts to be continued over time, and with due regard to the writer's mood. This one is written in a good one, so enjoy it.
This is one of those dream blogposts every blogger wants to write- not this exact topic, but everyone who writes has this ambitious goal of one topic they simple HAVE to write about.
Mine's a tribute to my friends.
Trust me, I've trashed three of the lamest attempts at poetry in trying to write this one. I know I've dedicated a million notes to a million people, but this is for those who stuck through from Day One on Planet U, and still in the grind with me. This is for the legendary, emotional, animalistic TYBMM 'B'.
I know we've had a ride, and on a scale of one to ten, I'd be honest and give it an 8- we could have done so much more, reduced so much from the fun, but just like the score, we weren't perfect. That made you guys a better deal. So I'll go according to your roll-call, so I don't miss out on anyone.
Ready? Here goes.
2008.3.061- Siddharth Kutty aka Kutty
I think it's absolutely unfair that you should go first because (duh) you're the latest addition to the lot. In any case, you're welcome. Trust me, even three days after you'd attended, you'd already attended almost a semester more than the other Mallu in class (Yo, Rahul, you're awesome- but you're at the end :P) TYBMM suddenly got its own chalta-phirta Wikipedia (After encyclopedia, question bank, Mini-Gujarat, Bhaidas). Thou hast enlightened us about two things- 1. Presentations in the third year can still be worth watching (Oh yes, you have been graded real high by most of us who usually throw imaginary smoke bombs at boring presenters) and 2. It's actually not a waste of time standing up to argue with professors. You've got FYBMM back to memory, minus a certain Ms. Casper.
2008.3.062- Sanil Kothari aka Brownie!
The Master of Ceremony, the organiser, the showman. Yes, there was a rough patch in the beginning- but your quirky humour, your costumed presentations and the B-yummies have made you stand out. Well, I confess, I used to connect you to Cakes, at first, then the bright Pink shirt that you wore on Ink&Pink day when you didn't know it was Pink for girls, but somewhere down the line, the sarcasm and the Navi-aunty jokes made us roll in our seats. You're always walking on the knife's egde with that one, but trust me- it's worth the deal. If there's one single memory I'd pin to you, it's blocking you off from Tahira's dhoondhti hui nazarein on the day of our Save Tigers presentation. You added colour (and that pink comes to mind again) to our lectures, and you're hell of a sweet guy, but you know that.
2008.3.063- Sagar Mehta aka 'I-shall-guard-that-secret-nickname-till-the-end-of-time'
I've already told you, a 12-year lapse in conversation made it slightly awkward to be sitting next to you in class again. You were the rebellion leader, ALL the time. Like, to use a crude example or similarity, an autorickshaw union leader. Crude, I repeat- but come on, think about it. "Humaari Maange poori karo, or I'm not co-operating, jo ukhaadna hai ukhaad" Well, the union did get their raise, and you did get the best deals. The perseverence that you put into all your projects, academic and otherwise, is scary. Really. You inspire people to stay up at night trying to get that one spot off the image in photoshop, perfectly. Thank you for taking care of the creatives in all our common projects, and for standing up for what's right. We'll stick it through, all of us- and one day take over the 13th floor of Westin. O&M Baap ka hai (Ankit, patience). Keep talking random stuff at the backseat of Peggy- one day we shall find a music composer for Taught-not-to.
2008.3.064- Sarvangi Mehta aka Maiyya Maiyya
Hah! You can run from Advertising, but you can't hide from TYBMM 'B'. If you're by any way surprised by the nickname, I'm shutting shop. If I remember clearly, Casper put you through the tragedy of singing to a class of wide-eyed co-FY's on the first day- which began your tryst with being forced to ga-ga pretty literally to the class almost all the time. On the first day, it shocked me to see that such a dainty looking damsel could muster such crystalline notes, but after the first three rounds went up only singing Maiyya Maiyya, I was relieved that you also knew the Close-Up 'paas aao na' jingle. And then they both stuck. Maiyya-Paas-Maiyya-Paas. One day, you'll sit me down and tell me what other songs you can sing, but were too pestered by the class to sing them anyway. AND of course, the hot-blooded arguments during presentations. Dude, seriously. I miss the drama, can you shift to Ad for one presentation day? Uhmm...how's journo treating you?
2008.3.065- Tanvi Mishra aka Howtallareyouanyway?
When I wake up in the morning, and am feeling sorta low and down- YOU NEVER HELP! Around you, I think even Ankit (6'3") feels like a commoner. You've been perfect for three years, consistently! Never made a boo boo, never got pathetic marks, never got yelled at by a professor, never said anything too loudly- You're so, well, right! I mean, kids in first grade these days learn opposites, the list goes like Clean x Dirty, Left x Right, Radhika x Tanvi, Dark x Light, and so on! I stand on the desks sometimes just to see how the world must look like to you (btw, you look preddy preddy on TV). The only presentation I remember working with you on was the newspaper scrapbook one. I won't pretend I know you, because I honestly don't, but it was one of the most stable-headed presentations I'd had, even with one newspaper missing and no gum and no sleep. Oh and btw, I also think that your sudden bursts of sarcasm are awesome. Whooohooo to you, O Tall one.
That's it for now, Thank You, Blimey Mighty Morons *Burp* - 2 shall return with more dedications to the inhabitors of the place.
I also have friends in the Thank You, Blimey Mighty Morons *Acchhhoooo* section, but they can wait. Also, code-name for our college is You-Piggy, you-geddit? Nightos.
This is one of those dream blogposts every blogger wants to write- not this exact topic, but everyone who writes has this ambitious goal of one topic they simple HAVE to write about.
Mine's a tribute to my friends.
Trust me, I've trashed three of the lamest attempts at poetry in trying to write this one. I know I've dedicated a million notes to a million people, but this is for those who stuck through from Day One on Planet U, and still in the grind with me. This is for the legendary, emotional, animalistic TYBMM 'B'.
I know we've had a ride, and on a scale of one to ten, I'd be honest and give it an 8- we could have done so much more, reduced so much from the fun, but just like the score, we weren't perfect. That made you guys a better deal. So I'll go according to your roll-call, so I don't miss out on anyone.
Ready? Here goes.
2008.3.061- Siddharth Kutty aka Kutty
I think it's absolutely unfair that you should go first because (duh) you're the latest addition to the lot. In any case, you're welcome. Trust me, even three days after you'd attended, you'd already attended almost a semester more than the other Mallu in class (Yo, Rahul, you're awesome- but you're at the end :P) TYBMM suddenly got its own chalta-phirta Wikipedia (After encyclopedia, question bank, Mini-Gujarat, Bhaidas). Thou hast enlightened us about two things- 1. Presentations in the third year can still be worth watching (Oh yes, you have been graded real high by most of us who usually throw imaginary smoke bombs at boring presenters) and 2. It's actually not a waste of time standing up to argue with professors. You've got FYBMM back to memory, minus a certain Ms. Casper.
2008.3.062- Sanil Kothari aka Brownie!
The Master of Ceremony, the organiser, the showman. Yes, there was a rough patch in the beginning- but your quirky humour, your costumed presentations and the B-yummies have made you stand out. Well, I confess, I used to connect you to Cakes, at first, then the bright Pink shirt that you wore on Ink&Pink day when you didn't know it was Pink for girls, but somewhere down the line, the sarcasm and the Navi-aunty jokes made us roll in our seats. You're always walking on the knife's egde with that one, but trust me- it's worth the deal. If there's one single memory I'd pin to you, it's blocking you off from Tahira's dhoondhti hui nazarein on the day of our Save Tigers presentation. You added colour (and that pink comes to mind again) to our lectures, and you're hell of a sweet guy, but you know that.
2008.3.063- Sagar Mehta aka 'I-shall-guard-that-secret-nickname-till-the-end-of-time'
I've already told you, a 12-year lapse in conversation made it slightly awkward to be sitting next to you in class again. You were the rebellion leader, ALL the time. Like, to use a crude example or similarity, an autorickshaw union leader. Crude, I repeat- but come on, think about it. "Humaari Maange poori karo, or I'm not co-operating, jo ukhaadna hai ukhaad" Well, the union did get their raise, and you did get the best deals. The perseverence that you put into all your projects, academic and otherwise, is scary. Really. You inspire people to stay up at night trying to get that one spot off the image in photoshop, perfectly. Thank you for taking care of the creatives in all our common projects, and for standing up for what's right. We'll stick it through, all of us- and one day take over the 13th floor of Westin. O&M Baap ka hai (Ankit, patience). Keep talking random stuff at the backseat of Peggy- one day we shall find a music composer for Taught-not-to.
2008.3.064- Sarvangi Mehta aka Maiyya Maiyya
Hah! You can run from Advertising, but you can't hide from TYBMM 'B'. If you're by any way surprised by the nickname, I'm shutting shop. If I remember clearly, Casper put you through the tragedy of singing to a class of wide-eyed co-FY's on the first day- which began your tryst with being forced to ga-ga pretty literally to the class almost all the time. On the first day, it shocked me to see that such a dainty looking damsel could muster such crystalline notes, but after the first three rounds went up only singing Maiyya Maiyya, I was relieved that you also knew the Close-Up 'paas aao na' jingle. And then they both stuck. Maiyya-Paas-Maiyya-Paas. One day, you'll sit me down and tell me what other songs you can sing, but were too pestered by the class to sing them anyway. AND of course, the hot-blooded arguments during presentations. Dude, seriously. I miss the drama, can you shift to Ad for one presentation day? Uhmm...how's journo treating you?
2008.3.065- Tanvi Mishra aka Howtallareyouanyway?
When I wake up in the morning, and am feeling sorta low and down- YOU NEVER HELP! Around you, I think even Ankit (6'3") feels like a commoner. You've been perfect for three years, consistently! Never made a boo boo, never got pathetic marks, never got yelled at by a professor, never said anything too loudly- You're so, well, right! I mean, kids in first grade these days learn opposites, the list goes like Clean x Dirty, Left x Right, Radhika x Tanvi, Dark x Light, and so on! I stand on the desks sometimes just to see how the world must look like to you (btw, you look preddy preddy on TV). The only presentation I remember working with you on was the newspaper scrapbook one. I won't pretend I know you, because I honestly don't, but it was one of the most stable-headed presentations I'd had, even with one newspaper missing and no gum and no sleep. Oh and btw, I also think that your sudden bursts of sarcasm are awesome. Whooohooo to you, O Tall one.
That's it for now, Thank You, Blimey Mighty Morons *Burp* - 2 shall return with more dedications to the inhabitors of the place.
I also have friends in the Thank You, Blimey Mighty Morons *Acchhhoooo* section, but they can wait. Also, code-name for our college is You-Piggy, you-geddit? Nightos.
Sleeptalk? Id Talk?
Pushtiie S, and Yash Raj TV- I'm out to sue you.
Thanks to you, now I'm all sappy and waiting to find a foopid prince charming amidst this clutter of TYBMM all over.
I also now believe that I have an existing, albeit television/fiction, which is NOT fiction, twin.
Besides, you have created the need for a person who I aspire to be married to in someplace I shall aspire to work, who shall be my boss, and not-so-cute at that, in fact- the bachpan-ka-dost/neighbour/knight-in-shining-armour is distinguishably sexier.
Which comes to the worse part- I don't have many bachpan-ka-dost-options thanks to a dance sequence by Their Royal Sathini'd Highness's- Madame Manasi and Shri, that you have zeroed down to make him the hero of your fat baby, who returns after some random number of years. Thou arst dead, after killing me!
The final problem- is that every single day, I spend one whole hour willingly sapping up your make-believe Mahi Way.
Mahi Talwar has done the most random thing I'd written in my bucketlist- she ran away from her own wedding. HOW can you not love her?
Her hair ends in curls. You could have made it straight! Why oh why?
I received 24, repeat- TWENTY FOUR calls on the day this show premiered. I don't get that number for a MONTH under normal circumstances.
I'm a sucker for chocolate. But I'll grant you that- who isn't?
Viraf Patel. *Drrrrooooooooooooooooooool*. Period.
Thin, style-icon, fussy best-friend? Make that two!
WRITER? Couldn't you have made her a kindergarten teacher? A secretary? A COBBLER?
One glaring difference is, DDLJ- No, seriously, can't stand that one.
But it's YRF. Phhbbt.
I'm willing to bet everyone who's watched it knew that they were the Mahi of their own life. Seriously, you need to have that romanticised picture of yourself, to believe in mushy tv soaps. But hey, so what? If believing that there's a cuter life for choice for me makes me an idiot, I'm an idiot.
I totally encourage going all 'Oh-my-God-that's-so-me' in any series. I could be Monica, Mahi and Geet for me, you could be your favourite combo of characters, and the world can be who they want to be. You've gotta know that you're the only one who judges you. So if there're benchmarks, they can be what you like, na?
So my hero's out there, my face and the whole of me will stay a perfect circle, but who defines what perfect is? Is a size zero perfect?
I'm shape zero, take that!
I do believe that one day, Nerds will take over Humankind- I shall oggle at them mercilessly. Till then, we shall all be at the mercy of those perfect sixpacks and slim curves.
It's not about the relativity, but I hate Mahi for making it seem so real. Like I deserve a happy ending, almost fairy tale-like. But why not?
I'm missing the point.
What this series has taught me, or us, is that the perfect you that you can be, is the imperfect you you are. Geddit?
I hate Jassi for becoming all babe at the end of it, it's like saying, nerd is cool- but at the end of the day, chic (and this is no spelling error) wins. But Mahiism says, at the end of the day, burger wins. I like the way it sticks through their ideology consistently. That's important, na?
I'm asking too many questions.
Ramblings of a sleepy mind :P
Good night, world. I have to fall in love with me again. Ciao.
Thanks to you, now I'm all sappy and waiting to find a foopid prince charming amidst this clutter of TYBMM all over.
I also now believe that I have an existing, albeit television/fiction, which is NOT fiction, twin.
Besides, you have created the need for a person who I aspire to be married to in someplace I shall aspire to work, who shall be my boss, and not-so-cute at that, in fact- the bachpan-ka-dost/neighbour/knight-in-shining-armour is distinguishably sexier.
Which comes to the worse part- I don't have many bachpan-ka-dost-options thanks to a dance sequence by Their Royal Sathini'd Highness's- Madame Manasi and Shri, that you have zeroed down to make him the hero of your fat baby, who returns after some random number of years. Thou arst dead, after killing me!
The final problem- is that every single day, I spend one whole hour willingly sapping up your make-believe Mahi Way.
Mahi Talwar has done the most random thing I'd written in my bucketlist- she ran away from her own wedding. HOW can you not love her?
Her hair ends in curls. You could have made it straight! Why oh why?
I received 24, repeat- TWENTY FOUR calls on the day this show premiered. I don't get that number for a MONTH under normal circumstances.
I'm a sucker for chocolate. But I'll grant you that- who isn't?
Viraf Patel. *Drrrrooooooooooooooooooool*. Period.
Thin, style-icon, fussy best-friend? Make that two!
WRITER? Couldn't you have made her a kindergarten teacher? A secretary? A COBBLER?
One glaring difference is, DDLJ- No, seriously, can't stand that one.
But it's YRF. Phhbbt.
I'm willing to bet everyone who's watched it knew that they were the Mahi of their own life. Seriously, you need to have that romanticised picture of yourself, to believe in mushy tv soaps. But hey, so what? If believing that there's a cuter life for choice for me makes me an idiot, I'm an idiot.
I totally encourage going all 'Oh-my-God-that's-so-me' in any series. I could be Monica, Mahi and Geet for me, you could be your favourite combo of characters, and the world can be who they want to be. You've gotta know that you're the only one who judges you. So if there're benchmarks, they can be what you like, na?
So my hero's out there, my face and the whole of me will stay a perfect circle, but who defines what perfect is? Is a size zero perfect?
I'm shape zero, take that!
I do believe that one day, Nerds will take over Humankind- I shall oggle at them mercilessly. Till then, we shall all be at the mercy of those perfect sixpacks and slim curves.
It's not about the relativity, but I hate Mahi for making it seem so real. Like I deserve a happy ending, almost fairy tale-like. But why not?
I'm missing the point.
What this series has taught me, or us, is that the perfect you that you can be, is the imperfect you you are. Geddit?
I hate Jassi for becoming all babe at the end of it, it's like saying, nerd is cool- but at the end of the day, chic (and this is no spelling error) wins. But Mahiism says, at the end of the day, burger wins. I like the way it sticks through their ideology consistently. That's important, na?
I'm asking too many questions.
Ramblings of a sleepy mind :P
Good night, world. I have to fall in love with me again. Ciao.
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