Dappan Koothu » flashback

Main laila laila chillaoonga kurta phad ke

maxdavinci — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 18:07:50 +0000

It has been a while since a post appeared in this category, for most memories are either not worth documenting, or the other extreme where they don’t meet PG-13 standards. The later years of school is probably the most memorable for many, that is if you’ve gone to a good school. That’s the time when you’re in the school prefectorial body, house captain etc, and your attendance at cultural & literary events goes higher than the class register. Some of us are even sarcastically addressed to as Mr/Ms.OD(On Duty) or even as visiting-professors. With all this attention that you receive, comes a side-effect as well which is unavoidable. Your growing popularity in school attracts love-struck students of the opposite sex who are high on hindi cinema like flies to a sugarcane-juice stall. Well they can’t be blamed completely after-all the 90′s were full of college romances and in the last decade that came a level lower and spread to school stories. TV shows gave a whole new meaning to the scuffed ties, pleated skirts, school buses and taught us what teen romances were as they opened a new genre of mega-serials.

Now I belong to a batch that was heavily schooled on the two biggest
monstrosities
of Indian cinematwo biggest monstrosities of Indian cinema, DDLJ and KKHH. Where every girl secretly wished to be a Simran/Anjali waiting to be swept of their feet by a Raj/Rahul, only to end up with losers who made Johnny Lever look like the VIP-Frenchie man! This flashback story has two characters like every bollywood masala romance ought to and a few unimportant side characters. This story isn’t about me , so please take off your doubting hats and cease to read between the lines. Let me begin with the girl who fits the description of Ms.Popular from the para above, and was on the prefectorial body as well. She was a worthy competitor in all the literary events and we did share a healthy rivalry, enough about me for this isn’t my story! Since we can’t take names here and I am told that a few chums from school silently read this useless blog, so let us call her Priyanka Chopra for convenience. I like to paint the women in my stories as strong achievers and in lieu of the hockey world cup ads, let us use this for now. The so-called hero is a refrigerator-like-looking guy, who was heavily built and his puffed bloodshot eyes might suggest that he burnt the midnight oil though his mark sheets would disagree. Since the first thing that comes to mind is a stomping Sunny Deol, let us call him that for now. Having successfully though distastefully introduced the characters, the story warrants a new paragraph for the plot.

Ms.Chopra was quite a popular person in school and had her share of admirers, her biggest deewana of those by miles was however our man Deol. After week of staring, and peeping from behind the stairwell, our man finally mustered the courage to let out his feelings one day. Now in times like these it is the friends you have, that cause more damage than being of any assistance. Who ever guessed that behind those owl-like-stares, there was a childish innocence that jumped with joy every time he got a discerning glare in return! Not quite sure who’s idea it was but he accosted her one day in the school ground and blurted ‘Hey, 143 I to you,
think and tell
2 daysHey, 143 I to you, think and tell 2 days‘. I kid you not for these were the very words he used, I’ve never been able to get over it and it haunted many of us for weeks. Now our school had these humongous trees, wide enough for 4-5 kids to hold hands and form a circle. Those trees were one of the reasons I opted to join the school in the first place, and kids often had lunch under one of these many trees. Finding Chopra alone, Sunny boy jumped from behind a tree to make his point, which according to him was the pinnacle of bravery. Our babe Priyanka however wasn’t amused and ran to class in a huff, leaving Sunny boy with his outstretched arms waiting. Her friends, the more wiser ones advised her to ignore the incident and avoid the guy for a while, hoping he’d get the message. When you have a stud like Sunny, you can safely assume that his friends to be in the same league, devoid any cranial connections. They advised him to do something heroic that may impress his lady love, clearly an overdose of 90′s regional cinema but then hum kya karen? One morning as Chopra was making her way to class, she was accosted by Deol near the 2nd floor balcony. While I don’t quite recall the exact conversation, I do remember it ending with her asking him to get a life.

It was quite early in the morning and only the senior students were in school for special classses, to make up for the days lost due to various jayanthis, vardhantis and bandhs. Not quite sure of what riled him up, but in his bid to impress Chopra, Deol’s heroic thing was to jump from the balconyjump from the balcony. Now I don’t quite know if it was planned or his luck but there was a parapet just a few feet below the balcony where he landed. Given his track record and the collective IQ of his gang, I’d vote for the latter and say he was lucky. The sight of a refrigerator size guy jump out of a balcony was enough to zonk our sleepy heads on a foggy morning. Now however came the camel under the hillock, from the parapet he couldn’t climb back to the balcony for it was a good 6ft, and the ground was easily 10ft below. Adding to his woes was the fact that the jump had ripped his trousers from behind, they either were unable to take the force of landing or probably the angle wasn’t right. The end result however was a hefty deewana stranded on a parapet with his brick-red chaddis greeting the world from his behind. His friends later managed to fish him out, as he darted home for a change of clothes with a sweater tied to his behind. While occasionally teased bout the incident, his eyes would go brick red along with his cheeks but he generally went unnoticed. Chopra however had to face the trauma of being teased for a long while and linked to a guy who had a penchant for red chaddis and jumped the balcony for her.

PS: Neither of them read this blog, and I have no idea of what they are upto now. Those of you who’ve seen me, know that I look nothing like a refrigerator.

(Image Courtesy: BBC)

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Shaktimaan will punish you

maxdavinci — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 21:59:17 +0000

Shaktimaan was India’s first television superhero and hence commanded a roaring fan following among kids. There was a time when the streets and parks would be empty and the kids all glued to the television, for their favorite superhero would greet them on the tube. After the highly engrossing epics of Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana and B.R.Chopra’s Mahabharata, never had any TV series come this close to silencing the deafening madness of kids. The same would repeat again when the BigB walked into our TV sets with KBC thereby emptying malls, theaters and even weddings. This post isn’t about KBC or the mythological epics but about our only desi superhero Shaktimaan. For the uninformed or those who slept through the biggest achievement of desi-TV in the late 90s, here’s a small refresher course. Apparently Shaktimaan was the chosen warrior against evil by the siddha gurus of a cult named Suryanshi. Now this mustn’t be confused with the Salman Khan in a fake He-Man look movie nor is it related to the BigB playing father and son in a Tamil remake. These sad-dudes(sadhus) were followers of the Sun-God and taught him kickass yoga that enabled him to dissolve his body in fire and revive himself. In short he possess Captain Planet like qualities to control the elements and fight evil. In a fitting tribute to Spiderman and Superman, Shaktimaan is a bumbling photographer for a news daily and can be rendered powerless by a evil crystal.

It was a time while in school, I’m guessing I was in VIIth that the following incident took place. While I was happily raving about Cartoon Network, unbeknownst to me the country was swept with Shaktimaan mania. Hindi superheroes were looked upon in those days and Cartoon Network was still in English! So while kids around were running like headless chicken and going gaga over the victory of Shaktimaan over Electric Man, my hep circles were lost in the latest episode of Johnny Quest. Our teachers would coax and plead us to use fountain pens hoping that they would help improve our monolithic handwriting. Hero pens were a immensely popular owing to their smart Chinese pricing and flooded the bookstores. Many used cheaper versions and you could tell a student’s pen by the ink smudge on their fingers and blots in their pockets. We’ve had many incidents of spraying ink and that have lead to our own versions of paintball, where the cleanest shirt emerged victorious in the end! It would often be hard to explain to the teacher how ones cheeks and scalp had ink sprays and later learning that Tide/Rin ki safedi doesn’t quite work like they show on TV. There was this one time when this guy was showing of a swanky 14K gold tipped Parker pen during the first recess as all the girls of the class huddled around him. Never after have I seen such excitement till Hrithik Roshan’s posters came into existence. The pen was acting like a chick-magnet and the girls were drawn to it like moths to the huge lights at weddings! Years later I found out that it wasn’t the guy or the pen, but an element called gold that makes women go crazy even if it was in the nib of a fountain pen!

Unable to bear the attention draw and his claims to the indestructible malleability
of
the gold-platted nibindestructible malleability of the gold-platted nib, I dared him to write his name on the wall. In a bid to save his reputation and not appear like a sissy, he gave in and took the bait. If you have a gold-plated pen and don’t believe this tale then you are free to scribble your name on the nearest wall. I claim no responsibility for broken tips but that will atleast silence the Hercule Poirot in you. As expected the tip never stood a chance against our freshly plastered concrete wall and all I could remember hearing was the sound of a hawwwwwwwwww followed by bone-chilling silence. The once-upon-a-time chick magnet was now shattered and the dude went to bury his head in the desk, I was a back to being Mr.Popular, the recess bell had gone off and the next class had begun. In those days I had the conscience of a butterfly and wasn’t feeling even a bit guilty, not that it has improved any now. As I was happily paying attention to the board and taking notes, there was a a lot of whispering from the back. Turns out the pen didn’t belong to Mr.Bheja-fry but his refrigerator like looking buddy(let’s call him Whirlpool). The reason for the refrigerator analogy is because that would be the first thing that would pop in your mind if you were playing a word association game. The guy was huge both horizontally and vertically, was often quiet, had very few friends and sat in one corner. Anyone who has passed high school will know how chinese whispers work. I’m not sure what originated form Whirlpool’s corner-wala bench, but by the time the whispers reached me they had the words ‘mince’, ‘pulp’ and didn’t sound pleasing at all. Now if you looked like Whirlpool and were mad at someone for breaking your pen, then there’s a fair chance that you would mean those words.

With the intensity of these whispers increasing, it was a getting difficult to sit in class. The menacing stare that I got during the class change didn’t help things either as I began thinking of cool stickers to put on the
cast of my
soon-to-be-fractured handstickers to put on the cast of my soon-to-be-fractured hand. Those 80mins for two classes seemed like eternity and i even tried practicing my karate kicks in my head, but feared them being of any use against Whirlpool. The lunch bell rang and I darted across the hallway even before the teacher could make her way out of class, I guess she assumed I had a bad tummy. I wallowed around in the school ground and changed locations every 5mins fearing getting caught by Whirlpool, but my hunger got the better of me. I sneaked towards the classroom to get my bag and planed to eat my lunch and spend the day in the ground, hoping that Whirlpool would have cooled down by the next day. It was a relatively safe to goto the classroom, infact it was the safest place for all the boys would be playing under the trees leaving the girls to themselves in class. The girls in the class told me that Whirlpool was searching high and dry for me and had sworn to get even. Not the most comforting words you would want to hear while running for your life, but I gathered myself, packed my bag and left for a safer hideout. As I made my way down the stairs, I was accosted by Whirlpool and his refrigerator-looking friend(let’s call him Kelvinator) from another section, who were hiding below the stairwell. If I was petrified by the prospect of facing Whirlpool, I now had to deal with his friend with revenge in their minds. Whirlpool asked Kelvinator to drag me to the ground while he darted off in the opposite direction. My guess was that he went to the sports-room to get a wicket or a bat. If you’ve seen me, you’d know that I’m a tall lean mean machine and guys like Whirlpool and Kelvinator don’t need additional artillery to take me down. Mentally I had given up and had resigned to fate that even if one of them sneezed I’d collapse.

Whirlpool returned empty handed and I thanked the peon in my head for not giving him his bat/wicket, the anger in his eyes and the sweat on his brow however had me recite the Hanuman Chalisa like a zillion timesrecite the Hanuman Chalisa like a zillion times(it atleast felt that way)! He came closer while Kelvinator held me hard and lectured me on how bad I am and have no conscience or feelings, like how I ought to be ashamed for what I did and how miserable I’d turn out to be in the future. While I was suprised by his rendition of the gospel of goodness, I assumed it to be the lull before a storm. Many years later in college fights I’d use something similar so that the guy atleast knew the reason he was being beaten up for. Soon there was a crowd that had gathered and not one tried to talk Whirlpool into forgiving me. Probably I was so evil that secretly even they wished to see Whirlpool bludgeon my nose. Turns out that Whirlpool had not gone to the sports room but the canteen instead, and in his hands lay a pack of Parle-G biscuits(yes, I shall still call them biscuits and not cookies). He began munching them while mouthing words of wisdom and I was slightly amused to see a guy take his anger out on a pack of biscuits. In front of my eyes Whilrool was transforming from Darth Vader to Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I was no longer afraid of his fists for it seemed worth it. Nothing in the whole world could have prepared me for what was to come. From Obi-Wan Kenobi Whirlpool changed to Soorma Bhopali as he swore that I had incurred the wrath of Shaktimaan by upsetting the innocent soul of his young friend. Whirlpool and Kelvinator both looked skywards, invoked Shaktimaan and left me to my doom as they returned to class. If it were you, you’d complain to an elder sibling, teacher, parent in that order, but who in the world invokes Shaaktimaan?

Turns out that Shaktimaan had partnered with Parle-G to market the biscuits and there was a TVC where in they photographer-guy ate Parle-G biscuits and transformed into Shaktimaan. Whirlpool and Kelvinator were among the million kids with an empty deep freezerkids with an empty deep freezer who were believers in this concept. Talk about brand placing and image marketing, master stroke I say watay influence err kidfluence! The crowd that had gathered dispersed soon after being disappointed, while I stood like a rock in disbelief. I tried hard to recollect the events and was still looking if it was a trick and the two fridges were hiding elsewhere. The lunch bell rang and I walked into class with my hair disheveled due to the minor scuffle. There was the same bone-chilling silence as I lived to die another day. I was the Subhash Nagre for I had managed to walk out alive after a supposedly-grim battle with a hot-headed refrigerator-looking-guy. Mr.Popular just got menacing now for I had seen eye-to-eye with the most burly and tough-looking guy in class. I guess Shaktimaan saved me that day, for had he not brainwashed Whirlpool, I’d have a disfigured nose today. Also as long as there are kids like Whirlpool around, kids like us will continue being popular! Our success is indebted to them I’d say! Whirlpool my man, If you are reading this then I apologise for your Parker pen!

Note to self: Never believe Chinese Whispers and always stay abreast with current affairs!

(Images Courtesy: bizhat and bettybl)

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Cross platform compilers

maxdavinci — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 02:16:57 +0000

Let the title of this post or the image to the left not scare you away. This has never been a tech blog and shall always steer clear of that temptation to be one. A more suitable title for this post would have been, ‘Crass plate farm kaam pilers‘. On second thought it seems to make more sense. Anyways don’t skip this post thinking that it is a tech tutorial on some random shit. I’ve always maintained that college has been the best four years of my life and this incident is also from those glorious years. Despite some untoward incidents and my notorious behavior, I’ve always managed to ace the labs and keep my head afloat in pursuit of that elusive degree. It was a well known fact of how we passed the exams with a collective effort the night before and also in the examination hall. While someone distracted the attention of the invigilators for an additional sheet or something else, the rest of us exchanged sheets, passed question papers with the solutions written on them with a pencil etc.

Labs however was a totally different ball game, the batches were small and one wasn’t permitted any additional sheets of paper. No paper implied that it was hard to
hide
pre-written programs(read
as chits) or
pass them aroundhard to hide pre-written programs(read as chits) or pass them around. A few smart ones could share the folder on the network and others copied files, but that was it. Sharing folders was also risky for it was visible to all especially the smart alecs who took pride in being whistle blowers. In spite of heavy scrutiny and confusion, we still managed to carry out our activities maintaining a low profile of course. This was in the IInd year Ist semester and we had a ‘COBOL‘ lab. It may sound archaic and make me look like a dinosaur but this was in 2002 so kindly stop rolling your eyes. After ‘C Programming‘ in the first year this was our second programming lab and I never missed labs. It was the day of the exam and a lot of kids wore tense looks on their faces. Written exams were easy to get away with owing to reasons mentioned above but labs were a threat due to the minimal scope for tomfoolery. Failing a written test was no big issue and was a prestige issue for many as they could always be given next semester. Failing a lab was sacrilege for those were always looked down upon and the second attempt would be twice as difficult.

We had to pick numbers from a jar and each program was assigned a number, this ensured that no one in the vicinity got the same program. For the kids who are not averse to programming, to the left is a sample COBOL program and I have no inhibitions in voicing my disgust for it. During the first year I had logged in and finished the programs for a few of my so-called-friends. I use the term ‘so-called‘ because one of them goofed up when quizzed by the lecturer and let the cat out of the bag. That particular lecturer had a grudge against me and was waiting for an excuse to fail me. It was only with the intervention of another lecturer that I was let off with a minimum pass mark. I was busy trying to ram through my program and get done with this so that I never have to see it again all my life. It was then this guy RollNo 12 who nudged me and asked for some help. A brief history bout the guy, he never attended a single lab and would appear directly for the exam and pray for a miracle. On that eventful day, little did I know that I was supposed to be his miracle.

Not wanting a sequel to that episode i had decided to finish my stuff and get out at the earliest. RN12 made sorry faces and began a sob story of how he had to work and study at the same time. I might not be a very good person, but his story touched me in a way.

RN12: maams, plz help karo.
me: OK fine, write the program and I’ll take a look and help you fix any errors.
RN12: I know only XYZ program but I requested saar to give me that only.
me: errr, well good luck

This guy belonged to the ‘My Cow‘ essay category. Remember kids in school who memorized one essay in Hindi and then used the same even if the topic was ‘My Mother‘ or ‘My best friend‘. This guy had memorized one program and was going to do it no matter what he was given. My guess was that even the lecturer had taken pity on him and given him the program he wanted. RN12 had memorized a photocopy from someones book and reproduced it exactly with commas, comments and spelling mistakes.

RN12: maams plz konjam chudu
me: gimmie a minute (I edited the file on the network and corrected his syntax and typo errors )
me: compile and run it now. should work
RN12: maams, not running ya.
(from the corner of my eye i looked at his screen and it seemed fine)
me: looks good to me, wonder whats happening. compile it, I wanna see
(He hits a few keys and a window pops up, deja vu hit me like a lightning bolt)
me: hey what are you doing? and why does this screen look so familiar?
RN12: Ctrl+F9! thats how we compile na…

Not wanting to destroy college property I resisted myself from banging my head against the keyboard. Turns out that our friend RN12 not only knew one program but he had never seen a COBOL screen before. All he knew was Turbo C++ from the first year which he attended a few classes by mistake. To your right ladies and gentlemen, is what a TurboC++ screen looks like. RN12 was so jubiliant on recieving the only program he knew that he went and typed thw whole thing in verbatim in TurboC++. To compile and run a ‘C’ program we use Ctrl+F9. Though his program was fine, he was trying to compile it in TurboC++ which threw a host of syntax errors. In my defense, I was busy with my program and least expected him to compile it this way. RN12 asked my help with the program little did he mention that he had no idea whatsoever as to what COBOL was. I think you can stop laughing and give me the benefit of the doubt for it could happen to anyone. With lecturers preying upon kids like us and not wanting to repeat the previous years episode, this became one of the most unforgettable incidents in college history. I never saw RN12 again and I heard that he discontinued Engg to support his family business. How grateful I am for his decision for only I know who disastrous the Java and SQL lab exams in the coming semesters could be.

(Images courtesy: Aralbalkan, IBM and Flickr)

Glossary:

C, COBOL, Java, SQL: Programming languages
Turbo C++: A software that is used to write and execute programs in ‘C’ language

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Good morning senior saar

maxdavinci — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 03:50:51 +0000

College is the best thing that ever happened to me and I’d go back given a chance. To my knowledge almost everyone would, so big deal. As part of the flashback series we continue from where we let off in the previous post. For those who’ve come in late, a quick recap. Me and a friend ragged a girl while oblivious to the fact that she was a lecturer on her first day. As fate would have it, she was assigned to take labs for us. When she entered the lab and announced that she would be taking charge for the semester, me and my friend hid under the tables. We’ve been hiding under the desk for three days now, so let me tell you what happened in the promised part-2.

Ms.Yellow Chudidaar was at the other side of the lab introducing herself to the students while I was trying to come up with a escape plan. People around us noticed that we were hiding under the table and soon everyone in the the last two rows had noticed. The dreaded
roll
call began
and I hadn’t
yet thought
of an escape planThe dreaded roll call began and I hadn’t yet thought of an escape plan. Unable to bear the multiple kya hua’s from everyone my smart ass friend told them that his SIM card had fallen somewhere. Another moron offered to help and joined us under the tables. So now we had one guy planning an escape, one almost ready to shit in his pants and one who was looking for a non-existent SIM card! The door was far away and the windows were grilled, so the only plan was to stay put for as long as possible and then sneak away when one of our so-called-studious girls ask Ms.Yellow Chudidaar their impression-ke-liye doubts. I was roll no 15 and my buddy was 23, we had mutually agreed to remain silent, while the third guy was still looking for the SIM card! Ms.Yellow Chudidaar rattled of the numbers and soon arrived at 15, at that point I so badly wished there were a hundred numbers between 1 and 15.

Ms. Yellow Chudidaar: fifteen (no answer)
Ms. Yellow Chudidaar: fifteen (everybody turn to the last row)
Ms. Yellow Chudidaar: Is he here? (I signal to the SIM card guy)
SIM Card guy: Hasn’t come today maam.

She then went on with the remaining numbers when suddenly my buddy’s conscience awoke. At call for 23 I saw him giving me the look. Little did I know that it was an indicator for what was to follow and he stood up and answered for the call of 24. In the process his head hit the desk again and he also gave out a yell. Ms.Yellow Chudidaar who was looking at the register all this while, looked up and was startled to see two guys who had stood up and answered to 24. You may call it an act of stupidity or bravery but he was ready to face this demons. I wanted to bang his head on the bus for his stupidity but was also awe of him for standing up.

Ms. Yellow Chudidaar: What is going on here? Who are you by the way? (pointing to my buddy)
Buddy: Maam, I’m sorry I’m 23.
Ms. Yellow Chudidaar: What were you doing when I called your number?
Buddy: Was looking for my SIM card under the table (that bastard had the whole class laughing)
I was all-in at this moment and went for broke. I stood up carefully without hurting my head
Ms. Yellow Chudidaar: Who are you and what were you doing there?
Me: 15 here Maam, I was helping him look for the SIM card (even louder laughter and some guys banged the desk like the lok sabha)
Ms. Yellow Chudidaar: Silence please! Meet me after the lab if the two of you want attendance.

We sat down silently and the roll call continued, we didn’t speak to each other for the next 60 minutes. Despite everyone asking/IMing us we tried very hard to shrug them off and genuinely played the SIM card story. The next 60 minutes were the shortest in my life for it only seemed like 10 minutes before the bell rang. Everyone left the lab and we were the only ones left along with Ms.Yellow Chudidaar. As we trudged towards the lecturers desk, I was preparing an i-am-sorry speech in my head. Just I was about to speak, My so-called-clever buddy interjected.

Buddy: Come on maam, we didn’t do anything serious na! (I was totally zonked by his statement)
Ms.Yellow Chudidaar: What do you mean? and how dare you rag a lecturer? (Time for damage control as I prepare fro the worst)
Me: We are extremely sorry maam but you look so young and anyone can mistake you for a student. (The youth card always works with women)
Ms.Yellow Chudidaar: (In no mood for flattery) What are your names, let me report you to the HOD. Don’t you know that ragging is banned?
Buddy: We only asked you your name, details etc and made you to do a salute, can’t you forgive us? Plus my friend here began the ARS!

ARS stood for Anti Ragging Squad and that was the last thing that I needed. What followed was some of the most embarrassing moments and we tried everything but ‘pair pakadna‘. She was a recent graduate and let us off with a smart bargain. I wonder if it was our begging skills or my charm that worked on her, lets stick to the former! To save my skin I had to ensure that my gang never missed a lab and attended all her classes. That included free lunches and other stuff to persuade people to attend lab and not the volley-ball court. Till the last day, if there was no one around Ms.Yellow Chudidaar would always greet me with a ‘Good Morning Senior Saar‘. Every time that happened I felt like digging a hole in the ground and hiding my head.

However this didn’t stop me from keeping a watch on the freshers!

(Image courtesy: NYTimes)

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Oops I ragged her again!

maxdavinci — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 04:42:36 +0000

As India yesterday celebrated Teachers Day to commemorate the birth of the second President of free India Radhakrishnan garu, I tried to recollect some of the horrible things I have done. I am not going to mislead anyone by claiming that I have been the teachers pet. I’d rather say that I was a teacher’s nightmare and my mom never attended any parent-teacher-meeting for she knew that she would always be in the firing line. I was always an out-standing student though, if you know what I’m talking about! The same continued in college and I only had virtual presence in class by proxy. My real attendance though was a 100% in the volleyball court and the canteen.

We were never the ideal students anyone would look up to, that gang was separate. We’d get into fights, break rules, have tiffs with the staff and engage in
anti-social
activities that
can’t be mentioned hereengage in anti-social activities that can’t be mentioned here. According to me if you haven’t boycotted classes, got into a scuffle or been suspended in large numbers then you can consider your 4yrs of Engineering worthless. Ragging was probably the most fulfilling experience and here I mean both ragging and getting ragged. A lot of people may get touchy on hearing the ‘R’ word and launch scathing attacks against me. If anybody wants to argue on the inhuman activities that are passed off as ragging then you are more than welcome to be my guest. It’s only those without a spine that get ragged badly and if you cant stand up to a bunch of guys elder to you, then forget the world! The previous line may not go well with many, but then I’ve seen the worst things happen and experience speaks! If a guy from a posh urban school is today lean mean and tougher than most rowdies, then I’d without an iota of doubt attribute it to those four years. So lets not further incite the ragging debate and get to the crux of this post. I have tons of ragging stories but most of them aren’t suitable for family audiences, this one however takes the cake.

We were in the IIIrd yr and the semester had just begun. All the IInd yr students were hanging around the Ist floor verandahs like vultures waiting for their prey. The first floor was reserved for offices in the left wing and fresher classrooms in the right wing. The freshers would walk with their heads hung low and desperately try to avoid eye contact and be conspicuous. They’d rush into their classrooms and bury their heads into their textbooks, praying for the bell to ring and classes to commence. Seniors(IInd n IIIrd yr) would either call the most conspicuous ones out of the classrooms and take them to the ground or canteen or even get into the classrooms and have some fun. I was just sitting on the railing keeping an eye over the proceedings with a sense of deja vu, been there done that! For the uninformed, after tormenting kids for a yr and doing unspeakable things under the name of ragging I was one of the founders of the anti-ragging-squad. Yea yea, we had a free hand and earned a lot of enemies among the staff and hence this was our way of redemption.

I always encouraged healthy ragging but kept an eye so that no one went overboard. Me and my buddy saw this girl walk by in a yellow chudidaar with a long book in hand. My friend was pretty pissed of by the fact that she ignored us and walked past without even greeting. I must tell you that in our part of the country, all freshers greet seniors with a salute and
a good
morning sir/maamall freshers greet seniors with a salute and a good morning sir/maam. I was busy channeling my energies on a cute girl in CS but my buddy wanted to do something. In a total maddy moment I snapped my fingers twice (it’s pretty loud), she stopped and turned. With my index finger I signaled her to come closer, she frowned and came. I was once again looking at my interesting CS fresher while my friend grilled Ms.Yellow Chudidaar. She wasn’t replying and just stared at him, he lost patience and I had to intervene. With my steely gaze and stern voice I asked her to do the salute and greeting and get one with her day. I could see her quiver and hence didn’t want to stretch things further. She did it but kept turning back and passing cold stares as she walked away. Well we were highly respected among the kids, and most of em’ saw as as messiahs but this one in particular irked my buddy. We went back to scouting for interesting females and telling over enthusiastic kids to back off.

The bell rang and we all trudged back to our classes while the freshers were happy that their prayers were answered. Ms. Yellow Chudidaar had disturbed my friend a lot and he kept talking of her during class. We attended class for we had the guy’s lab in the next hour and lab was something we’d never miss. The bell rang and as we were going to the lab, my buddy was still thinking of ways to get even with Ms.Yellow Chudidaar during the lunch hour.

Suddenly Ms.Yellow chudidaar walks into the lab and announces. Morning students, I am XXXX and I shall be handling this lab from today.

The world stopped rotating for a minute as everything went blank. Me and my buddy hid under the desks and banged our foreheads in the confusion.

(To be continued in part-2…….)

Image courtesy: NYTimes

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Return of the JD

maxdavinci — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 03:08:39 +0000

The image to the left may suggest that this post is going to be a watered down take on the greatest movie series ever. Regular reader will however be quick to spot the title and realize that this is the much awaited sequel to this post. For those who joined in late, JD was our Phy.Edu teacher in school who had a penchant for butchering the queens language. After a rather embarrassing incident during our quarterly exams, he took spoken English classes. The next few months were pretty incident free and we were always praying for some action. Our prayers were finally answered in February when the school announced an excursion to ‘Srisailam and Nagarjun Sagar‘. Our class teacher was unable to accompany us and therefore JD was to step in and take responsibility for us! The news of JD coming with us was more than the fact that us co-ed adolescent teens were going to spend two nights away from home. We were
in
the IXth
with our hormones
waiting to eruptWe were in the IXth with our hormones waiting to erupt, but it all took a backseat for JD was coming!

The evening before was spent in discussion of what the probable incidents could be and bets were being placed. We were least bothered about packing the stuff in the checklist provided or even staying away from amma for two days. I barely slept that night, not because it was going to be just us and the girls, but because JD was coming! It was 5:30 in the morning and we were all at school in our school uniforms and JD was calling out the roll count and collecting permission forms signed by the parents. The girls looked great with their hair let loose and makeup, hell I was 14 so shut up and continue reading! Most parents had come to drop of their wards and especially the folks of the girls. Each one of them wanted JD to take special care for their ward, it made us boys look like savages though! One maal-girl lets not take names now, had brought her little sister along. The little one very enthusiastically hopped on to the bus and refused to get off. She was barely in the IVth I guess and threw a small tantrum saying that she wanted to go with her sister.

No mummy, No daddy, yenny baady kidnap you, who respaansibull?

All that the laughing and chatter suddenly came to a stop as everybody looked puzzled. The silence was broken by the cry of the dazed girl who didn’t understand what happened, but sure knew that JD was angry and hence yelled. It was really hard to control and everyone including the parents broke out into peals of laughter. It died down soon and we were all ready to leave. JD had made the girls sit in the font and us boys towards the rear and he went to sit near the driver. There were four buses and we saw the other buses had no such seating and we soon rearranged ourselves(couple seating obviously!). Once the bus hit the highway, we passed cassettes to the driver and were singing and dancing in the aisles.

Arrey woh, who is doing kaabarey in the backside re? This is school bus or mehendi galli? raaskels!

For those who didn’t get the joke, ‘Mehendi Galli’ was a famous landmark in Hyderabd during the rule of the Nizams. Also called ‘Mehboob Ki Mehendi’ it has been referenced in many films. So long story short it was famous for its courtesans and hookah bars. Who am I kidding, we didn’t know this shit then, the laughter was reverberating in the bus and we failed to pay further attention. We reached Srisailam and once again formed lines for the roll count and were being split into groups of ten. It was around noon and the February sun was beating down upon us. The girls in the line were in the shade of the busses while we guys were at the suns mercy.

aye you sun rising baays, come here and start lining!

The sweltering heat had made us forget about our ravishing female companions and even more JD. All the droopy eyed ones as well as the chirpy ones were suddenly jolted for we failed to comprehend his wise words. It took a while to realize that he asked us poor guys to form a new line int he shade of the buses so that we could be spared by the blazing sun. It was very thoughtful, but I could see the guys from other sections turning green in envy, for we seemed to be having the most fun and making the loudest noise! JD was miffed by couples coochie-cooing and gathered all of us to play kabaddi.

If you out-going the box you are out, if you are in-coming then you play

Cellphones were still a luxury in India during those days and even incoming was charged! If any of you thought that that he was telling us how mobile communication worked then you are mistaken. JD here was just explaining the rules of one of the the oldest desi games. The rest of the trip was pretty peaceful though I can’t remember any other gems right now. Do leave a comment if you liked it or have any similar stories.

PS: I liked him a lot, and now do feel bad for all we’ve done.
PPS: This blog now supports inline commenting and commentators will be notified by mail!

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I speak bleak, you speak meek

maxdavinci — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 15:39:11 +0000

We Indians are head and shoulders above all when it comes to butchering the English language. Any attempts to hand the Chinese a gold medal in this event will not be tolerated. They think that they speak English, whereas ours atleast remotely sounds like it! I was finishing up a post just as my friend ‘Kar‘ called to tell me of his new post. Having attended the same college and growing up in a similar environment(I went to a much better school though), I could instantly relate to the sequences. If you are looking for something more witty and funny then head over to ‘sthitapragnya‘, but do read on if you have nothing better to do.

Having studied in one of the most prestigious schools in the city, English was never a problem and it was the medium for instruction as well as conversation. When I was in the VIIIth however, the school hired a Phy.Edu teacher who(for the lack of a better word) was a from a Govt school and a state level volleyball player. He was the reason I begun playing volleyball, not because I was tall or my love for the game but just to hear him talk. We never knew his real name and called him JD(Junior Duryodhan), don’t ask me why but the name just stuck.

We were writing an exam and JD walked in with the question papers, there was immediate chatter on chit-passing techniques, hand symbols, cough-sneeze patterns etc. I know what you are thinking and yes, I have been notorious since then! Suddenly a voice erupts

who is sounding, who is sounding? yeez theej ejjamination haal or feesh maarkeat?

There was pin-drop silence in the room as we were all shocked,not by the outburst but trying to comprehend what he said! It continued for a minute and then everybody broke out into peals of laughter. this was followed by another missile

Yeediats, raaskels, why yuvar laffing re? Yeez Siliku Smitha dancing here or vat?

Maddening silence again with some stifled laughter. Suddenly the bespectacled guy in the front row broke into a titter and banged the desk. A lot of us(including me) were wondering as to who Ms.Siliku really was, but that could be saved for later as the laughter grew deafening. Unable to bear the din, our Chemistry teacher form the adjacent room rushed into reprimand us. What followed was a huge lecture on manners, respect, and general shame-on-you stuff. With great difficulty we finished the exam, but every time we asked for an additional sheet there were chuckles all over. There were only 15 more minutes left and people had begun turning their answer scripts in. A really dhamaal-girl(sorry, no names) had turned her paper and was walking towards the door, when again another gem from JD.

aye you big ribbon, shut the fan and open the window. Let the fresh wind enter.

For those who failed to get it, the girl had huge ribbons to tie her plaits. It was utter chaos as the girl was visibly embarrassed and the laughter was unstoppable. With great difficulty we all finished the exam and turned in our papers.

JD got a lot conscious after this incident and was judicious in his use of words thereafter. However JD did strike back but this post is getting a tad long, so let’s save it for part-two.

(Return of the JD, continued in part-two)

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