iMyooz

Football Fever, Frivolous Fanaticism

2010-03-19T09:05:00.009+05:30

Phew. The last two months or so have seen some long days at the office (albeit including two trips, one home and one Roorkee). While it does feel good to be utilized well by the company, there are only so many Friday nights that you'd like to miss because you had a Client Call or a report to be sent out. This week has finally brought some relief in terms of the workload and so yours truly got down to writing another post.

Well, this post is about a certain phenomenon that I've observed in the last one year or so. It involves the fans of that beautiful game, Football. The Indian youth has taken a strong liking to Football in the last decade and one of the major reasons behind that has been the comprehensive all-round coverage of Football on TV. Hence, we've seen a massive surge in the viewership of Football as well as the fact that more and more kids and teenagers are playing Football in school and College. While this is a heartening trend, it has also given rise to a new species, viz. the Frivolous Football Fanatic (henceforth referred to as FFF).

FFFs usually roam around in packs , and are often found clad in Manchester United, Chelsea or Barcelona jerseys. Certain quirks have been observed in their behavior ,including

1. Stressing the last part of every word (example: Rooneeyyyyyyyyy, Messssiiiiiiiiiii, Goallllllllllll, etc.)

2. Gesticulating to invisible people in their sleep

3. Diving suddenly, clutching their shins and making fake-grimacing faces, for no apparent reason.

4. Having heated discussions about the merits and demerits of certain numbers (442, 433, 4222, 4411 etc). You might think, 'hey, my 3rd Grade maths teacher taught me that numbers can only be compared quantitatively and not qualitatively'. But then, we are talking of FFFs here.

Other characteristics include the rather girlie obsession with colours (Red and Blue in particular) and always arguing with others while saying something like 'Hey, that moron dived!" or "Hey, he elbowed me and not the other way round!"

Ofcourse, we also have the other species, the GFFs (Genuine Football Fanatics), who, while sharing some of the traits of the FFFs, generally know what the dickens they're talking about and unlike FFFs, don't think that Red Cards are what you send your lover on Valentine's Day. It's been proved that GFFs are a progressive people and contribute to the diversification of the society while FFFs are, well, to put it mildly, an inconvenience to a certain anatomical area.

FFFs are known to have a strong affinity for GFFs (the converse may not be true), and infact aspire to become GFFs, one fine day. Hence, they can be found watching football matches keenly with GFFs, knowing when to make what noises, so their identity isn't revealed. Professors of Zoology have found similarities between their behaviour and that of a cattle herd.

I've had my share of interaction with FFFs and it has prompted me to present to you a dialogue.

The Scene is set in a normal living room. The people present are yours truly and a couple of FFFs. One of these creatures is clad in a no.10 jersey, ala Rooney and is sporting earrings, ala Becks. Let's call him FFF1. Another one of these creatures is wearing a red jersey, white shorts, black socks and red studs. He possesses certain large red-and-yellow spots of paint on his face, and is observed to blurt out "Red Devils Forever", intermittently, along with FFF1. Let's call him FFF2

Me (Entering the room): Hey guys, how's it going?

FFF1: Wadddyyyaa mean how's it going? Ofcourse it's going super-fantabulously-well for the Reds, and hence for us (winks at FFF2). United are at the top of the standings, once again. Glory, glory!

Me: But doesn't Chelsea have a game in hand?

FFF1: (Snorting and scoffing) Dude, how many times have I asked you NOT to mention the Chelshits in front of me and him (points to FFF2). It like, totally spoils our moods. Why waste energy talking about them when we can talk about the greatest club on the planet. You know what I'm talking about, right? (Silly grin directed towards me)

Me: Er, yes I do.

FFF1: Moreover, the Blues (uses air-quotes) have been going downhill ever since Mourinho left, and their current coach, Hugh Grant is a complete moron and whatnot.

Me: Okay, that's wrong on so many levels! Firstly, it was Avram Grant who was their Manager, and not Coach, and their current Manager is Carlo Ancelotti.

FFF1: Oh yeah, the guy who came from Inter Milan. But who really cares if its Hugh Grant or Avram Grant or Grant Flower? The Blues aren't worth keeping track of. Glory, Glory Red Devils! (Hands all up in the air)

Me: Uh, ummm.... Carlo Ancelotti came from AC Milan, I think.

FFF1: (Looking flustered now) Look, you want to hang out with us or not? We'll not have any of this Chelsea nonsense in this room anymore!

Me: Alright, alright. We can talk about other things.

FFF1: Or do you want to talk about other pathetic clubs like Loserpool, oops Liverpool. Sorry, slip of tongue, LOL! (Hysterical laughter everywhere, for the next two minutes)

Me: (Trying to start conversation again, amidst all the giggling) Ahem, I was watching a match on TV the other day, and this team scored 4 times, but the ref. didn't allow the goals because each time, someone was offside!

FFF2: Oh yeah, the Offside. Wasn't Saurav Ganguly like, totally, super-awesome on the off side? Ravi Shastri, he of the cliche' club, LOL, said one time that on the offside, you have God and then you have Saurav Ganguly.

Me: (Not knowing how to react, wondering to myself) Was I talking about Cricket? Did he just say Saurav Ganguly?

Me: (talking to FFF2): Er, um, I think I meant the Offside rule in Football, you know the one with the whole one-defender-behind-you clause, remember?

FFF2: (Caught off guard) Ofcourse, ofcourse, yes, yes, the offside rule, offside, offside rule (I swear to God, I was reminded of Lord Emsworth from P.G. Wodehouse that time). Ah, er, um, hey, what's that thing on your wrist? Looks like a nice watch to me! (Wink, followed by sly grin). That's a totally swell piece of metal and leather you have on your wrist there. Where did ya get it?

Me: My Dad gifted it to me.

FFF2: So, your Dad! Did he get you into football? I know mine did! Ever since I saw Roberto Baggio miss that penalty in the '94 world cup, I've been glued to this beautiful game (A blatant lie, that. Some days later, in an inebriated state, he told me his younger brother explained to him the rules of the game in second year of college).

Me: (Not knowing what to say) Oh, that's so sweet! (I heard it. L.A.M.E)

FFF2: So, tell me, big guy, did you watch that classic match from 1999? No prizes for guessing which one! LOL (Followed by a slight show of tongue, the physical version of the :P)

Me: (Pretty certain that he's talking about the Champions League Final of '99) Ah, well, I wasn't really much into Football that time, so I didn't really watch that match. But yes, I've heard so much about it, how United scored those two goals in injury time to take the Cup!

(Shock, horror in the room. I've told them I didn't watch the '99 CL final. FFF1 is staring at me , mouth open, jaws diverging to infinity, as if I'd swallowed a python in front of him. )

FFF1: (After gathering his composure) Dude! Dude! Dudddeeee! (Lord Emsworth, again) You're kidding, right? Please tell me you are! How do you expect us to talk to you if you've not watched that match? (Speaking to FFF2 now) Get that match from YouTube. NOW! We need to teach this one here a thing or two about being a Red Devil!

(Thankfully, tempers have lowered and calmness is back in the room)

Me: (Fearing these goons a little now) Oh, ofcouse, I'd love to see that match!

FFF2: Hey man, can I ask you something? Don't take it otherwise. When did you ever become like this? We used to be the best of friends and hang out together. And now suddenly, I'm seeing new sides of your personality.

Me: (Pissed off now, but trying to stay calm) Ah, er, um, you know, well, leave it, lets talk about it sometime later (What the dickens am I supposed to talk about?)

FFF2: (Smiling benevolantly now, like a father, whose on the verge of forgiving his son for stealing his Playboys) Oh, that's okay, I know you're a good guy. Speaking of good guys, isn't Rooney like totally in the form of his life? He scored twice against Fulham, 32 goals this season! Atta boy Rooney! The Red Devils can now claim to have the greatest footballer to have ever stepped foot on the planet. Bring on Loserpool! Glory, Glory!

Me (losing it a little): Look, guys, can I say something?

(Both FFF1 and FFF2 look at me with the milk of human kindness in their heart)

FFF1: Ofcourse you can, big guy!

(I've had enough by now. So I also decide to launch into a tirade, albeit not entirely correct, but driving home the point nonetheless)

Me: Alright, see in my humble opinion, based on whatever little football I've seen, I consider Messi to be a better footballer than Rooney. Rooney has the power and the precision, and he's probably the biggest name after Eric Cantona, but Messi is much more elegant, with the same goal-scoring ability. Rooney has to argue with refrees, sarcastically clap at them, elbow defenders and the like to score goals. Messi just has to turn up on the field. I know Rooney has mellowed down and all that, but in his early days, it seemed that playing football was an inconvenience that came in the way of his arguing, elbowing and creating rackets.

(All hell has broken loose. Blasphemy has been committed. I start looking behind my shoulder for hidden predators. FFF1 has already murdered me mentally, some 14 times.)

FFF1: Okay, I have to ask you then. If you don't think Manchester United is like totally the best club side ever, why the hell do you watch football ?

Me: (The pieces fall into place) Oh, so this is what it was all about. Well, I don't watch football because I'm a big fan of United, Chelsea, Barcelona or any club. I watch football because I like good football. There's a certain thrill in watching a person dodge the entire midfield plus two defenders to net the ball. That person could be anybody, even a striker from Wolverhampton. Plus, I'm more of a footballer-fan than a club-fan. These guys anyway keep moving from one club to another. So what do you do then? Ronaldo was adored when he was at OT. Now that he's moved to Real Madrid, he's being called names. That's highly hypocritical! I'm pretty certain if AC Milan poaches Rooney one day, you buffoons will probably start cursing him as well!

(The entire room joins hands, in a show of defiance)

FFF1: Well, we'll not be swayed by your nonsense! All this talk of being a footballer-fan is pure apple sauce. Manchester United was, is and will remain forever the best club in the world and anyone who ditches them will be looked upon as a traitor. Just like Beckham, who went to the New York Galaxy and now Inter Milan. Glory, Glory, Manchester United!

(At this point, the theme song starts playing on YouTube. The buffoons start shoving huge "Believe" placards in my face and confetti is in the air. I even notice a tear or two in their eyes. Needless to say, I walk out of the room, knowing that this has been an hour of my life that I'll never get back)

P.S: A disclaimer here. This post is NOT about bashing Manchester United (I had to include this because I fear for my life). Manchester United and Rooney could easily have been substituted by Barcelona and Messi, or some other combination. I chose Manchester United because, as it turns out, most of the FFFs I've come across have been United fans. Maybe the GFFs of United can tell me why. I have no clue.

Some of you might even be thinking that this guy is himself a huge cricket fan so maybe he's jealous of the fact that people are following another sport. Sorry to disappoint you people, I'm not that shallow. I'm a fan of good football, and if I may add, Lionel Messi. I might not know his Wikipedia page by heart, but boy, does that guy possess some skills!

And really, FFFs make me sick. Be passionate, even fanatic, about Football, hell, any sport, but please don't pretend to be Rooney's half-brother when you are of the opinion that Peter Schmeichel was United's Best Ever Wicketkeeper.

Five reasons why Roorkee scores over Bangalore

2010-02-16T23:20:00.001+05:30

So, here I am. Right in the middle of a spell of excruciating pain and discomfort, owing to the latest addition to my repertoire of vestigial organs, the dreaded wisdom tooth. As far as I know, I'm none the wiser since the blasted thing decided to announce its arrival; if anything, I might have started cursing humanity even more. Be that as it may, it gave me a chance to bunk office so aal izz well.

Without wandering away from the main subject, this post could see some uncharacteristic sentiyap, so kindly ignore it when you come across it. I took a trip down memory lane (oh boy, here it comes) to Roorkee a few weeks back. The trip was supposed to happen at Convo, but my company's sense of timing put paid to all those plans, and I was busy being trained in office in November. Of course, missing Convo was not my choice, rather a condition forced upon me. Hence, the trip in January was planned. Some wise guy once muttered that you realize the importance of something only after you've lost it. This might even be a Chinese proverb; I'm not certain. And even though I 'd majorly convinced myself that life can only get better post-Roorkee, I was made to rethink, albeit for a short time.

Yes, none of my classmates were around when Pandeyji (it could also have been Tiwariji or Guptaji; I don't remember) from the Acad Section handed me my degrees, and there was nobody to share that fist-pumping-and-high-fiving moment with. Neither were there any hat-tossing or photo sessions. Yet, the joy of finally reaping the fruits of hard work (okay, maybe not-so-hard work) was something special. It's a joy that can be experienced even without human company, much like the joy of watching a really good movie in a cinema hall, without friends. For a moment, a tiny moment, you get this special, surreal, indescribable feeling that makes you want to stand still and soak in everything around you. Thank god, it doesn't last long, for you'd not want people staring at you as if you were some nutcase.

I was in Roorkee for three days and a bit, and the plan was to relive those various campus moments for one final time, because I knew that it would be a long time before I take my next trip to the campus. True to expectation, some wonderful times were had, in that tiny little town on NH-58. Fun times with Soni and Ukey in Govind, fun times with junior junta, a trip to our first year rooms in RJB, food at Alpahar and Ganga Canteen, a jaunt to the CBRI colony, a full round of the campus, the trip had it all. Oh, and needless to say, the first thing I did upon arriving on the Roorkee railway station was to take a rick straight to, you guessed it, Baadshah (more about Baadshah a little later). It was a classic case of too much happening too soon. Hell, for a fleeting nanosecond, I even considered coming back and getting a PhD from the Insti. I sincerely thank the almighty for not allowing me to be swayed that way.

It'll not be very polite of me to dump each and every experience here, for nobody likes to read a long, soppy tale, including yours truly. Hence, I decided to list down 5 reasons (not exhaustive, not in any particular order; Ah, those Litta times!) why Roorkee scores over Bangalore.

1. Let's start with that temple for gluttons, Baadshah Hotel, Pahadi Bazar, Roorkee. Baadshah is known to serve legendary chicken, that's even forced a few veggies to turn non-veggies in my campus time. Never mind that the gravy is redder than blood, never mind that Baadshah consumes about 17 barrels of oil everyday, resulting in oil-based hangovers the next day and never mind the fact that chicken bones lie strewn across the floor, extending you a warm welcome. It still is the darling of all chicken-lovers on campus. It's a known fact that Baadshah traded hygiene for awesomeness sometime during the British rule, which turned out really well for people like me, because while hygiene is temporary, awesomeness is permanent. A Baadshah trip has been the high-point of many mundane days on campus. It is truly, The Baadshah. I've found a low-quality substitute in Bangalore, going by the name of Sher Khan Hotel. It's not very far from my place and serves good chicken, but comparing it to Baadshah is akin to comparing a light sabre to a tubelight wrapped in transparent-green paper.

2. Roorkee afternoons are characteristically lazy and long-drawn, so you can take a bath, watch an episode of South Park, take pictures of Govind Bhawan, have lunch at SP, have a bakar session with people on your way back to campus, take a full campus tour and take pictures, have snacks at Alpahar, have bakar in Nesci, go to UG, come back to your room, watch two more South Park episodes, and it'll still be 6pm.

3. What's better than getting paid for doing absolutely nothing? This is NOT the stuff dreams are made of, this is reality. 5th year in Roorkee is a paid vacation, for most of the Dual junta. There's a solitary theory course in the whole year, plus you get paid 8000 every month. Just as getting an acad-back in IITR requires special talent (unless you're being taught by AKJ or SNS), spending 8000 a month in Roorkee requires some effort on your part (this doesn't include trips to Delhi every weekend; we are talking about spending the money in Roorkee). I'm seriously starting to question the adage, 'There are no free lunches'.

4. The joy of riding a bicycle, after crossing teenage years, is one that can be had only by a fortunate few. Riding a bicycle, full throttle, in winter nights is even better. Roorkee affords you the opportunity to go to the Railway Station to see a friend off, at 1 am, on a bicycle, in single-digit temperatures, come back in even colder weather, sip some tea at Bus-T while shivering at the same time, come back to the campus, turn the heater on, cover yourself with a cosy blanket and drift off to the most blissful of sleeps ever.

5. Feeling disillusioned in the rat race? People getting onto your nerves? Feel like joining a gothic cult? No worries, Roorkee has lots of quick getaways for you. Haridwar, at 30 kms, offers you the sacred Hari-ki-Pauri ghat, good food and lots of peace. 20 Kms from Haridwar, Rishikesh offers you white-water rafting trips, secluded river beaches and continental food. Mussourie, 100 kms from Roorkee, is the quintessential hill-station with its Mall Road and tourists all around. And if you possess features common to a sloth, Roorkee has the canal-side in Solani Puram.

And if nothing works for you, get admitted into the IITR Chemical Dept, and graduate with a B.Tech, when you should really be getting a Diploma for only spending 2 years in the department.

From Campus to Corporate

2010-01-02T01:27:00.002+05:30

Well, firstly, the title is slightly misleading. This post is NOT one describing a typical college-to-company journey. It’s just that I haven't posted in a long time and the hiatus certainly didn’t warrant spending too much time on the title. Most of this post can be attributed to the fact that I spent the last two days of 2009 sitting idle in office, those being my first instances of the fabled Bench Time, and reading blogs and randomly surfing the web.

It’s been two months since I began working and while it hasn't been a rollercoaster ride - that overused metaphor, it’s been pretty smooth sailing (another overused metaphor). The transition from lazy-and-indifferent-college-student to formals-clad-office-worker has been seamless for the most part. And that's because, while the body may have yielded to the demands of the Corporate World, the mind is still in the right place.

The company (iRunway India Pvt. Ltd. for the uninitiated) ~~basically~~ (I’ve been told Indians use the word ‘basically’ a lot) plies its trade in the domain of Technology Consulting and IP Services. Anymore description and it'll get boring, so I’ll let it be. Work is different from the conventional Coding-Shoding OR Factory/Plant work OR Sitting-around-doing-nothing type of jobs. So, it’s been a pleasant change, at least thus far. The best part about office is the peer group, comprising of people exclusively from IITs, NITs, IIMs and ISB. The company being only three-and-some-part years old, our "Project Managers", are graduates of the 2007 batch and hence the whole hoopla surrounding Bosses has essentially amounted to squat. It took us only about 3 weeks to go out drinking with some of them and share stories regarding the company, scandals during college days and, the usual, MMS (music, movies and sports). The whole office environment is pretty friendly, what with some 100-odd like-minded people doing their bit. Office policy requires us to wear formals four-days-a-week, which give you that quintessential office-worker look. (I really don't know whether that's a good or bad thing). Also, it’s been good to start waking up before noon after a long time.

Life after office involves one or more of the following: Lappy time, TV, Sleep and Household-chores (including the dreaded grocery shopping). As usual, the week flies by and before you know it, the weekend is upon you. And vice-versa, I must add. Living with Bhaggi has its own advantages; if ever the house becomes too untidy, Bhaggi gets into the act, not too unfamiliar to Monica Geller. Plus, you’re assured of getting high-quality downloads with regularity and most importantly, you never miss out on anything important, because, as you guessed it, Bhaggi is there to remind you of that.

Weekends involve the usual sleepathons and lazing-around along with night-long sessions of Cards or Carrom, courtesy our neighbours-across-the-road, Jindal (of the Ankit Jindal fame), Binny, Pallav – my roomie from first year and his brother, Saurabh. Although, a consequence is that I’ve been forced to write this blog on Binny’s lappy while Binny, Jindal, Bhaggi and Swami are Snipin’ and Cursin’ in all glory while playing CS on our Wi-Lan. This coupled with the fact that the average age in office is 25, has meant that college isn’t ours to be missed. Yet.

And of course, there’s the thing about living in the awesomeness that is Bangalore. Never mind that there aren’t enough good movie-halls (Long live BitTorrent), that the autowallas are daylight robbers (we’re not alone) and that the ‘Cinderella Law’ forces everything to close by 11.30 (Nothing still beats the good ol’ in-house DPs, with custom playlists and random bakar). The company (pun totally intended) is good and then you have the Bangalore Weather (Note the Capital ‘B’ and ‘W’, indicating a proper noun). It’s like the Sachin Tendulkar in a team of 11 Salil Ankolas. Enough Said.

Hence, the journey thus far has been good. Of course, there are certain things that are left behind when you leave College, but hey, who wants to be in the IITR E&C Dept. for more than 5 years?

P.S: Roorkee Junta, unless something urgent comes up in office or Priyanka Chopra agrees, I will be in R-Land from 23-26^th Jan. Giddy Up!

WONA Turns 15!

2009-08-28T12:43:00.011+05:30

Watch Out turned 15 this year (yay!). Sunky and Co. brought out a 15th anniversary special, wherein they'd reserved some space for us elderly members to write in with a piece or two. I wasn't in the original writing party, as the focus was mainly to be former members who were no longer on campus, thus ensuring more eyeballs reading this issue, via their status as 'Alumni'. But Dela called me up sometime later, asking me to write some grub as they had to fill pages. I was in no mood to take up the arduous task of penning down a memoir, but on being told that Mr. Saagar Sinha and Mr. P. Tejo Vihas had already contributed with their senti pieces, I felt a need to contribute myself, if only to say goodbye.

Writing senti stuff can be as formidable a task as any. I fought hard, trying to add some verbs and prepositions to phrases like 'memories etched in my heart', 'those wonderful times', 'an unforgettable phase of my life' et al. but what resulted was a chopsuey of incoherent sentences. So, I gave up and instead wrote the following piece. Some of you might have already read this in the magazine. Until I think of something to write on the blog, have a look at this.

I’m probably expected to write something senti here, about how my three years in Watch Out were full of memories that I’ll always cherish and how I’m reminded of Bryan Adams singing ‘those were the best days of my life’. However, I’ll not delve too much into that because it would amount to me taking the role of Captain Obvious and also because I’d rather not highlight my gross ineptitude at that kind of writing. So I’ll share with you an incident that happened during my third year.

This was the day of the Watch Out interviews, where we select the new team from the first year crowd. As always, we’d done our share of running around RPM and RK Jain, for that elusive early date for the interviews in a bid to say “Muhahahaha” to other groups on campus. So, every thing was in place for the auditioning of people. Or atleast, I thought everything was. As it turned out, the same day, a cousin of mine was getting married in Delhi. Now, I couldn’t have cared less about the wedding if my mom, apparently, hadn’t been so close to my cousin’s family. So, there I was, being subjected to intense emotional blackmailing for three consecutive days from my mom. As you would expect, it was the usual trickery being employed; how she’d promised everyone in their family that I’d turn up and how I would let her down in front of the whole fraternity if I failed to show up. Her plan succeeded, for god paid me a visit (no hidden references to Chetan Bhagat or call centre employees, though) and reminded me of the eleventh commandment, ‘Thou shall not make your mother lose face in her social circle’.

Hence, I made a slight change in plans. I would leave late night, reach Delhi early morning, attend the ceremony, stuff myself with the eight-course meal that was to follow, scoot over to ISBT, catch a bus to Roorkee and be back by eight-ish. The plan didn’t get off to such a promising start, though. It was difficult getting a bus to Delhi at 2 am and I had to settle for a pretty shady-looking private bus with dim orange-and-red-and-blue neon lights inside. After managing to grab hold of the only available seat, a pleasant surprise welcomed me in the form of a co-passenger snoring his lungs off. Half an hour later, the late night show of Patthar ke Sanam began on the television that almost appeared out of nowhere. That being that, I somehow managed to survive through the journey and reached Delhi at the break of dawn. This was followed by the usual meeting up with Mom and relatives and getting ready for the ceremony, which was to be held in a gurudwara in Greater Kailash.

Needless to say, the gathering comprised of highly impressive (an earnest attempt to tone down my real opinion) women, whom I’d heard of in wedding-related fairy tales recited by my friends. Finally, I was surrounded by a swarm of highly impressive (again, same thing) women whose average beauty was a few orders of magnitude more than what I’d seen in Roorkee. I pinched myself twice, both times happily concluding that this wasn’t God’s way of mocking me. It was natural then, for my mind to wander and think furiously of intro one-liners, conversation topics and in one case, the awesomeness of the female form of life. But hang on, wasn’t I supposed to be back to Roorkee in a few hours, interviewing innocent first yearites, asking audacious questions to throw them off? My first impulse was to call Tejo, tell him that I’d quit Watch Out, effective from that instant. However, better sense prevailed and I decided, rather sullenly, to stick to the original plan. I know you don’t go to weddings for trying your luck at highly impressive women (a blatant lie, that), but hey, maybe those were ‘happy hours’ in God’s court of justice. In hindsight, that was the correct decision, because you don’t stand much of a chance of befriending members from the opposite sex if you possess the social skills of a raccoon. Anyhow, the disappointment was made up for by the aforementioned eight-course meal with more kinds of Paneer than there are countries in the world.

Finally, the time came for the goodbyes and the see-you-arounds and also for sadly closing the door on a much-awaited social interaction session. I picked up my bags, went to the bus terminal and started my journey back. I was keen to come back for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I’d missed the previous year’s interviews to a similar social obligation. So I wasn’t around when Lefty and co. were picked up. Hence, I was in no mood to miss it this time around. Plus, I feared that if Tejo happened to be experiencing one of his routine mood swings that night, well, then god bless us.

As you would expect, the bus found a way of getting stuck in traffic, true to Murphy’s theory and got delayed by an hour or so. So I began calling people, trying to know what was going on, and as expected, I found out that nobody was present at either SB or RJB. This was followed by a series of phone calls, coaxing people out of their laziness and some threatening-with-dire-consequences. In a moment of genius, Tejo and I had decided to send that wonderfully reliable trio of Pulkit, Shubham (of the kelvinator fame) and DJ (of the pink cellphone fame) to SB to conduct the interviews, hence I was all the more eager to get back as soon as possible. Ultimately, I did make it back without being too late and we managed to pick a pretty nice bunch of people (political correctness is the ‘in’ thing these days).

All said and done, I’d definitely say that the magazine has progressed during my five years in Roorkee. The overall look, the kind of articles etc are much better than what we could come up with. On the personal front also, I feel there’s been an improvement. The bonding between the current lot is really nice to see and it’s a piece that was missing in the years gone by. It’s a matter of pride for me to have been a part of Watch Out, and I wish I’d be writing something like this for the silver and golden jubilee of the magazine as well!

Flagging Off and all that kind of thing

2009-08-28T10:41:00.006+05:30

So then, I began writing. This post was supposed to be up circa 2005, when I first thought of writing blogs. Every Ram, Shyam and Ghanshyam in my friend circle had started blogging and the teenager in me urged me to follow suit and be part of the cool crowd. So in the summer vacations of first year, I finally put aside my laziness and made a profile on blogger. But the important part was thinking of something to write. Well-begun is half done, so simply-begun must at least be a quarter done, I told myself. The quality of the writing will not matter that much, as long as I can exist as a blog-o-sapien, I thought.

But its always good to start on a high, me thought and thus began the search for a good opener for my blog. A few hours later, I was munching Lays and sipping Coke in front of the TV, leaving all the 'opening' contemplation behind.

That was that, effectively. Through some complex mechanism in the space-time continuum, I never got around to staging the 'opening' ceremony. Two primary reasons . Firstly, the short attention and focus span that I possessed weren't ideal, as writing requires you to first think (a little, at least) and then get your bum to plant itself in front of the damn computer and type coherently for a period of time. This, I reckoned would be too difficult, as my thoughts wandered every 42 seconds to topics utterly unrelated to my current activity. Secondly, it required some amount of effort, which was diametrically opposite to the Principle of Energy Conservation, something I swear by even now. All this while, the Adolescent in me (it refused to be referred to as a Teenager in due course) was banging loudly on the doors of my conscience, imploring me to get over my languid lifestyle, get a move on and start writing. The baster had its own motives behind this act of its. "All of your friends have blogs, and the Adolescents in them poke fun at me whenever we meet up. This has to end, I want to be acknowledged as well". So on and so forth. "Go away", I said. "I'm too busy relaxing my overtaxed body and mind". Since it wouldn't stop heckling, I came up with a new story. "Look, now blogger accounts have been integrated with your google accounts, so in order to blog, I'd have to go online and undertake the cumbersome process, that too in the overcrowded Bhawan CC". Wifi hadn't kicked in till then and the Adolescent in me, easily convinced as it is, fell for it. "Phew, that was close", I thought and carried on into the aforementioned relaxation routine.

Since then, Mr. Adolescent has tried numerous times to get me to blog, urging and pleading, but I've always had an excuse or four up my sleeve. Slowly, this matter stopped being raised at my periodic one-to-one with Mr. Adolescent and I afforded myself a sigh of relief as this constant mucking about with my conscience ended.

As fate would have it, I finished college in July and got an extended vacation until November before my job began. I accumulated every Sitcom to be found on campus on my 1 TB HDD, in anticipation of lack of activity during this spare time. Somehow, through another complex mechanism in the space-time continuum, I started reading blogs online at home. This was a relatively new phenomenon, and I surprised myself, sitting upright and reading words off a computer screen for a considerably long period of time. Such a thing wouldn't have been imaginable a few months ago; Energy Conservation dictated. The more I read, the more I felt tempted to give my long-lost blog a second wind. Plus this time, it wasn't Mr. Adolescent poking me. Thus began the process of remembering my blogger password, integrating the profile with my google account and the usual pre-processing.

This blog will mainly consist of my highly-biased and unpolished opinions on things that I consider important enough to write about. As I learnt sometime back, every blog doesn't need to be correct all the time. It is just supposed to express the opinion of the author, no more no less. I did, for want of anything better, argue senselessly on a few blogs that didn't write what I wanted to read. But thankfully, maturity set in before I started writing myself. This blog will not deliberate on burning issues of the day like Global Warming (and the subsequent 'Meltdown') or the Israel-Palestine tiff or the power struggle between the Ambani Brothers. Apologies to all who expected me to be more mature in my writing. Not happening any time soon, methinks.

However, I can point you to certain blogs according to your tastes. If you are the kind that likes to brood twice a day, you might find this interesting. If you feel that this country has gone to the dogs and that you'd rather have been born in El Salvador, sample this. If you like your Cricket with a spoonful of satire, you must see this. And if you think non-sense is some sense after all, you are welcome to pay this blog a visit. You've been warned, dear reader.

And as you might have guessed already, the display name is a very lame tribute to two legendary characters from the world of Sitcoms.