SEVEN SINS

I am proud. My pride is not the vanity of the bourgeoise or the vainglory of the foolish. My pride is not malicious, airy and condescending. I have the pride of a morally ambitious person striving towards my own perfection. My pride acknowledges the good and noble, rejecting the weak and insipid. My pride doesnot allow me to accept irrational virtues codified by others neither does it accept an unearned guilt or shame. It doesnot allow me to submit passively to the will of others and rejects everything before the reality of my self esteem.

I am envious. My envy is not the the pain caused by the good fortune of others. It is not the green eyed monster consumed with malcontent for others. It does not cause any exhilaration in the misfortune of others. My envy is the drive to reach the pinnacle of my desires. It is the force that sustains me in bouts of self doubt. It convinces me that I am inferior to no one.

I am wrathful. My wrath is not self-destructive nor is it blind. My wrath does not seek vengeance, it does not exceed my personal dignity neither is it insensitive to social justice. My wrath is intrinsic to me. It spurs me in the hour of greatest need where its absence would have rendered me craven and imbecile. My wrath lets me hold my own against an aggressor and does not belittle my self esteem in front of others.

I am slothful. My slothfulness is neither asinine nor apathetic. My slothfulness is the feeling of a quiet siesta after a hearty lunch. It is feeling of lying quietly in a bed of flowers enjoying the dying wisps of the evening sun. It is feeling of ennui I develop in a full moon’s night when the world is bathed with a pearly sheen. It is the feeling which I have at times to sit by and watch the world pass by. My slothfulness preserves my sanity in a dog eat dog world of unhealthy competition, a race of men who earn for faster automobiles and taller buildings.

I am greedy. My greed is not the rapacious desire and pursuit of money, wealth and power. It is not materialistic. My greed is the etenal craving inside me to capture the small moments which make my life beautiful. My greed is for companionship, love and good times. I am greedy for the moments of love and pampering of my parents, the peal of laughter for a joke among friends and the engulfing happiness over a small success.

I am gluttonous. My gluttony is not the over-indulgence in food or a misplaced desire for food and drinks. My gluttony neither seeks a bowl of caviar nor some exquisite dish to satisfy my palate. My gluttony makes my lip wet with anticipation for a meal cooked by my mother. It is the feeling of satisfaction when I nibble on a piece of tandoor or the feeling of self contentedness when I sip on a can of beer in a hot parched night. It takes pleasure in the taste of simple yet enriching food.

I am lustful. My lust is not lecherous nor is it subject to perversion. My lust is not the inordinate and self consuming immoderate desire for flesh. My lust seeks the tender touch of my beloved, her coquettish glances, her nervous laughter, her cascading curls which invite me to sleep forever burying my nose in them. It seeks her lips which when touched feels like the first sip of wine after crossing the desert. My lust seeks culmination in a vision of red. A red-letter day of my life, a red sari, the red on her brow, the red of the glowing embers which will bear mute testimony to my stepping on the threshold of a new life.

We, The Back-Benchers

The disturbance in my ears became a raging storm when I was rudely jolted from my afternoon siesta to find the furious Professor glaring at my face. Shaking off the last remnants of my dream I stood up swaying, and trying my utmost to stifle a yawn. As I hung my head down( the best escape mechanism that you can adopt in these sort of trying circumstances), the wizened professor decided that the whole class deserved to know more of my upbringing and mannerisms. The grooves in the wooden desk in front of me had never been more interesting. The swirling patterns and the whorls entranced me and interred me in the depths of their multitudes.
Finally the storm abated and I settled down to muffled giggles and guffaws. I yawned once or twice loudly just to see the professor getting livid once more. Chuckling to myself I once again lapsed into a state of ennui. My siesta broken and also not trying to push my luck further, I looked around to find my fellow compatriots in various states of inaction.
The Back-Benchers society is a self contained micro-cosmos having a life and intrinsic characteristics of it’s own. A plethora of disguised talents, misguided virtuosos interspersed with a multitude of jerks of varying intellectual faculty comprise our back-benchers society. There are also petenders who try to improve their social standing by forcibly ingraining themselves upon us.
Most of the people in my society walk more alive in their dreams than in reality. And those rugged desks and the peeling plasters of our archaic classroom sing a lullaby that can make you sleep like a log. Except for some rare occurances in the past history this tradition of ritualistic mass slumber has been interrupted very few times by our extremely qualified and ineffectual professors. The rollcalls are just minor footnotes in this epic ritual.
Bereft of avenues to show their artistic skills, some guys wreak their vengeance on the hapless desks and benches. Innumerable graffiti adorn them ranging from the banal to the esoteric, from doodles to protraits, from mindless scribblings to poems of longing. Dimmu Borgir shares the same space with the myriad imaginary girlfriends of Deepu and also the different clan names of gaming enthusiasts. There are also references into the linguistic depths of people who have taken pains to learn the slangs of every language and embellished the desks with their knowledge for all posterity.
The famed “addas” of Calcutta pale in comparison when there is a free period and the slumbering leviathans wake up to join the rest of the mortals. From the latest match of DOTA to the policies of Barrack Obama, from discussing the latest disgusting video to come out from the Ladies Hostel to whether one night stands are better than long term commitments,everything under the sun finds a place in the discussions.
There are also brief moments of action, glory and gory in the back benches. These are not flashes in the pan but rejuvenate us for a better tomorrow. The sight of Chatta at his frenzied best, the rustic humour of Deepu inciting everyone for a GPL to LoveAngle, the infuriating actions of Zondy, the group gropings of Umaga, the warcrys of Zhenga to the devilry and impishness of our sweet Gullu. We the back benchers survive each day to the memories of incidents as such.
I must confess I am really proud to be a member of such a group. Where else can you find a national level athlete, a world class hacker, a web designer, a photoshop guru, a robotics giant, magazine editors, a football captain, heads of a few clubs and not to mention the gaming fiends sitting all around you?
Before the bell rings for the next period, I also realisethat the back benches represent a mini-India with people from the far-off Andamans to the Khasi mountains, from our own babu-moshais to the shinde folk. Gultis and bhaiyyas, Uddus and Northies share the same desks with harmony. Quite a case study in cospolitan India, I think.
P.S. People of the front benches of my class who read this, Please read between my fingers.

For Sale: Baby Shoes; Never worn

To cut a long story short...
I am a bunch of almosts...
I was and now I am not...
Not quite what i was planning...
Came, Saw, Conquered: Had second thoughts...
Brought it to a boil often...
My reach always exceeded my grasp...
Still lost on roads less travelled...
Not quite what i was planning...
Age grows, I'hv finally accepted me...
Yes. you can edit this biography...
Hemingway Inspired, Rest Plagiarised from Smith....

20 Fool Proof ways of getting a GPL.

1.Bang all the doors of your corridor as loudly as you can at 4 in the morning during a weekday, preferably if there are labs the next day.

2.During a serious game of carom in the common room creep up slowly from behind a player and scatter the dots. If you can manage it at regular intervals the more chances of success.

3.Sit quietly with your friends who have been dying to see this suspense flick for ages (The Dark Knight…for e.g.) and because you have seen it before shout out the climax.

4.When sharing the only fag of the day which you have managed to procure with utmost difficulty coz of course all of you are broke, when it’s your turn take the fag and run.

5.During playing CS on the LAN, if there is a serious match going on don’t miss the opportunity. Flash and smoke your friends to oblivion.

6.During India-Pakistan 20-20 match pull the plug of the TV from its socket during a very critical moment.

7.Stand quietly behind a player when a heated match of 29 is going on and shout out his cards to everyone.

8.Send a love-card during Valentine’s Day in your friend’s name to some of the mammoths of the other species that reside in the Ladies’ Hostel. The uglier the specimen, the better reaction you would receive.

9.If you are from Mechanical branch make faces from outside the window to the hapless Electrical chaps coz of course you don’t have classes.

10.If you are of the Non-GMAT community attend the class when all the rest of your backbencher community has decided a mass bunk. Call the teachers personally.

11.During the class of Dr. Ghosh or some other dreaded Professor start hitting the ear-lobe of the guy sitting in-front of you.

12.Imbibe the Saha syndrome. Start being very intimate (physically) with your friends. If possible take off your pants in the middle of the room.

13.If one of your friend has been sent goodies from his home, and you have come to know of it. Don’t tell anyone and gobble it up all with your friend of course. Then start visiting everybody’s room remarking how tasty the food was.

14.In the early mornings quietly go into the rooms where communal sleeping is practiced. Smear toothpaste on someone’s nipples, paint moustaches and beards in marker pens and pour the foulest smelling powder on their heads. Just take care that you don’t make any noise and leave a note informing them that you were the perpetrator.

15.If you have unfortunately got a girl-friend go out with her everyday and describe what all you have eaten for Dinner to your seething friends. Better still, ask money from them to get a fag.

16.When people are busy playing on the LAN and their G-Talk ids have the message “Busy in a game. Dnd”, start pinging them away like mad. Buzz them; send them emoticons and stupid messages.

17.Start a rumor that the next day is a holiday. Cite the reason being some national bandh or whatever. People will believe you coz no one reads the papers.

18.Bore everyone by your rhymes, senseless songs and clichéd dialogues. For further information on this topic contact any guy from Mechanical Branch. They have written theses on the evolution of PJs.

19.When there is GPL going on in the quadrangle, incite the crowd from a balcony by throwing stones, water at them. Pull faces and make the declaration that no one has the guts to touch you.

20.A nasty but very effective tactic. Jack off on someone’s bed and don’t dispose off the stuff.

P.S. Tried and tested approaches.
P.P.S. 100% Guarantee from the author.
P.P.P.S. After a successful execution run like hell coz if you get caught you won’t live to tell the story.
:)

The Seven Stages Of Drunkenness

Weekdays at NITR is all about grey. The grey atmosphere, greying and peeling walls, greying professors and our own greying intellect. The whole charade is so dull and staid that I don’t think you would want to be me. Come to think of it, even I wouldn’t be me if I had the choice. So it is with a passion akin to deep seated longing, I await the weekends. But, alas time also plays strange tricks on us out here. It mysteriously warps itself around making the weekends so ephemeral and flitting.

My personal opinion is that most of us drink just to maintain sanity. By Saturday night I just salivate at the mere mention of drinks. By midnight, we the dregs of NIT society set about on the process of painting the town red. As my mind wavers during these bacchanalia I take a look around at my inebriated friends and see the stages we proceed through our drinks.

Verbose:- The hallucinating chords of Pink Floyd course through our system, taking our minds to a new high. Words seem to take a new meaning altogether as we hum alongside Gilmour. The aroma of neat whiskey anasthesize us to all the extraneous world. After the first three pegs,words flow from our mouths unbidden, like coins from a torn pocket. Never had the simple act of speaking seemed like a panacea for all our troubles. We talk about the past, that so frequently trod upon path making deeper grooves with each peg.

Amicose:- As the good feeling swells inside us, we sing paeans for one another, glorifying our virtues and dumping our faults in the collective mirth of drunkenness. Its these moments that last forever making you feel that “ If I am going to hell, at least my friends would be there”. As the drink slowly gets into the system we cut silly jokes, exchange pleasantries, laughing at one another and basking in our love for one another.

Grandiose:- The world is a small pool and we are the big fish in it. A trip to Goa, getting a perfect 10, nice dream jobs were never so real. Big men, big ambitions. We used to be people who used to be the torch-bearers of this generation. But this apathetic system has made us shrink so much that nowadays we cant even see what is in store for us ahead. We relive our days of glory, the days when a mere job hanging by a slender thread wasn’t the only way of redemption. Our crushed souls take new meaning out of life with every peg, opportunity seems to be around the corner.

Bellicose:- We take the sword to the cause of all our troubles. The antediluvian society, its archaic morals and rules tying us to the ground. Encumbered by desire and ambition we try to clear the obstacles besetting us. The insti, profs, G-mats receive their share of the choicest ma-behen galis.We feel relieved after venting ourselves.

Morose:-As much I would want it to be a mere footnote of my epic saga of drinking, people start breaking down. I admit sometimes I also feel on the brink of shedding tears. Nothing seems right, nothing is going our way. These are the most emotionally vulnerable phases of the night. I guess for us guys eight large pegs are needed to relive our darkest secrets. We contemplate everything that has gone wrong with our life. Sometimes with no else to talk to you, you even make the mistake of drinking and dialing your ex. Warning, it is at this stage guys like Hemingway have reached for the shotgun.

Stuporous:- By this time two bumpers have been downed. As we get up the head is heavy on our shoulders, the legs unsteady, the eye unseeing. People start bending over balconies and emptying all they have consumed the whole day. You get the feeling that the world doesn’t exist so you start peeing in the streets coz of course no one can see you.

Comatose:- People who can stagger back to their rooms, or others who have to be carried are all dumped unceremoniously on beds. The night is past and you know that when you wake up twelve hours later you will be having an almighty hangover and the dread of having to face the same routine all over.