Khmer Calling

The last few years have given a different dimension to Valentine’s Day for me: while the world gets more involved (read obsessed) with this day, while FB status messages have me reaching for a mug (to puke in) and while people around me generally assume an annoying air of “being special” or “feeling special”, I treat it with a different brush.

Three years back, on the eve of Valentine’s Day, a few friends of mine (including anon) had gathered in Pune for a get together, and as luck would have it, they decided to go German Bakery, only to become victims of a terrorist attack. I still remember that fateful night, when the rest of us were driving each other crazy, trying to get through, calling up random people in Pune and checking with hospitals, desperately looking to track down our friends.

Mercifully, despite their struggle to overcome the shock of the attack, both physically and emotionally, my friends are all healthy today, but each year, we look back, go out to ‘celebrate’ the gift of life and wish them “happy anniversary”.

But more importantly, in a couple of days, I would be off to Bangalore, from where anon and I would head to Cambodia where SH would join us: so after almost four years, since our Goa trip right after graduating, it’s time again for a Room No. 213 sojourn.

So, dear readers (all five and a half of you), this blog is closed for the next two weeks…

Leaving on a Jet Plane

My B school is a strong believer of making your life miserable by forcing unpleasant subjects/schedules/roommates down your throat, because, apparently, reality doesn’t give you any alternatives. So while students in other colleges enjoyed a lot of freedom and were considered matured enough to be responsible for their choices, our college was a replica of our government: a moral police telling us what to study, who to study with or even who to live with. Hence, we were ALLOCATED roommates on the very first day, based on some random variables. I, for one, DO NOT believe it was random at all; they deliberately put the MOST INCOMPATIBLE people together, so that we could learn to adjust, compromise and become more tolerant, i.e. more prepared for marriage.

So this is how I met SH, five years back, on an unpleasant June afternoon. Now, given my gift for judging people accurately based on first impression, I had immediately decided that I wasn’t going to get along with her. After all, she was from Faridabad (and NOT Delhi), she was tall, slim, fair and worst of all, she was an ENGINEER! In the following months, my dislike for her was only more strengthened: we were opposites, like Rahul Dravid and Shahid Afridi, like Bono and Justin Bieber or like Shah Rukh Khan and well, a normal person.

She was a social butterfly, who would hang out in the cafeteria/Sweety Stores with people even AFTER classes got over at 10:00 p.m., while I would rush upstairs to be on my own/go for a jog just to be alone…

She had her entire bookshelf empty and NEVER read, while I would finish off one bad book after another…

She could never study on her own and would insist that we mug up Segmentation variables TOGETHER, while I needed to be alone in one corner of the library, scribbling notes, WITHOUT HER MAKING PNEMONICS…

She loved to party and dance and despite being older than me, she had enough energy to put a 5-year old to shame, while I would crib every time she booked a table at Mezzanine… AGAIN…

She had the metabolism of a hummingbird, and she ate everybody else’s food but still remained thin, while I was fat despite my jogging/diet/gymming/diet/swimming/diet…

And since she was the queen of the room (apparently three years of pre-MBA work experience gives you the right to boss people around), she would ORDER us about. There were so many times she would scream at me, “Close the windows”, while I would scream back, “Close them yourself!” and she would retort back, “Stop lying around and lose some weight” and I would stop talking to her, SUFFERING SILENTLY.

To cut a long story short, we BARELY tolerated each other, and anon, as the most moderate of the three, had to act as a mediator to arrest the collapse of Room No. 213. But somehow we managed to survive through the open wars and the cold wars, and finally after two years of living with her, I heaved a sigh of relief that she was finally off my back.

But, no, apparently that was not to be. Both of us got placed in Mumbai, so even though she got married in the same year and we weren’t roommates anymore, I saw her more than I would have liked to. Every weekend, I would dread her phone call/text message, again ORDERING me to come to town or Bandra or to her place, not caring if I actually WANTED to go to town or Bandra or to her place. The worst was after every few weeks of avoiding her, when I would be celebrating the rare peace of mind, she would call me innocently saying that she was coming to Powai for some work and we could catch up for a quick cup of coffee. But it would NEVER remain ‘a quick cup of coffee’ as promised as she would just crash at my place, again not caring if I actually WANTED her to stay back. And then there were those times when I would be drunk/sick/upset and I would explicitly tell her NOT TO COME HOME and that she WAS NOT WELCOME, and yet she would show up in the middle of the night with medicines/alcohol/a shoulder to cry on, repeatedly buzzing the doorbell till I finally gave in and opened it. Or she would drag me to her home on my birthday or help me with the saree every time I had to go for some guest lecture/placement duty/social event.

And now, after five years of being bullied by her, she is finally gone, if not from my life, but from the city, as she starts a new life in a new country, leaving me a little more lonely, a little more nostalgic and a little more sad.

There is something about the person you have shared beds/closets/bathrooms with...

Homecoming

I assure you this weekend was more than just going back to college, meeting the same set of people, talking about the same stories for the hundredth time, going for a sleepy LONG drive to Mulshi dam, drinking, having breakfast at Café Good Luck, lunch at Blue Nile, high tea at Chaitanya and dinner at Mezza9.

It was also about suffering a slow death inflicted by Nargis Fakhri. Katrina Kaif, take a bow. You have competition. Who said, you can’t act?

Now, as a group, we are very diverse. We have very different personalities, tastes and opinions, which is why it takes us at least 30 minutes to reach a consensus, even on simple things like in what order we should use the loo. The process can go on for over two hours if it involves critical issues like, say, how to have fun, because we can’t even decide on a common DEFINITION of fun. But Rockstar achieved what nobody else had ever managed: instant agreement.

Anyway, moving on, the trip reminded us of the old days, the carefree life, the little things that made the two years so special. But it also confirmed something which we already suspected, i.e. certain things/people never change:

Like the awesomeness of the bun maska/baked beans on toast/scrambled eggs at Good Luck, the Patiala lassi and parantha at Chaitanya and the joy of ravishing daal chawal at 1 a.m. after four hours of binge drinking…

Like repetition of the same jokes which still manages to bring a smile on your face…

Like huddling over the laptop to watch old videos and snaps and randomly hugging each other…

Like revisiting every corner of the college and trying to recreate the same memories: sitting on the swing where we had our ‘deep conversations in the dark’, crowding around in front of the Sweety Stores (only it’s now called the Rangoli Stores), arranging ourselves in the exact order in which we used to sit/sleep in the classroom (Room No. 307) or sitting opposite the canteen by the Zenia flowerbed (the guys arguing over who gets to face the girl’s hostel)…

Like barging into Room No. 213 (the hostel room we shared) and squealing like excited schoolgirls as we posed for random pics (me cursing ‘my’ wardrobe by the door)…

Like the guys taking care of us (booking cabs, buying tickets, food and alcohol, arranging mattresses and pillows, making tea and waking us up in the morning) while we let them…

But then, we also noticed the differences: like getting older, getting married, talking about bosses/investments/property/family, tiring more easily and slowly giving in to mundane mediocrity…

As I tossed and turned on a rented mattress, I found myself a little less impulsive, a little less spontaneous, a little less uninhibited and a tad more scared than I was two years back…

Good Riddance (time of my life)

There are reunions, and then there are REUNIONS. The first one implies the formal alumni meet organized by your college strategically timed (during summer/final placements) so that the college can hand out colourful and badly edited (trust me, I worked in the Corpcomm team; I know how we made these pamphlets) placement brochures in the hope that some bigshot alumni will be charitable and nostalgic enough to “give something back to the college”. The alumni, on the other hand, with nothing better to do on a Saturday night, will turn up for the free food and the booze, in the hope of networking and passing around business cards, while comparing their cars/houses/size of… (I was going for bank balance, you dirty-minded losers). Thankfully, I haven’t attended any such meets (except as a student, when I was there to hand out the colourful, badly edited pamphlets).

But this weekend, we are going to Pune for the REUNION, which implies that our small but extremely confused group of 10 people (the other three spoilsports apparently have better things to do and I am jealous of them) are going to get back together to mourn over the misfortune that hit them four years back, when they met in Div B. The idea is to revisit college life, i.e. do all the stupid things we used to do, get drunk at the same place, watch the cheap morning show movie at the same theatre and generally try to go back to the past on a very expensive time machine ride. If you ask me, it’s just the desperation of a few OLD members, pushing thirty, trying to hold on to their youth.

Anyway, as much as I tried to get out of it, I couldn’t think of enough creative excuses, and hence I have reluctantly agreed to spend my otherwise happening (yes, I can never get enough of cooking/cleaning/washing/doing laundry/reading/watching marathon episodes of BBT) weekend in the most unpleasant way: meeting people who got on my nerves for two years, getting drunk, dressing up, staying up and discussing the same old stories about college life.

The sacrifices you have to make for family… oh yea, they are like family (remember, you can choose your friends, but not your relatives)

Purani Jeans all over again… time to buy a new pair?

Another Wednesday...

I remember posting this entry two and half years back about the 26/11 blasts. Today, after YET ANOTHER TERRORIST ATTACK, I really don’t want to repeat myself (we have politicians to do that). But one thing has changed though: in 2008, I was this student who had been remarkably close to the attacks but was not really touched by them. Yes, terrorism was a reality, yes Mumbai was the darling of terrorists and yes, I had been to all those ravaged places, but I was never personally affected. Terrorism was something that happened to other people, we just watched it on TV and shuddered. But I can no longer say that…

Mercifully I am safe, my family, friends and colleagues are safe, but that doesn’t stop me from going back a year, February 13, 2010: a time when I was lost in my own world (and not blogging). Ok, fine, it was Valentines Day eve and I was busy. But one phone call, and it sort of changed things forever. We were no longer a distant observer who sipped coffee, discussed the atrocities and abused the politicians; we had become a victim. There was a blast in German Bakery in Pune (a place we would often visit during our MBA days) and five of my close friends (including my ex roomie and the anon commenter on this blog) who were just revisiting the old days on a Saturday evening unfortunately chose to do so at that very hour. The rest is just blood and shock and trauma. The incident changed their lives but we are just thankful that they lived to tell the story.

Terrorism teaches you to be grateful for things which are our fundamental rights…

This post is for those five people (the anonymous commenter included)

Revisting (running away)...

The advantages of ‘estrangement’ (don’t ask me about the disadvantages) are that you suddenly rediscover yourself, the world around you, and most importantly, other people who had suddenly stopped existing for you. So while you are running away from some things, you also end up running into some other things and remember that they aren’t so bad after all…

So this weekend, I ran off to Pune and stayed with Webstar, my ex roomie, still my best friend. She is as mean with her words as she was in college, but as sweet in her gestures as she used to be. In fact more so, now that we hardly get to meet each other, that I was visiting her place for the first time, that she has mastered the level of domestication. I watched her in admiration as she scolded the bai on the phone (as I memorized her words determined to use them on our bai who is absconding at her own free will), as she cooked me breakfast and lunch, and as she mothered me about small things (she is even worse than Monica Geller in her obsessive compulsive disorder). I revisited the old places: the lassi from Mann Dairy, the dosa at Idlicious, the movie at E Square (It seems I can never get enough of Wake Up Sid) and my favourite parlour (which conned me into paying 100 bucks more for hurting me more).

While you are so caught up in your mundane life, the newsletters that you have to complete, the trainings that you have to finish, and yes, the very important sms hours that you have to enter, you tend to forget the good things in life that you had given up so easily: going back to Pune kind of brought back those happy memories of the past two years, shared with the people (in this case person) who made it so special. But from tomorrow, I am back to my usual life, back to my routine, back to my reports, back to the mini meal, and yes, back to ‘estrangement’: which defies logic, rationality and definitely happiness!

CONVOCATION!!

The convocation, the grand finale, the black coat and hat, the degree, the smiling faces, the proud parents in the front row: this is what dreams made are of, this is the picture that institutions over the years have portrayed to attract students, this is the final culmination of all the “hard work” for the past two decades of “formal education” and this is what we had waited for when we first walked into the campus two years back. The reality was somewhat different, but memorable all the same.

This being the year it is, the moods are sombre, the usual euphoria is missing, so is the monumental pay packages, the entire batch is yet to be placed, and the irony was that on the day of convocation, there was a company on campus for a process. So as we waited to bid our goodbye to the college, some people were still waiting with bated breath for lady luck to finally smile on them. This year, it was only a “commencement ceremony” instead of a full fledged convocation, which is scheduled for December, and given the state of things, the turn out was low (lower than even half the batch), there was no celebrity chief guest to give away the certificates, and yes, the proverbial black coat was also missing. This is more of a gesture rather than a ceremony, but then again, nobody was in a mood to celebrate!

But the college did a good job, the ceremony was short but well organized, Sasmit’s video about the life and times in SCMHRD was moving, the farewell dinner was decent, and so was the DJ even though barely 20 people were on the dance floor. Unfortunately I can’t say the same for Subbu’s speech which failed to touch the chord with any of us. The best student award for each Centre of Excellence invited a few pleasant surprises and therefore some really really short speeches. My dad managed to find time from his busy schedule and came down to Pune to be with me and for a moment I felt so grateful to him- I remembered the time when I was working and asked him for one year’s time so that I can crack the MBA entrance exam; he was against it (he never approved of MBA and now that I have been through it, I know why) but he was big enough to let me pursue my dreams instead of forcing his dreams (MA in economics or CA/CFA) on me. I missed my mom though (she didn’t get leave) and remembered her sms-es every Sunday afternoon I wrote my mock exams, her patience when I worked seven days a week and didn’t visit Kolkata for over a year, her support when I screwed up so many GDs/Interviews.

The graduation ceremony, however, wasn’t the highlight; it was barely an excuse to go back to campus, to meet up with friends, to spend the last few days of what had been a glorious two years! So yes, I was back with my adopted family (sans Hemant and Shevaita) and we spent the last couple of days glued to each other. From early morning breakfast at Vaishali, to movies and shopping (you know it’s family when even the guys tag along with you and help you select the perfect bracelet and earrings, when they rummage through tops in the “for sale” category and hold your handbag when you try on the shorts), to lunch at KFC and Mcdonalds, to sitting around and playing pool, to staring at women in the malls (I don’t know if it’s the effect of hanging around with nine guys, but these days I find myself staring at strange women more than men), to switching between Sweet Chariot and German Bakery, to shared auto rides, to buying my fifth pair of Osho chappal from the roadside because Uplaksh’s damned bike ate up my expensive shoes, to landing up at hard Rock Café and savouring your drink for as long as possible because you can’t possibly afford the main course, to standing in the middle of nowhere trying to hitch a ride to godforsaken Hinjewadi in the middle of the night, to eating poha and Maggie at the chowk at one in the morning- it was a last ditch effort to cram in as much activity as possible in 24 hours! And that, was my real graduation, my real convocation…

Interlude...

Back in campus, back for one last time, trying to cram in the things that I haven’t done in two years… spending quality time with MYSELF!! Some of the little things that makes me happy like sitting by the window listening to music during the one hour bus ride to/from the city, eating breakfast alone in Goodluck Café, watching a movie (Little Zizou is THE most awesome movie ever) alone in an empty theatre with a bunch of kids around me, walking down FC Road looking for cheap bargains (and getting them), refreshing myself with roadside cold coffee and nimboo paani and going back to E square to use the washroom (and shudder at my tanned tired face), browse through the books at Crossword, rummage through the cheap accessories adjacent to Crosswords: all in the cold comfort of the only multiplex in Pune that I have been to… and then of course the familiar chit chat with friends, the paranthas and lassi at Chaitanya and the Noborborsho (Bengali new year) special at Radhika, walks around the campus, long (and I mean really long) breakfast table gossip, it’s back to life as I know, and life as it will never be!

Looking Back...

Last few days on campus, last few days of formal education, or definitely forced education (anything I do after this will be purely for fun and experience, i.e. nothing related to economics, finance, business or management) and last few days of hostel life! I remember it wasn’t long back when I started counting the firsts, and now, suddenly, I am going the other way round. A sure sign of ageing!!

So I walked into the SIC campus on 1st June, 2007 (one of my earliest posts on this blog), with promises of a life changing experience, a holistic education, a high-flying career and the much touted “exposure”. I will not get into a cost-benefit analysis of if it was all worth it, if it was worth giving up a job, if it was worth all those 100 credits of academics, late night assignments, the paranoia of placements and all that jazz: the point is that it is an irreversible event in my life and it has changed my life in many ways… so here’s one long ride down the memory lane:

I remember walking into Room No 213 with my mom only to discover that my assigned room mates have already staked their claims to the two beds below the fan and I have been relegated to the remaining cot at the far end, and for the last two years I have been subjected to bruises and pain every time some enthusiastic soul enters unannounced while I am sorting through my huge pile of outfits stuffed into the cupboard right next to the door. And I remember, being convinced that I would not like my room mates and I have been politely informed that they had felt the same way about me. So, it’s kind of a miracle that we have stuck it out through two years and become a part of each others’ lives…

I remember the Foundation exams and people struggling with Accounts assignment while I slept peacefully after I had bullied my dad into doing it for me as a parting gift…

I remember the OBL, my gaudy fluorescent orange track pants (what was I thinking) and finally meeting Shrijit after we had abused each other online almost as complete strangers. Well, we are still abusing… some things never change…

I remember my first lecture (ERP), as I struggled through an alien concept called
"technology" for two hours and even tried taking down notes. Well, that was the first and the last IT class where I paid attention…

I remember my initial classes, settling down to my seat (roll no 2007B42), judging my learning group members (they were so good that they made me lazy), the introduction sessions (where I would wait for Somvit Majhi’s colourful intro) and my valiant attempts at getting the faculty to pronounce my name correctly (Sir, it’s not Simanti, but Shimonti, though it’s spelt as Simanti…)

I remember the 12 hour daily schedules, the 18 subjects in first sem and me struggling through most of them without enjoying any of them except Accounts and WAC…

I remember being in awe of Prantosh and Priya Kher and Shivram Apte but wondering why I struggled so much in their classes…

I remember the late night assignments, the mad attempt to co-ordinate with the boys in the D Hostel with no internet connection, followed by early morning non acads followed by trying to sleep in class and envying Shalmoli for her seat in the corner as she slept peacefully like a baby through most lectures…

I remember Phatak as he successfully transformed my love for OR (which I cracked during graduation) to sheer loathing, finally reducing me to tears…

I remember my trysts with the attendance co-ordinators, being caught repeatedly on the wrong foot and thereby having the dubious distinction of being the most generous contributor to the SCMHRD Fine Fund…

I remember trying to guesstimate the first FCQ paper, the complete shock of the batch when we were handed the RM paper, and then the transition from freaking out before an FCQ to not studying at all…

I remember the shame and horror at my first failure (POM in the Foundation exams) and then making a habit of it (French, Excel, Powerpoint, International Finance). Backlogs have been a constant companion through my two years…

I remember my Freshers party and the whole brouhaha surrounding it, me going stag (because I was too shy to ask anybody out) and then having the time of my life…

I remember when the whole batch fell asleep in the audi during a guest lecture, being grounded on campus and yet me disappearing to Mumbai during that time…

I remember my dream summers and the dream turning into confusion when I got a PPO and from confusion to gratitude for having a job in such a market. So I effectively complete B school without sitting for a single GD or without going through the most rigorous struggle called “placements process”…

I remember Neev, the random calls, the packed audi during the final round of Augustus, the last minute ppt…

I remember the excitement in college for every little festival: Lohri, Holi, Onam, Pongal, Diwali, Christmas, New years, or even the Salsa workshop…

I remember my birthday, the midnight cake cutting, the mess (water, toothpaste, garbage, eggs and cake: I will never forgive you, Samleen) and taking a bath at 1 on a cold winter morning and the ugly cute pic…

I remember hating the loud parties with the same music, the same people and the same dance moves but looking forward to them and dressing up for them all the same…

I remember the fruit chart, the corn, the dabeli and vada pav, the cutting chai at Shivaji, the Indianized pizza at Savaloy, the paranthas from IIIT, soup and sandwich and coffee at Talk About, the bhel at Tamanna café, the drunken revelry at Mezza9, the desserts and pasta at Lemon Tree, the dosa at Idlicious, the pastries at Dorabjee, the lassi at Mann Dairy, the cold coffee at Atur Centre, the breakfast at Goodluck café followed by an early morning movie at E square, and many of our experiments with different kinds of food, some of them not so pleasant…

I remember our random city trips, waiting for the bus, squeezing into the bus, singing in the bus, the claustrophobia at times, my escapes to Mumbai, my solo shopping sprees, and my exchanges with autowalas…

I remember the rains, the quiet corners, the dark roads, my solitary walks, the music and the thoughts…

I remember my friends putting up with me during my worst mood swings, and my adopted family standing by me no matter what I do…

And I remember the Corpcomm team, for everything it has given to me and for everything it has not…

PIFF PFAFF!

So 3rd sem results were declared yesterday- no nasty surprises there, one internal backlog that I had earned myself way back in September was the only hitch. Obviously, the rest of the grade sheet wasn’t a pretty picture, but I couldn’t care less as I don’t have to reappear for any of the papers. But now that I am almost through with my MBA, I think I should have studied harder. Well, in the next couple of months of what would hopefully be my last struggle with formal education (ugggh) I intend to make amends, I intend to LEARN- something I haven’t done in the past 20 years. So, I am going to READ, READ and READ!

Anyways the new year has started on a new note- I am trying out new things like the Pune International Film Festival (PIFF). After registering for my student pass for 300 bucks I get to watch unlimited movies- foreign language films from different countries, most of them nominated for some award or the other. Obviously, given my limited general knowledge and even more limited exposure to culture and politics of different countries, I find it extremely hard to follow what’s been portrayed on the silver screen or appreciate the subtle nuances of local customs. As a result, most of the wry humour or poignant tragedy is wasted on me and very often after 90 mins of struggle, I come out of the theatre, sheepishly wondering, “Now exactly what did happen out there?” But nevertheless, I am fascinated with my brush with “intellectualism”. I like this speed-dating with the pot-pouri of culture and the ways of life in different countries, I am surprised that there is a whole new world beyond Bollywood and Hollywood, and I am amazed the emotional appeal that war movies have with critics. Of course, it’s a struggle to keep up that pretence of being dignified, culturally educated, and an intellectual snob. Somehow I don’t fit in with that image of being the arty types, complete with jeans and Fab India kurta and jhola and junk jewelry, but yeah I am trying- partly by not talking (so that I don’t give myself away), partly by hanging around with my “educated” friends and mostly by being all stiff and proper and pretending to flip through the catalogue between movies so as to appear like a veteran PIFFer. However, in spite of all this social struggle I am happy with myself, that I am doing something different (other than my usual routine of eating, sleeping, surfing the net, shopping, gossiping in the cafeteria and fretting about weight), that I am adding some “value” to my personality and that I can proudly talk to people about something “deep” in social get togethers- usually I run out of topics of conversation after 5 mins when I have exhausted expressing my opinion about the Indian cricket team!

Hairy Scare!

Well there are times when I become completely numb with dumbness and do things which no sane person will ever do and this phase strikes me about once in a month (some of my ‘friends’ will insist it’s more frequent)… anyways yesterday was definitely one such day.

To begin with I caught the first bus to the city and then headed to KP, which is almost at the opposite end from my campus: all because, bless me, I wanted a fancy haircut! Well, I did get a haircut, but definitely not what I would describe as “fancy”- it looks more like a crow’s nest than anything else. Anyway, as luck as would have it, it rained heavily since I have come to Pune, and I got drenched to the skin because I didn’t carry a umbrella. So invariably whatever little stylizing was done to my hair, by the time I returned, I looked more like a ragdoll with hair all over the place rather than a smart, sophisticated, cool senior that was the original plan! And of course the fact that it left me 500 bucks poorer adds insult to injury…

But my hair wasn’t the only disaster of the morning. For my KP trip I was saddled with a psycho autowala (I know I have bad luck with autowalas): a sweet, well-meaning old man, who somehow decided on me as his newly adopted daughter. So the 30 minute journey was punctuated with eager questions about my hometown, what I do in Pune, my name (which he liked incidentally) and why I was traveling all the way to KP. Don’t know when I renewed my vow of truth and nothing but the truth, I told him I was going there for a haircut. Next he proceeded to lecture me about the evils of profligacy, about how I was wasting my parents’ precious money, and generally made me crawl in shame, and before long I started apologizing to him (rather than my original dad)…

Once he had made me feel like the Prodigal Daughter, he became kinder and offered to wait for me till I get my hair done and take me back to the city. The return trip was more about his life: his wife who died seven years back, his only son in the Gulf (no, he didn’t look at me as his prospective daughter-in-law, no matter how much my ‘friends’ insist on that) and asked me if I was able to take care of myself, what my father did (there was no point explaining that he headed a company), if he sent me money regularly or was I hard up, because if I was, he was ready to support me. I was touched by his kindness, but also alarmed: did I really look THAT hard pressed (or was it the hair?). I insisted that I still had my parents and friends. He snorted that friends are only fair-weather people and my parents were far away back in Calcutta and reminded me I was all alone here (except of course, now I had him). The conversation got even more ridiculous when he asked me if we could go for a cup of tea and assured me that it will be his treat. I refused as sweetly as I could, and said that I had a class for I which I was getting late. But that fired back, as he now insisted in dropping me back at my college, so that I don’t miss out on my class. I could not possibly show him where I studied and earn myself a stalker, so I lied saying I studied at Pune University. So he drove me inside the University campus, unheeded to my pleadings of dropping me at the gate. Finally as I thankfully paid him (he asked for a surprisingly cheap amount), he patted me, and said with a smile, “I don’t know you, but you are like my daughter. Par kaisi beti hai tu, ek chai bhi nahi pi sakti mere saath”. I smiled my dumb smile, eager to run, but waited behind a shade till he took in another passenger and left. After a few minutes, when I considered it safe to make a move, I started running all the way through the campus, to the main road until I reached the Symbiosis Centre. Drenched, with clothes sticking to me and my hair in a mess, and running in platforms, with furtive glances behind me to make sure my adopted dad wasn’t there, I was quite a sight!

I don’t know what came over him, I don’t know whether he was a sweet, lonely old man with paternal instincts or just another psycho, but I am willing to give him the benefit of doubt. It’s a cynical world, and I am a product of the Groucho Marx school of cynicism, but somehow, I always strike a chord with the most unlikely people, and I still trust them. But stylish hairlady- I sure don’t trust her!!

Rendezvous with a potential murderer!

So like a prized idiot I am back on campus, even though most of my batch mates are still getting pampered at home. I mean, I am the kind who has a serious apathy towards studies, so me being one of the earliest to report is kind of uncharacteristic… guess I don’t hate my college so much after all!! And ahem, I am a senior now and the next year promises to be the best with loads of parties, holidays, city trips and eating out (and putting on weight)…

We started the second year in grand style as me and a few other losers (who are also back on campus because their parents got tired of them) went for an impromptu trek when we didn’t get movie tickets… Dressed inappropriately for a steep climb, we nevertheless panted up the slope: overweight and overaged people huffing and puffing our way to the top! We were almost there, when we met a couple of local guys: ordinary people with sticks in their hands, the kinds you meet in local trains every day. But as one of them started talking to a guy in our group, the rest of us froze, as he casually told us: “Mujhe kisi ka quatil karna hai… aap log jaldi yaha se chale jao”. While I was relieved that we weren’t his chosen victims, a part of me felt kind of inadequate. Why didn’t he even consider us for fulfilling his cherished ambition of being a murderer? Are we not good enough or strong enough? Did he think we were too easy a prey? After all we were five men and two extremely strong women (yeah I am one of the female wrestlers)… still he didn’t consider us a big enough challenge? Yes, the guys are not-so-young and not-so-strong morons, and while I may look obese, I would have started crying at any sign of violence- but he didn’t know it right… So I wasn’t altogether flattered. But hey, life comes before pride, so we judiciously lost ourselves from there. As we turned back, one of us wondered whether he should tell our “aspiring quatil” that he might want to consider a change of weapon to be successful in his mission: a thin stick is hardly the way to go about your life’s cherished ambition.

Lil Pleasures!

Being a part of a B-school, we tend to get carried away with the so-called important things like placements, summers, CGPA, CTC etc etc and often miss the little things which probably gives us more happiness than the ones that lure us to B-schools…
At SCMHRD, in the past 8 months, I haven’t had much of a chance to look beyond FCQs, assignments, presentations or backlogs (ahem!), but now that I have 2 exams early in the morning tomorrow, I think this is the best time to introspect about those little things….
Street Food just outside the campus: If you don’t find me in the cafeteria or the juice shop, you will definitely find me outside the gate feasting on the delightful fruit chart, dabeli, falooda or phuchka (at last a place which comes close to Kolkata!)
Late night movies: I have never put my laptop to such amazing use ever before- it caters to my every whim: romance, drama, comedy, action or just some hearty laughs! All I need to do is turn on some old episodes of FRIENDS, or the ever popular tear-inducing When Harry Met Sally or the gripping Godfather, and tune in till I am fast asleep with the lappy on my lap until a kind room mate decides to switch it off!
Gossip: Put a group of 10 people together, and in no time we would have dissected the entire batch: who went out with who, who kissed who, who got drunk and embarrassed themselves, who broke up with who, and much more: the most romantic stories are cooked up in the idle pastures of the campus lawn or the hostel rooms which gives complete uninhibited freedom to our creativity! And yes, guys gossip too and they are worse than the girls!
Bus Journeys to the city: Being tucked away in one remote corner of Hinjewadi, 14 kms away from the Pune city has its disadvantages and nobody knows it better than me: remember my determined walk from Wakad or my misadventures of trying to catch the college bus in order to save money! But it’s a different experience altogether when all of us jostle against each other in the crowded 5 p.m. bus, dressed in jeans and T-shirts (a welcome relief from the campus dresscode), singing along till our voices become hoarse and the one-hour journey suddenly comes to an end as we happily troop down at E-square and discover modern civilization after a month long break!
Cricket matches in the Audi: Ok, granted India doesn’t win too many matches. But that doesn’t stop the over-optimistic souls from crowding into the auditorium to cheer for the men in blue and the atmosphere is almost as electrifying as the unruly Eden Gardens crowd- I have been a part of both, and I have behaved in the same barbaric manner each time!

Stupidity and shopping!

This is probably one glorious example of how stupid I can be…. Read on and capitalize on yet another opportunity to ridicule me!
It’s 3:45 p.m. on a Friday afternoon and I am sitting at McDonalds waiting for the Symbi bus to take me to campus. And I don’t even like McDonalds!
I am on my way back to college after a couple of days in Mumbai. Now when you are coming back in one of those Volvo buses they drop you at Wakad from where you have to take an auto to the campus and the autowalas just rip you off! And I have a major issue with ripping off (unless I am the one who is ripping other people off) so I usually take a walk back to the campus. 40 minutes in the sun is nothing compared to the money you save and the exercise you get! But today since I had a lot of luggage with me I decided to get dropped at Aundh from where I can take a free ride to the campus by the Symbi bus…. Smart no, or so I thought!
So I am like waiting in the sun with 3 heavy bags, the bus comes, and well, it just decides to ignore me!! It keeps going without bothering to stop and I am running after it like a madwoman with 3 bags, but it still keeps going. So I am stuck at the nearby McDonalds for like another couple of hours, spending money on a burger I don’t like and watching India get thrashed by the Aussies. So the whole objective of NOT spending money has clearly flopped and I have ended up wasting 2 hours as well…
As long as we are on the subject of spending money, well my Mumbai trip turned out to be a very expensive one! Well, how can you blame me? Leaving a woman alone with stylish outfits in a retail outlet screaming 50% discount (the “upto” superscript escapes your greedy eyes) is the perfect recipe for disaster! But the downside of modeling in trendy clothes in the trial room is that it also brings forth all your insecurities: how many times I have wished I was taller, or thinner or had this and didn’t have that… you get the picture! But I guess given my OCD for stinginess, it’s ok to give in to your whims once or twice a year. Anyway now that I have given in, it’s too late to feel guilty.