DARJEELING.

here's something i came across about the queen of hills on the net.

Only in Darjeeling...
...people sit in the dense fog and watch an entire
soccer match, without knowing what the hell is going
on in the field

Only in darjeeling...
...people go to buy laangshyaa and end up watching
carrom for hours

Only in Darjeeling...
..do you walk through the town once, and meet the same
people ten times

Only in Darjeeling....
....do doodhwalas sell milk with less fat than skim
milk

Only in Darjeeling....
....do the unemployed dress up better than the
employed

Only in Darjeeling...
....the best dishes on the menu in any restaurant are
thukpa and momo

Only in Darjeeling....
.....do you find distance in Kilometres and places in
Miles....Chha mile, Dus mile, Baarah mile, Biis mile

Only in Darjeeling...
...can you jump off a train...take a leak.. and catch
the train again...

Only in Darjeeling...
..the prettiest girl always eloped with a driver

Only in Darjeeling...
Boys carry two different love letters in their back
pockets. Nepali and English written

Only in Darjeeling …
Mann mann mai love mann mann mai break

Only in Darjeeling …
a train gets caught in a traffic jam

Only in Darjeeling...
...do you go to sleep with a bottle of hot water for
warmth in winter....and wake up in the morning and
”daant moluus" with the same water.

Only in Darjeeling...
.....people eat iskus ko munta and jara everyday and not get fed up.

Only in Darjeeling...
.....people go to watch the same movie as many as 15 times.

Only in Darjeeling...
....people will spend all day leaning against the paan dokan, chew pan and
exchange humjayga jokes.

Only in Darjeeling...
....jobless playboys manage to keep 3 girlfriends at the same time.

Only in darjeeling...
...people can sit around the "angaiti" the whole night.

Only in Darjeeling...
.... every teenaged student is attending either the Government College or
North Point.


Only in Darjeeling...
.....can a jeep carry twenty passengers.

only in Darjeeling...
... you can take your date for ek rupee ko aloo bhooja wit tittiri ko jhool at bhola...and make her squeal with delight

only in Darjeeling
...a bawoon and a lama sit together at dara
...and pray for the same god

only in Darjeeling
....at hashel hushel
u will find muslims, nepalis, tibetans, biharis
....beating the same drums

only in Darjeeling
......Singamari taxis carry 8 passengers..4 in the front and four at the back
...driver being the 9th gets to drive on half seat....

perhaps.......

u turn or dead end?

"Karmanyevadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana, Ma karmaphalaheturbhurmate sangostva karmani"

lets play ball.

THE GREATEST EVER.........

Australia	434-4 (50)	Runs	Balls	4s	6s	SR
A Gilchrist	c Hall b Telemachus	55	44	9	0	125.00
S Katich	c Telemachus b Ntini	79	90	9	1	87.78
*R Ponting	c Dippenaar b Telemachus	164	105	13	9	156.19
M Hussey	c Ntini b Hall	81	51	9	3	158.82
A Symonds	not out	27	13	3	1	207.69
B Lee	not out	9	7	0	0	128.57
D Martyn
M Clarke
N Bracken
S Clark
M Lewis
B Hogg(SS)
Extras: 19 ( b:0 lb:4 nb:10 w:5)
Total: 434-4 (50) | Curr. RR: 8.68
FOW: A Gilchrist (97-1, 15.2), S Katich (216-2, 30.3), M Hussey (374-3, 46.1), *R Ponting (407-4, 47.4)

South Africa	438-9 (49.5)	Runs	Balls	4s	6s	SR
*G Smith	c Hussey b Clarke	90	55	13	2	163.64
B Dippenaar	b Bracken	1	7	0	0	14.29
H Gibbs	c Lee b Symonds	175	111	21	7	157.66
A Villiers	c Clarke b Bracken	14	20	1	0	70.00
J Kallis	c and b Symonds	20	21	1	0	95.24
M Boucher	not out	50	43	4	0	116.28
J Kemp	c Martyn b Bracken	13	17	0	0	76.47
J Wath	c Ponting b Bracken	35	18	1	3	194.44
R Telemachus	c Hussey b Bracken	12	6	2	0	200.00
A Hall	c Clarke b Lee	7	4	1	0	175.00
M Ntini	not out	1	1	0	0	100.00
J Peterson(SS)
Extras: 20 ( b:4 lb:8 nb:4 w:4)
Total: 438-9 (49.5) | Curr. RR: 8.79
FOW: B Dippenaar (3-1, 1.2), *G Smith (190-2, 22.1), A Villiers (284-3, 30.5), H Gibbs (299-4, 31.5), J Kallis (327-5, 37.4), J Kemp (355-6, 42.1), J Wath (399-7, 46.3), R Telemachus (423-8, 48.2), A Hall (433-9, 49.3)

NEED I SAY MORE........

THANK YOU SMITH& CO. THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE…………

It was not a stormy day though it ought to have been. A day with the usual Chennai sun blazing away to glory. Nothing in the air suggested anything untoward. Incidentally it also happened to be Valentine’s Day. Also the first day of our quiz 1. For the fourth semester. The exam for that day was of phase transformation

I always looked forward to my first exam for phase transformation. The reason for this strange yearning lay in the fact that it was going to be my first open book exam. Those people not accustomed to this paradoxical concept, it is an exam in which you are allowed to bring your notes to. Funny, but something we all dream of. The night before the exam I had a terrific time going to every room and mentioning cheekily what a pity it was that they had to work so hard for the next day’s exam. While all I had to do was go through the pages once and ensure I wake up in time.

Well, that little detail about getting up on time did me in. Over confidence led to utter disregard for a certain crucial element- setting the alarm. Under usual circumstances, I have strategically placed alarms in three vantage points in my room. These points were decided on by me after some complex geometrical calculations, for I needed them to be at the farthest positions from where I sleep. Topping the three mechanical alarms, I also repose faith in human alarms. Namely, my wonderful neighbors who happen to believe that getting up early in the morning is a good thing to do. But my pertinent taunting the previous night as mentioned above resulted in them “accidentally” forget that I too needed to be awakened. So much for the human alarms then.

So, in view of this catastrophic failure of my convoluted wake-up buzzer system, it was not surprising that on waking up I was slightly ruffled. The time which my watch dial showed suggested that unless I had been bitten by a radio-active spider or had kryptonite shoved down my throat while I slept the chances of me making to the exam-hall in time was close to naught. Nevertheless, I pulled off an astonishing performance and found myself in the hall only seven minutes late and totally out of breath. I had missed the initial instructions but considered that after all there was nothing more to know about.

I sat on the first row with none of my batch mates in the near vicinity.

Of course, in all this rush, I had not forgotten the all too precious notes. With a song on my lips and mirth in my heart I took up the question paper and glanced through it. Just as I anticipated, it was a piece of cake, rather a slice of pizza as the Italians would put it. Three direct theory-based questions preceded by a long numerical which was the only thing which required me to work the grey cells. The concept based questions required direct lifting of material from the notes. So I wondered the need for having an open book exam. It seemed a futile exercise. It was more like, in terms of Microsoft word a test of one’s copy and pasting skills. On the other hand I told myself not be concerned about such mundane stuff ad rather concentrate on replicating things properly. So I laid out my notes and got down to business. Time flew and before I could realize I had only five minutes and the whole numerical remained to be completed. I had taken so much care to write the rest that my time management suffered significantly. I managed a shoddy solution and submitted the paper. Incidentally, we were also supposed to attach the question paper with it. Something which had escaped my mind altogether. Thankfully, I become conscious of it immediately and asked for my sheets back. Prof Haridoss handed them back and I attached the question paper. On resubmitting began the legendary conversation which will haunt me for a long long time.

He asked,” Have you attached the formulae sheet?”

I replied with a frown,” Which formulae sheet?”

“The one you had with you. The one in which you wrote all the formulas for the exam.”

“I didn’t have one. All the things I required were in my notes”.

“Notes! You mean you had your notes with you? Why?”

“Why? What why? It was an open book exam! That’s why!”

“Open book exam! Who told you that? I had specifically told in class that only formulas were to be brought and then the sheet attached to the answer paper.”

“What! You mean….. You mean…..I mean…..mean…well…..oh god!”

I was speechless. I was without speech.

“Yes, you are right. It was NOT an open book exam. I think someone needs to do some explaining here.”

“Well, basically sir, what I thought was………….”

What happened next is yet another long story. Surprised, stunned, dazed, upset, traumatized, appalled are some adjectives which can barely describe my state then. Prof Haridoss was as shaken as I was. He never knew that ignorance and stupidity could reach such depths. Just imagine. Those 50 minutes in the hall, I happily sat with my notes strewn over the desk copiously noting down the smallest detail and no one even noticed. And not for a second did I comprehend that something was horribly wrong. Whenever, I think about it I can’t help but laugh….To salvage some lost position I did ask him not to mark me for all the theory questions in spite of all this being unintentional.

Nonetheless, from now on I deserve some respect. For I am Sayan. Lord of the Idiots.

Thank you Jhantu, for everything.

A TRIBUTE

It was in Gapa’s room that I had first met Jhantu. Chanani the previous night had told me of these seniors who were absolutely amazing in Dumb-Charades. He said that I had to see them play to believe it. So next day in the evening we tagged along to Gapa, our lit-sec’s room. It was full of fourth years. Gapa, Bhave, Bacchi, Banner, Tg with Jhantu sitting in the corner. After the preliminary introductions by me, they got down to business. For the next half an hour I saw one of the finest Dumb-C performances ever. Jhantu was the main actor while all the rest guessed. He performed with a raw intensity which we notice in professional sportsmen. I was really impressed. For the next one week, Chanani, Nai and I underwent a grueling practice schedule. Under Jhantu of course. He taught us all the nuances and we lapped every bit of it. He chided us for any mistake committed and smiled when we cracked tough ones. From then on, I always considered him a friend rather than a senior.

Jhantu was the de-facto lit-sec of Mandak. I doubt whether anyone in the years to come can ever match his passion and dedication. When he came to know that I wasn’t partnering with a certain guy in quizzes because of personal differences, he scolded me telling that petty quarrels shouldn’t affect important matters. His fundaes sessions will always be legendary. Invariably all his sentences began with “Basically…….” Treasure Hunt, Fete, Choreo Night. These were the times when Jhantu was at his best. His disappointed face when none would turn up for those late-night planning sessions, would be so compelling that we freshies scampered all round the hostel pulling people out of their beds.

He was a talented guy. No doubt. Acting was his forte. His mind-blowing renditions in elocution and mono acting are still etched clear on my mind. Organizational skill was something I have learnt from him. Whatever people may believe about Mandak being litsoc fanatics, it always needed people like Jhantu to get things done in a proper and neat manner. His way of requesting was such that people seldom could refuse him anything. Winning the treasure hunt was one of the highpoints of freshie year. I will never forget the military precision manner in which the entire game plan was thought of and executed. Needless to say Jhantu had a huge contribution in this regard.

His sense of humor was marvelous. I would like to write of one such incident in particular. The mono acting prelims was in progress and Jhantu was performing a piece. It was about a boy who was asking whether god would fulfill his wishes. He said,

“God, will u answer my prayers? Will you? O.k. lets see. I have a request. Do you see that girl sitting at the back? In the pink dress. Second last row. Fourth from the right.”

(the whole auditorium turns back and stares at the girl who was beginning to feel very self-conscious now). Jhantu continues,

“god, can you make that girl kiss me? Can you?”

A deathly silence prevailed for a moment before every one present burst out into uncontrollable peals of laughter. The girl went deep pink in embarrassment. Jhantu had just presented the show of the year. Another episode occurred when the ragging session was in progress. One of my wing mates 4kg was warned that about a hairy giant of a senior in the first floor who incidentally also happened to be gay. With this cheeky lie, he was told that this senior (Jhantu) wanted to meet him. So very apprehensive of what was about to happen to him, 4kg went to room no 207. Jhantu opened it asked him to come in and sit down on the floor. After that he is supposed to have pulled off some stunning act. He put off the lights and took his shirt off and asked 4kg to sit with him on his bed. His mannerisms and speech was so well presented that 4kg got totally petrified with fear and burst out crying. Only then did Jhantu put on the lights consoled him and convinced him that it was all in good humor.

Always ready to lend a hand, Jhantu was perhaps after Loki, the senior to whom I most close. I had spent numerous hours in his room on his computer surfing the net, checking mails. He had this collection of old Hindi flicks. I recollect watching “Ek Ruka Hua Faisla” while he happily slept oblivious to the fact that he had an exam the next day and had a very meager knowledge about what it was. An avid foodie like me, he gave me full details of eating-joints worth checking out in Chennai. He loved chatting and chatted long hours on various topics. Always smiling, he would never forget to wave whenever we met in the corridors or outside the hostel. He always asked me about how I was doing academically and when I habitually replied on how I was not doing so well, he replied with a mischievous wink. I recall how once we came across him in the Dhaba. He cribbed about how lazy he was and warned us that academics was very important. These statements were of course followed by his customary smile and wink.

After passing out he went to Mumbai. One day we came across online and he asked how life was treating us? As expected he was unhappy about Mandak’s litsoc status and cautioned me to do better or else….. That day he also gave a long sermon on how I should be more optimistic about things and prepare for the future. He was happy with his job but complained about the long commuting hours. Then last month, one week before Saarang, as I was returning from class, I met him. He had got this French beard and was as imposing as ever. He promised to come and meet us that night. I had forgotten all about it by evening and was taken by surprise when he turned up at twelve. Inspite of the busy schedule, he had kept his promise to meet his junior. He chatted for around thirty minutes when he again cribbed about his torturous local train routine. I jokingly asked him not to be so miserly and get a car. He then left saying that he had a flight to catch early next morning.

Yesterday, on 21^st February 2006, at 9 pm Akshay Barman alias Jhantu fell from a local train in Mumbai. He suffered from serious head injuries and passed away that night itself. His parents had expired while his stay in IIT. He had no siblings.

He is survived by no one. Wrong. He is survived by a legion of his friends, well-wishers and people who he had affected in some way or the other. Jhantu, we love you. We respect you. We will always miss you. Forgetting people like you is a difficult task indeed.I had but known you for just one year. What about the people who grew up with you, who spent the most crucial years of their lives in your company? God has been more cruel to them than he has been to you. For they will have to live with this fact forever that you are no longer there

But this is all so sudden that I am yet to actually believe that I am writing this. A small voice urges me to click on the messenger icon and see if you are online or not. Just like that you have gone from our lives. You have left me wishing a lot of things.

I wish I had known you for more time..

I wish I had spent a few more time in your room, chatting.

I wish there were many more litsoc events for you to guide me in.

I wish we had sung a few more songs on Holi.

I wish we could have spoken for some more time last month.

I wish…….

It was an honor knowing you.

Thank you Jhantu, for everything.

CHRONICLES OF A BLACK SHEEP

CHAPTER-2

THREE MEN ON A P HONE

Today will be remembered for a long time. For the first time in my life I had a three way conference on my cell phone. That too with my old school buddies.

Three guys. One in Delhi. One in Chennai. And the third in Calcutta. We spoke for 80 minutes at a stretch. It was like vacation time. The only thing missing were the innumerable plates of steaming momos which normally accompany our annual get together. We discussed everything. Academics, future career plans, existent/non-existent love lives, old teachers, Hollywood, Bollywood, cricket, pros and cons of the three respective metros, food, mobile service, weather, alcohol, metro rail, cars. As usual we indulged in the all too familiar leg pulling with dear Lucian bearing the brunt of the attack, which of course is a forgone conclusion in any matter he takes part in.

I was speaking to Ravi after a long time and as expected he has not changed a bit. Going steady with a girl for some time, he was his usual affable self. Just for the records it was he who sponsored this cross country communication extravaganza. I did not ask him how he intended to pay for all this for going by his reputation as the biggest duper of mobile phone agencies in history, he surely must have had a cunning plan somewhere. Lucian was his usual self and thankfully not drunk. He couldn’t help making his trademark silly statements which have got him into those frequent embarrassing situations, which have always been our source of primary entertainment.

I for my part kept up my reputation of being Lucian’s tormentor-in-chief. I had to confide in Ravi about my failed attempts at the obvious. He was naturally very supportive. We updated each other on what’s going on in our respective lives, along with catching up on the lives of common friends.

Such conversations really bring in a breath of fresh air into the otherwise hectic schedule we go through. For a few moments time comes to a standstill and we are transported back to those enchanting schooldays where we all used to sit and discuss these very topics. Around five years have passed but our views, thoughts and mannerisms have remained the same. Hopefully, it will stay so. Amen.

CHRONICLES OF A BLACK SHEEP.

CHAPTER-1

SOMETHING NEEDS TO BE DONE!.

How would one describe his memoirs? An anthology of certain events. Or something more. What about the trials and tribulations one goes through daily? Should they be written about? Talked about? Discussed on a public platform? I need not worry about the public part. Though technically the blog is open for all to see, till last count only about two to three people actually invest time browsing through it.

I have always considered baring ones heart out to someone else is a silly thing to do. One always ends up making a fool of oneself. Emotional restraint manages to keep people guessing. And hence avoids exploitation to a certain extent. My mom once exclaimed exasperatedly that she had never seen such an emotionless fellow as me. I took it as a compliment. But I realized that perhaps occasionally it would be a good idea to jot down those thought processes for future reference. I have noticed they generally entertain you at a later point of time. And hopefully it might prevent me from making the same mistakes. (Fat chance of that happening.)

So the next thing is to decide what to write and what not to. I will surely not want to know how my classes went and what I had for dinner. Or perhaps I would. Well, the point is that it’s not fair to classify something as boring and something as interesting. It all depends on how one views a thing. It’s all about presentation. A façade. A show. An extravaganza. If one can pull it off properly. So here goes. From now on I intend to be a little more forthcoming with my articles. My antics and instincts always ensure there is enough material about which I can go on spinning yarns about in this blog. Too many things seem to be happening to me all the time. So as Pota might have said, “it has become very necessary to document my youth.”

SAMBHAR OF 69

Here's something i came across while on one of my frequent aimless excursions in the cyberworld.
Salutations to the unknown composer. Hopefully i will manage to convince the hostel office to have this as our anthem for the new Giga-Mess.

I had my first real six rupees,
Stole it from my father's pants.
Went to a Madrasi hotel,
To eat the sambhar of 69.
Me and some kadke dost,
Had it all and we caught bukhaar,
Jimy puked, Joey got ulcers,
and Bagga ne maari dakar.

Oh when I went back there now,
the food was as stale as ever,
and though it was 1999,
Still the sambhar was being served over there,

That was the worst food of my life.

(So true. sigh!)

THE MAN WHO LOVED KAFKA

“While you were sleeping a strange incident happened”, I told Peter after he finally woke up from his long three hour slumber. “What?” he asked rubbing his eyes and trying to get out of the heavy drowsiness. “Well, you remember the man who was sitting with us? The guy in the horn-rimmed spectacles and baggy trousers. Looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a week or so. Didn’t utter a word. Kept reading Kafka.”
“Oh-yes. I remember. He got down did he? In Allahabad I believe?”
“Yes, he did. But after creating a huge ruckus.”
“Why?”
“It seemed he had misplaced his bag somewhere. He said it contained all his identification papers and some money. He was going for a interview for some job in a school. He actually tried to blame me. He asked the ticket collector to check me. But he refused. That enraged the man more.”
“What happened then?” asked Peter with a curious gleam in his eye.
“Well, what could have happened? I explained to him in clear terms that he could not go about making absurd claims in public places. Obviously he had misplaced it somewhere himself. But, what surprised me was the gall of the man. He kept on insisting that he was absolutely sure that it was the handiwork of one of the co-passengers. Why, he suspected even you?”
“Did he?” chuckled peter.” A humiliating state of affairs, was it not?”
The glee on Peter’s face made me a little uncomfortable.
“Of course he began to feel embarrassed. Why are you so smug about it?”
“Well, I knew the man. He was Mr. Kramer. He was my geography teacher in school. Always picked on me for fun. When I saw he didn’t recognize me, I thought why not pay back my debt. While he dozed off, I hid the bag in the toilet.”

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS WITH THE ANIMAL KIND.

It’s begun raining again. For the fourth time in less than two months a cyclone is going to hit Chennai. It’s not the rain which worries me. I actually love rain. It’s the effect it has on our wonderful campus that I lose sleep over. My dear hostel Mandakini has already been flooded thrice this season. And I am sure a fourth one is in the offing. But as far as I am concerned this flooding and all the water are but minor problems. What I am worried about is something totally different. It’s the Frogs.

Let it rain even for half an hour and it seems the planet has been taken over by a legion of the Ranidae family. The numbers are just overwhelming. It appears as if someone had just emptied a mammoth container of small frogs over IITM and sat back to watch how the people deal with it. Suddenly they are just everywhere. A couple under the bed, a few behind the table, a motley crowd in the bathroom and virtually a whole community on the corridors. In diverse colors, sundry sizes and distinctive croaks. They make life awful especially for people who don’t consider frogs to be a tender and affectionate specie. I personally have had some very bitter encounters with them. Come to think of it, my adventures with the animal kind in the campus have been anything but ordinary. Most cases, actually perhaps all cases resulted in me being the vanquished.

Take the frogs for example. The other day I was taking my bath in the evening after the usual hour long basketball session. It had rained heavily over the weekend and as usual the frogs were ruling the roost. Now it happens that I always check every nook and cranny of the bathroom every time I enter it. I hate nasty surprises in the middle of a bath which I believe every person has a right to enjoy. But that day, tired from all that ball playing I just forgot and got under the shower. As I poured the shampoo over my head and began thinking how I could have got that one point and hence won the last game of the day I felt something slimy hit my leg. First I thought I had spilled some shampoo. But it happened again. And then again. The soap on my face prevented me from actually seeing what the matter was. I grabbed the towel, wiped my eyes and looked below.

A huge grotesque frog was jumping about and was inadvertently banging into my leg occasionally. The gross sight totally unnerved me. It was not one of those little ones which one had to carefully avoid squishing while on the way to the bogs. It was of whopping dimensions and seemed in a jolly good mood. The immediate reaction was to rush out. But I stopped myself in time. The fact that a guy sprinted out of the bath naked with soap all over because of a bounding frog are stuff hostel night roasts are made of. Nothing would allow me to bring such an embarrassment on myself. So I decided to face it like a man. I closed my eyes and begun to think what would be an honorable way out. Endure it. A small voice in the head said. And so I did. With my eyes closed I pretended that nothing was happening. Getting over with the bath as quickly as possible I made a quiet but dignified exit. But those moments with the slimy creature will remain in memory for quite some time.

The first few months in the campus were the toughest. I had to come to terms with the fact that the creatures down the food chain ought to get a little more respect. Within the first few days I realized that someone else was the boss around here. The Vanar Sena was the first to strike. It took me very little time to realize that years of human non-interference had resulted in them becoming totally fearless. If you charge at a monkey with a broom the chances are that he would charge back with something worse. I actually think they enjoying toying with us. After every transgression they sit there with a look as if challenging us to retaliate. I have suffered many losses thanks to their existence. I remember the first time such a thing happened. It was my first week and I had put out some clothes to dry. Among them there was brand new vest which I had worn just once.

I was in the room glancing through the day’s paper when the sudden chatter outside forced me to come outside to see what’s wrong. A flabbergasting scene greeted me. There on the branch of a tree sat two monkeys and one of them had put on my brand new washed vest. And they were grinning. Yes. They were actually laughing at me. And then in front of my own eyes they bounded from one branch to another and disappeared. That was not the only apparel I lost to the primates. My lab-coat, two shorts and a t-shirt soon followed. This stopped only when I decided that perhaps drying the clothes in the room would be a better option. Inconvenient surely but definitely a more viable option from the economic point of view.

The assault of the apes never stopped. Once I had got a brand new pack of glucose and hid it behind the books. The purpose was to keep it out of reach of my over zealous friends. But who knew that glucose was popular even in monkey land? My window happened to be very secure with a strong iron grill preventing any infiltration. The primates used supreme cunning which would have made even al Qaeda proud. As the grills were too close to prevent any grown-up to squeeze through, they sent a baby one to carry out the covert operation. It seemed that I had been under close surveillance and they knew what had been hidden where. Though I wasn’t a witness to the actual crime, the detective in me worked out their modus operandi. The villain had come in through a very narrow gap, headed straight for the shelf, grabbed the glucose pack and made a neat exit. Now just visualize the craftiness. Nothing else in the room bothered it. It came with a singular agenda and executed it to perfection. And now that they have a packet of strong glucose to supplement their creative exploits, the mind boggled to even envisage the consequences. The whole wing had to put up with their atrocities the whole year. They would come down in hordes like the Huns and leave a trail of destruction. Sometimes they looted just for fun and after the assault the corridors lay strewn with the spoils of war.

All these incidents made me feel perhaps my presence wasn’t liked by the animal folk. For even the otherwise docile deer, didn’t spare me. One evening I was taking the diagonal shortcut through the woods in from of the hostel office. As luck would have it a group of deer was grazing. In the shadows I missed them completely and rammed in to one of them at full speed. The sudden bump gave me the shock of my life. As my cycle slithered away I flew and fell on a pile of deer dung which proved that these days God is really very quick with his judgments. Another bout of embarrassments followed but the retribution wasn’t over. Next week, at around twelve in the night I was returning from Quark on my cycle. I was happy as I always am after a good meal, and cycling with a very carefree attitude. Who knew that my physical skills were about to undergo its toughest ever trial. All of a sudden a rustling sound attracted my attention. The rustle soon gave way to a thud of hooves and out of the blue a humongous deer with just one massive antler appeared. It was sprinting at a great tempo and was headed straight at me. I understood that to deliberate much on the matter would ensure a ghastly end. There was a time to think and there was time to run. And then it was time to run. Scurry. Scamper. Anything to save the poor intestines from being intertwined in those vicious antlers. Actually I had to cycle. Not run. And did I cycle like hell! I was chased all the way to the hostel main road and then it disappeared as abruptly as it had appeared. It appeared that scaring the lights out of me was its only aim.

No account of my animal misadventures would be complete without the mention of the curious incident of the fornicating squirrels. We were nearing the end of the first semester when one evening my room-mate opened his long idle drawer. And in it materialized a huge ball of cotton. This inexplicable discovery was soon followed by a more startling one. Strange squeaking sounds were emanating from the ball and as normally cotton balls do not make strange squeaking sounds, we decided to investigate. It surfaced that the ball happened to be a nest of some squirrel and in it were two baby squirrel-lets or whatever one calls them. Some over enthusiastic chap thought that the drawer would be a good place to find a new dynasty. Well, if you ever land up with a pair of baby squirrels you will know that it is a wretched situation. It always happens that some horrendous animal lover will land up and try to convince you that it is one duty to look after these gifts of god. Gifts of god! My foot. try being stern and then you end up getting portrayed as a stone-hearted fiend. A tricky state of affairs without doubt. Anyway, it was soon luckily discovered that Mr. I-want-a-large-family Squirrel had carried out its amorous exploits in other rooms too. Hence the moral policemen themselves tasted the bitter medicine and kept quiet about the whole issue. I went and kept it on a window sill. The next day it had vanished. We can only hope that it was safe with the busy mother who surely must have been cursing herself for not taking the concept of family planning more seriously.

Well, I don’t know how many more such escapades I will have to live through. Lord give me the patience and the will to face it all in a restrained manner. Amen.

FROM AUSWITSCH TO KIGALI……….

Ezekiel 25:17. The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you

This semester has been a great one. No, I am not talking about my grades. I refer to the wonderful thing called cinema. Among all of them the two which stood out the most were Schindler’s List and Hotel Rwanda. Both very similar stories, in similar settings with the same message. Both stories of a single individual. Story of one man’s sanity versus the madness of the rest. But there is one thing which is different. A factor which brings out a very appalling and unsettling truth. A truth which should put all those people who claim to be civilized and developed to shame.

Oscar Schindler was a businessman to the boot, his interests always lay in making money. Political conditions in Europe and especially in Germany made him realize that humoring the Nazis was the only way he could conduct his affairs in a peaceful manner. Hence he joined the Nazi party, but never joined issues with them. He bribed the top leaders and befriended the top generals but just for economic profit. The Nazis came in to believing that he was one of their own and gave him all the licenses and permissions he wanted. Oscar ended up setting up a factory producing armaments for the German army. And here is where his story takes a turn.

The “final solution” for the Jews of Europe was being executed with a spine-chilling efficiency. In the most organized form of ethnic cleansing the world had ever seen, the Nazis rounded up all the Jews in Germany and the occupied territories of Poland Austria and the likes. After usurping all their property most of them were herded together in concentration camps where the fit were made to do manual labor and the rest were killed. These events have been very well documented. We need not get into the details. Schindler showed the world how human compassion and will power can overcome any obstacle however impossible it may seem. He could not watch the Jews being butchered before his own eyes. He used all his resources and ensured that the maximum number of Jews possible worked in his facility. Using incredible guile and taking unfathomable personal risks he managed to save over three thousand Jews. In the movie, Liam Neeson who played Schindler weeps in the end and says how he could have saved more lives if only he had tried harder. It was a touching scene about a man who realizes what the value of human life actually is and how it takes little on behalf of some people to make a huge difference in the lives of others. The movie is no doubt a brilliant one. It has brought the sense of helplessness prevalent among the Jews. The nonchalant and clinical manner in which Amon Goethe killed his prisoners showed how man can sink to the lowest limits of depravity. War brings out the worst in men but sometimes also the best. Though Schindler’s future business were never very successful and his no hold barred payments to keep the service of Jews made him incur huge losses, he didn’t stop for a moment to reflect whether he happened to gain from anything. This is without doubt the best form of humanism.

Now let’s come to Paul Rusesabagina. Paul, a Hutu, the ruling tribe in Rwanda in 1994, worked in a Belgian hotel in Kigali, as its house manager. A complete European in style and attire he had begun to believe that he was one of them. Expensive liquor and Havana cigars enabled him to be to be in the good books of the local generals and militia leaders. His wife Tatiana happened to be a Tutsi though. Political instability resulted in a sudden surge in mass killings. It seemed Rwanda had lost her mind. Tutsis were dragged out and butchered by the thousands. Paul knew that whatever happened the United Nations would eventually bring things under control. And of course his European friends would surely not desert him. But alas, his naivety never made him realize that the white west had very little concern for what was happening in a small central African nation. By the time he realized that all his beliefs and trust was nothing but a cruel joke, his world began crashing like a pack of cards. But he didn’t run. He didn’t try to hide. He didn’t try and escape leaving his people and family behind. He becomes conscious of the fact that the hotel was the safest place in Kigali. He convinced the U.N commander to keep at least four guards at the gate. And his hotel ended up housing more than a thousand Tutsi and Hutu refugees.

A story very similar to that of Schindler. So what’s the difference? The Jewish holocaust is regarded as the worst ever case of human genocide in modern history. The Second World War is heralded in history books as a classic case of the victory of good over evil. The world awoke to the atrocities of the Nazis and joined forces to defeat it. So far so good. But the million dollar question is where did this solidarity and concern go in wake of the Rwandan crises. So is this often trumpeted stance of the western countries of zero tolerance for gross human genocide nothing but petty propaganda. Are the clauses for foreign intervention only to be followed exclusively for a few countries which incidentally also may happen to possess some oil fields waiting to be harnessed? The holocaust is still remembered widely and every year the Jews remind themselves of what their fathers had to go through. How come there is no remembrance for the million killed in Rwanda just eleven years ago? Why such a step-motherly treatment? Even this would be an over-statement. The greatest tragedy is that it was not one or two of the most powerful nations which neglected their responsibility. The whole world seemed to have turned its head away. Then is it true that Africans are considered sub-human. Not worth our help or money. Are they dirt? Worthless? The scary thing is that yesterday it was Rwanda. Tomorrow it might be some other country. The fact that barring a few international non-government organizations everyone deserted the Rwandans is difficult to grasp. Has the world been totally drained of all compassion and sympathy? Is it just greed and self-interests which drive world policies today? And what about the holier than thou world press which doesn’t leave a stone unturned to showcase selective cases of human rights abuse as instructed by their masters behind the curtain. Did Rwanda ever happen for them?

The world needs to realize that this type of discriminatory form of support will give rise to devils which will grow so colossal one day that it shall incinerate the whole world. The powers that be take Africa to be the great playing field. On one hand they supply arms to the various rebel and government armies and fuel long and bitter hostilities and on the other hand feign to be working towards a peaceful settlement. Osama bin laden was trained by the CIA. How many more Ladens do they intend to create? How many Africans need to die to make them realize their duty? The west must realize that for the future of the human race to be secure they cannot afford to leave anyone out from the road to prosperity. The mistakes they commit now will come back to haunt them in the future and they will so over-whelming that not even the biggest of weapons or money can save them. They need to take in Africa and all those countries ruined by strife and self-serving dictators under their wings. As Paul Rusesabagina said,” there’s always room”

The Unknown Citizen
by: W. H. Auden

(To JS/07 M 378
This Marble Monument Is Erected by the State)

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in a hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Installment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

robert frost.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

JOHN MILTON.

WHEN I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present	5
My true account, lest He returning chide,
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who best	10
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

A MEMORABLE RENDEZVOUS.

I shall recount a curious incident, which took place in my first fortnight in I.I.T.
First the necessary background. I am an alumni of D.P.S. RKpuram, a place with various claims to fame, some dubious ones at that. In my class, there was a girl. I would rather not name her, keeping in view her social standing in the institute. So lets call her A. i must mention that any resemblance of name to any person living or dead might be coincidental. Anyway lets not digress. She was a quiet sort of girl, always immersed in books and it was not often that we interacted. But still, I was her classmate.

As expected she cleared JEE at one go and landed in Chennai with an impressive branch. In the meantime I slogged for another year and barely managed it the second time. So I landed here, after a nerve-wracking year, 3000 km from my home, hopelessly looking for some help in the vast place that is IITM. Friends from Delhi had asked me to send their regard to their mates in IITM namely A and a certain Varun. Seeing the mammoth size of the place I gave up the idea of delivering regards. After all no freshie with his grey matter in the right place would go inquiring about the hostels looking for lost pals.

So there I was trying to adjust to the hectic schedule, almost forgetting that I had to meet a few people here. One of these days, it was a Wednesday morning if I remember correctly, I was walking down one of the CRC corridors when I saw A coming from the opposite direction. I did not recognize her at once. She had done away with her glasses and done something shocking to her hair. Nevertheless the change finally registered in my mind and before she passed by me, I exclaimed, ”hey A!” She looked up quizzically. My initial plans for the conversation was to go along traditional lines. Something like” hi A! How’s life?” Etc etc etc.

And similarly her reply perhaps would have been “hi, how r u? Which branch?” etc etc etc.But her incredulous stare somewhat unnerved me. I could not understand what should be the next suitable sentence. Finally I gave up and hoped she would take the initiative in furthering the conversation. She did not. After what seemed two minutes not much headway had been made. We just kept staring at each other. These are those moments in life when you fast run out of options and have no inkling what the next course of action should be. A’s quizzical look had slowly begun to give way to an irritated frown. Well, can’t blame her. No self-respecting girl can afford to look at a stranger in a crowded corridor for two minutes without any substantial reason. By this time the search engine in my head had come out with a perfect explanation for the apparently inexplicable situation. Viola! She hadn’t recognized me. At last I uttered the golden words,
“I am Sayan.”
No reply.
“Sayan Ganguly.”
No reply.
“Sayan Ganguly, DPS RKpuram, section E, third row first bench”, with a desperate coaxing voice.
A’s expression changed for the third time. An expression of relief mixed with slight guilt. I am not sure about the guilt part, I might have imagined it.
She said,”ah! Yes. Sayan. Yes. Sayan Ganguly. Yes. Good. So you are in IIT. “

I wanted to reply that no I wasn’t. I was actually on Saturn and she was just viewing my apparition, starwars ishtyle. But I decided to control my sarcastic instincts for the moment.
Her monosyllabic replies were not making the conversation more exciting and I had begun to feel that perhaps talking to her was not among the better ideas I had that day. Suddenly she broke into a laugh and said, “Hey, I hope you don’t mind that I did not remember you. You were in my class, weren’t you?”

That did it.

I muttered with clenched teeth,
“No, not at all. Why should I mind? Anybody could make such a mistake. No problemo”.
Hence making the biggest understatements of my life, I decided that the time at come to draw the curtains on the wonderful rendezvous. I looked at my watched and gave a loud exclaimation , ”yikes, I am late for my class, gotta go. sorry. Will catch up later.”

And hence the meeting ended on a friendly note.

Point To Ponder Over.........

"I have traveled across the length and breadth of India and I have not seen one person who is a beggar, who is a thief. Such wealth I have seen in this country, such high moral values, people of caliber, that I do not think we would ever conquer this country, unless we break the very backbone of this nation, which is her spiritual and cultural heritage and therefore I propose that we replace her old and ancient education system, her culture, for if Indians think that all that is foreign and English is good and greater than their own, they will lose their self-esteem their native self culture and they will become what we want, a truly dominated nation". - Lord McCauley (in his speech of Feb2, 1835, British parliament)

sevoke........

Sevoke. Will I ever be able to actually grasp the aura of the place? The place beckons me again. And the beckoning brings back all those wonderful memories I have of that place.

The forests.
The river.
The mountains.

The road.
The bridge.
The army trucks.

The tea.
The plate of steaming momos.
The bhutta.

The chatter of friends.
The speeding car.

The sense of solitude and company together.


And me....

Everyone has a place, where when they visit, experience something which inspires them and gives them a sense of peace with oneself. Growing up in a place like Siliguri enables one to view Mother Nature in her full splendor. Whether it is the mighty Himalayas or the enchanting Terai forests or even the fickle rivers, it’s a place which entices the human mind and body. Every time you go, you discover something new. Something more beautiful. For the umpteenth time your convinced that this will be the most beautiful thing you will ever see, only to be proved wrong on your next visit.

Sevoke will always hold a special place in my heart. It might not be the most beautiful place I have been to, but it has some strange stranglehold over my senses. When I am there it seems my life has come to a still. I never want the moment to end. It seems as eternity has set in and nothing can go wrong now…

The drive to Sevoke takes about thirty to forty minutes depending on how fast one drives. Negotiating with the impossible traffic of Siliguri is a challenge I always enjoy. The traffic in the city, like in most Indian cities has absolutely no regard for rules. Yet there is an amazing sense of order in the chaos. As soon as we begin to leave the city limits, one begins to notice the drastic changes in the immediate environment. Houses made of wood on high stilts. Traditional Nepali attire replacing the otherwise predominantly Bengali clothes one sees in Siliguri. More Buddhists monasteries than Hindu temples. This sudden change within a few kilometers make one seem as if he has crossed over in to some other country. But it’s just the suburbs of Siliguri, filled mainly by Tibetan refugees, Nepali laborers and Bhutia immigrants. The nature of siliguri and its surrounding areas is truly very cosmopolitan. Inspite of being the second largest city of Bengal, the city is not predominantly Bengali. Nepalis, Marwaris and Bengalis are the main communities with healthy percentages of Sikhs, Sikkimese and Bihari. All these diverse cultures give the place a unique feel.

As soon as we are out of the city, the omnipresent army camp comes. Siliguri, thanks to its strategic location is surrounded by army camps. It is impossible to leave the city without going through any one of these camps. By the time one weaves through the camps, he will realize that the redoubtable Terai forest has engulfed the area.

The Terai truly is a standing proof of the axiom that the most dangerous things in the world are also among the most beautiful. Driving along the empty road with towering Sal trees on your either side, dense foliage hiding the secrets of the jungle is an experience one has to go through to realize the sense of thrill. On most of my visits I stop the car at one side and listen to the sounds emanating. The pregnant silence interspaced with the clamor of the cicadas. A silence so full of imminent possibilities that you feel like waiting there for ever for something to happen. After a spending a few moments I embark again toward sevoke.

The drive through the forest is a long one. Surprisingly, the road here is always in an excellent condition irrespective of the time of the year. So it makes the drive all the more enthralling. Just when you begin to think that the forest will never end, there emerges a sudden downward slope, the forests clear away as if magically, the Himalayas till then hidden behind the high trees emerge from nowhere and before you lies the most enchanted river you will ever see- the Tista. The sight springs up so suddenly that for the first few minutes a first-time visitor will be struck dumb. Even for a regular visitor it’s not something unattractive. This was the place which we call Sevoke.

Sevoke is placed in an amazing setting. It’s the point where the Himalayas end and the tista makes her first foray into the great plains of north Bengal. There is a railway line running right along the mountain edge and an exquisite steel girder bridge running over the river and connecting the Terai to the Dooars region. A little behind the railway bridge, someway off is the road bridge, also popularly called the coronation bridge. It was considered an architectural wonder when it was first built in 1930 because of the single arch holding the bridge together.

Now something about the great Tista. The Tista is undoubtedly the biggest and most fearsome river in north Bengal. Having its origins in the formidable glaciers on the Sikkim-China border, it winds its way through narrow gorges and valleys in Sikkim before emerging in the plains at sevoke. From their on its gathers in size and goes on to Bangladesh to join the brahamputra.

to be continued.......

POVERTY IS YOUR RIGHT AND YOU SHALL HAVE IT!

The recent nationwide strike brought out for the umpteenth time how irresponsible, short sighted, and hypocritical the left can be. All public institutions ranging from school to banks to factories suffered a complete shutdown. Public life came to a standstill in west Bengal and kerela. This is not something new we are witnessing. The left has perfected this biannual ritual of bringing the nation to its knees. As usual it is a vehement “protest” against the anti-people policies of the government. Which policies? It does not matter. It also does not matter if the government at the center lives of their support. Whether it’s a nda government or of the upa, our leftist friends will always find a reason to protest.

Ask the leftist protester on the roads of Calcutta what is he so upset about. He might mumble something about vagaries of privatization and a misguided foreign policy. Ask him to be more explanatory or challenge him to a debate, he will call you a stooge of western forces or even non-secular as the current fashion suggests. For a normal observer, the views and decisions of the left might lead him to believe that they are caught in time wrap. They still think that the cold war is on and soviet brand socialism is the right way to go. Deeper analysis might show something else. Are they really out of touch with reality or are they using ideology to hold the government to ransom.

The actions of their state governments in west Bengal and kerala are a better indicator of how the left follow double standards on most issues. Kerela has the only privatized airport in the country. But that does not stop brinda karat from explaining to airport workers how privatization of airports will be disastrous for their welfare. Of course such an action will affect the current work style of the people. It will force them to be more efficient and more accountable. It will also stop them from holding up critical services at the whim of some union leader. The biggest change will be that it will make the left sponsored militant Trade unionism redundant. Striving for efficiency and excellence is something which directly harms the long term plans of the left. When workers discover that it is hard work, efficient management and a competitive spirit which will enable them to return home with a higher pay, they will realize how they have been made a fool of by those union leaders. The current attitude is all about, I-will-not-work-hard. This is the result of the years of domination of workers unions by the left. They have never wanted the people to be rich, for then they lose their support base. Deng had famously realized,” to get rich is glorious”. Our Indian communists on the other hand followed a totally different ideology.

Poverty is your right and you shall have it. That’s what has been there mantra all this long.

All these long years after independence, the communists have never been as strong politically as they are currently. They have been used to protesting without the government lending any ear to their pleas. But now the situation has totally changed. They have discovered that they can make this government do anything they wished. This inadvertently has brought out the worst in them.

First of all, true to their form they did not join the government. It was the worst case of shirking responsibility. It is also a blatant insult to the mandate they have received. It was nothing new. The left have had various opportunities in the past the to join the government. But they have always refused. That is because that would actually make them accountable to the public and bring to the fore their hypocrisy. It would also rob them the freedom to protest and strike for then they would be protesting against their own policies.

The left with their new found freedom has begun meddling with the national foreign policy. The fact that national interests come before any ideology hasn’t occurred to them. Lets consider the recent imbroglio regarding iran. Funnily, its sitaram yechury who is more upset than the Iranians themselves about india’a vote in IAEA. he has no idea about the dynamics of the world gas market and hence will holler about how decisions such as these compromise the nations energy security. they say that iran has a right to enrich uranium being a sovereign nation, but on the other hand it has been steadfastly opposing our own national nuclear policy, calling it a scource of regional destabilisation. how hypocritical can anyone get?

buddhadev bhatacharya is the flavor of the season. he is the poster-boy of communist reform in india. here there is no deceit. he is an honest man to the core who has shaken off the dogma ridden views of his party and has accepted the ground realities as far as economic and industrial policies are concerned. our hardcore leftist may turn up their nose at the sight of seing buddha wooing mncs but in doing so he is not acting very differently from his chinese comrades. china had realized two decades back that liberisation is the only way to prosperity. the chinese are nationalist first and then communists. in india it has always been the other way around. hopefully with the rise of leaders like buddhadev, it will herald a new dawn for indian communism.