THE FUNNY WEEK

.......................................................A Peep into life@NITW

Exams at NITW is a 6 day long twice a semester affair. Affair would be an understatement. Rather, it’s a celebration. A celebration of sleepless nights, body odour, bits of paper, coffee and some studies.

Bringing before you a not to be missed vivid picture of life@nitw. With all its different hues.

Beating calligraphy experts the world over. Students at NITW flourish in the art of scribbling down important details from the text book in small bits of papers. These bits referred to as chits can be carried inside the examination hall as long as you are sure you won’t get caught. Engraving (read it as art of writing on the desk) and tattooing (the act of jotting down answers on one’s body) are other artistic skills that students here possess. Farsightedness is another innate quality to be seen in the “cream of the society”. For the ignorant soul, farsightedness is the ability to see ahead especially the paper of the person sitting ahead of you.

Andhra Pradesh State Electricity Board suffers heavy loss this one week. Considering the number of fans and lights that continue to work all night, thanks to a phenomenon called NITEOUTS. Niteouts can be defined as the physical process of staying awake all night. The ideal niteout is the condition of staying awake to study, errors due to distraction being nil. However practical realization of the concept shows people doing more of eating, dozing with books open and lights switched on, consuming liters of coffee and once in a while taking time off their TP( Time Pass) sessions to do some studying. The study of this process brings to light a major problem faced by the country today, hunger. The male species at NITW have a reliable solution to this problem, the night cafeteria. Not being so lucky, certain members of the opposite sex cursed to live in dungeons called the ladies hostel [LH] can be seen foraging for food. (Thank Heavens, I have juniors in the LH.) Juniors are younger members of the female species who readily sacrifice their food for their seniors during ragging period.

Entrepreneur, here is thy much wanted break. Business in the campus flourishes this one week. The canteen saaru in the LH, the night cafeteria and one Mr. Srinu of Srinu point does brisk business. These blessed souls do a good amount of social service providing guys@NITW with round the clock supply of cigarettes, coffee, tea and other edibles. The LH saaru does his share too by selling a large amount of lays, Kurkure, Nissin cup noodles and other “very unhealthy stuff”( to quote my mom and the latest issue of her health magazine). By the way, Saaru is the formal term of addressing the mess workers, shop keepers, auto drivers and other members of the work force, used by the students of NITW. The origins of the word can be traced back to the English word sir.

The unshaved, unkempt look is in. stinking pigs( pardon my language) who eat, sleep write exams and do everything else the entire week in the same pair of clothes frequent the college. Thank heavens, they invented the deodorant. But then what do I say about certain male friends of mine who would rather consume the 1.5 % of alcohol then let it go wasted as a chemical component in the deodorant. Hard core feminists can take pride. Women are no where behind. I quote a certain member of the female species at NITW, “ so much to learn for mechanics yaar, I dint take a bath for the past 4 days. don’t tell anyone I went for today’s exam without brushing my teeth.” For further details contact info@POKEMOiNose.com because diplomacy prevents me from naming the heroine. ( remember diplomacy is the new word for “ the act of loving one’s own life”.)

God gets real busy this one week with a long train of requisition forms to be processed, demands to be met, MoUs to be signed, deals to be finalized and bargains to be attended to. Guess he takes niteouts too, else how does he bless the suddenly devout crowd. He sure can’t ignore people like me who all of sudden pray not just the mandatory five times but also agrees to do an extra namaz for a better grade in fluid mechanics. Neither can He can turn a blind eye towards those “god fearing” friends of mine who play devotional music on their cd players or do online poojas. Poor Guy, people asking for 10 pointers when He has to slog hard to get me to work for an “all-pass” result.

Definitely the funny week, life at nitw suddenly has all elements of a family drama. Action, emotion,drama, glamour it has it all. Kyunki mera bhi exams kabhi chalta hai. Would beat Ekta Kapoor at The Indian Telly Awards.

146 and still counting

I am writing this bcoz
#1. I have run out of topics. They said it right. Engineering definitely leaves you emotionally numb, artistically void and creatively dead.
#2. The biggest source of encouragement for any budding blogger once said, “you can write about me. Its always a nice option”. I was coaxed/ threatened into it.
#3. My blog promises to “cherish lives that touched mine”. This one is touching too many lives.At least the fan count says so. And yeah promises are meant to be kept.
#4. I haven’t posted anything since august 2006. Long time. Public demand stops me from letting my blog rot and die :-D
#5. I got a real sweet testimonial. I owe one in return.
#6. This for sure is one way to get a wider readership base.

Done with the reasons. Getting back to the arduous task of writing a testimonial for a rather tough senior.

A bugs bunny look alike, here is a guy who hops [oops!!! I meant moves around] with a 1000 watt smile 24*7. Bet that helped a lot during the “load shedding” days. [load shedding is the mallu terminology for regular half an hour power cuts that existed in kerala five years back]. A piece of warning for the health conscious, this one is infectious.

A nice gentleman, “modesty is thy name” would describe him the best. A real source of encouragement, this guy actually takes the pain to read through every single blog entry of mine. Better still he is always sweet enough to leave a comment on them that too never expecting one in return. [He for sure got his Sunday school lessons right. “Love thy neighbor’s blog more than thy blog”]. Dedicated, sincere and hardworking. His record with all the clubs he works for definitely show that.

“Ten lie gone wrong can lead to banishment.(5)”. Made sense? Neither did it make any to me. Where else can you find a guy who got bored of solving cryptic crosswords and is instead now into making his own ones than at nitw? Immensely talented this guy simply plays around with alphabets to create wonders. Remember Tony SA BEST YEAH N [that’s to quote his own orkut profile]. Anyways Before I forget, the answer to the above mentioned clue is “exile”.

If there is one thing that this guy fails miserably at, then it is playing senior. Swear, his knees used to buckle up when he saw us juniors. I am not talking about the five feet me but my hefty healthy bhais[ nonNITWian read it again as batch mates from kerala] sure did scare the wits out of him. You sure cant find a senior who turns up for lawn and lake sessions with a 32 teeth and more smile. [ lakes and lawns can be defined as places where juniors can be ragged without the risk of getting caught. Sad!!! Lawns are getting unsafe these days. The watch and ward ‘saarus’ drives out anyone who gets anywhere near the lawn, Even the harmless couples who actually treat the eyes of many a frustrated desperate soul with real life reel shows (u know what I mean). Thank heavens!! They don’t run around the trees.] He actually would come and tell you after a ragging session, “ don’t feel bad, its just a part of your college life”

If pulling legs is one of your favorite sports and getting yours pulled isn’t a bad idea of pastime, then you needn’t go far. Mr. Right is right here. The guy with a huge fan following. 146 and still counting.

Phew!! that was tiring.

Standing tall at 5 ft and a little less than ½ an inch.

A meeting with friends after a real long time. Everyone was busy discussing “how time got killed during the three month long boring hols”. I proudly declared, “I cleared my driving license test”. Dropped jaw lines, popped out eyes, raised eyebrows and shattering silence. Thank Heavens, one of my good old seniors managed to gather confidence, muster courage and joked, “I know how you cleared the test. You must have stood on the seat to see ahead and jumped down each time you wanted to apply breaks or hit the accelerator. Amidst gales of laughter I tried explaining that I was tall enough to ride a car, that I dint need this ‘jump on the seat, jump down again’ superman act and that I never sit on cushions either. Vain efforts. I was subjected to a volley of questions that included, “what car do you drive”, “don’t you think you are too small for a Honda activa”, “a tricycle is anytime the best vehicle for you”. Phew! I am tired. How long can one get assaulted this badly.

If I remember things rightly or rather if I haven’t grown old enough to forget things, I would say I wasn’t always this short. I stood 13th in assembly line. 13th yaar, TWELVE of my class mates were shorter than me. I don’t intend to be superstitious but now I believe number 13 did its job. Everyone else grew up in life, I moved ahead in life( oops I meant assembly line). First place in the assembly line, cynosure of the principal’s, prefects’,captain’s eyes. One speck of dirt on my shoes and I used to get caught while the guy behind me could easily get away with unpolished shoes. Sigh!! My dukhbari kahaani[ note: my international readers read it as sad story] doesn’t end here

Ragging me in college was easy. All seniors had to do was send me to that 6ft 6inch tall senior of mine. One look from him was enough to intimidate me, to send my heart racing. I am doing my 2nd year Btech today and I giggle at the thought of getting scared of him. My ragging chronicles don’t end here. My bhais [for the non NITWian my batch mates from Kerala ] take more fun in ragging me than our juniors. Every single junior is sent to me tell me on my face that I am short. And all my great friends keep warning me to stay away from my juniors lest I get ragged by them.

Walk into any store, be it a supermarket or my favorite bookstore, somehow or the other everything I need manages to occupy the top shelf. The only advantage being you get a chance to be helped out by one of those tall dark handsome men once in a while :D(the fair ones look good too).
Ok ok I know what is running through your mind, “why in the world is this girl crying when there are an umpteen number of remedies to her little ailment. I know I have a lot of options before me.
1. Eat one of those capsules that help you grow tall. Oops problem again, none of the telebrand shows that advertise the product offer you a “if no considerable increase in height in 2 weeks,you get your money back” policy and even if they do there is no guarantee card that says you would be alive after 2 weeks to claim the money back.
2. Drink Complan everyday. I have been a complan girl all my life and I still am one. No signs of any vertical growth though.
3. Hang from a mango tree everyday. [Now where am I supposed to find a mango tree in the NITW campus?]
4. Heels. The footwear manufacturers make quite a profit out of people like me. But what do I do if platform heels make me feel like I am standing on the stool. Stilettos. Don’t ever dare to mention them to me. They make you trip down at least a 101 times a day and make you look like ‘Mr. wobbly man’ in Enid Blyton’s Noddy. And even if I manage to master the art of walking on stilettos [ I doubt I will ever do] the docs cry foul. Back pain, dislocated spinal cord.

I have lived all my life with names like Thumbelina, little Lilliputian, four footer, small wonder and a number of words in Malayalam that translate to dwarf. But someone once did say that the sweetest of things come in the smallest of packages.Guess that was the reason why I was made small. Here I am, a sweet thing :D ,with big dreams of standing tall in life standing tall at 5 ft and a little less than ½ an inch.

Myriad life

Was just going through one of my old dairies . found an old poem with the same name as that of my blog which i wrote when i was in my 8th class
*************************************************************************************

As i stood by my window,
Peeping through my heart's window;
In my ear, the cuckoo calls
Before my eyes, the sun rose
The vista painted red,
Down the lane, stood an elm,
Fluttering with myriad birds
Somewhere beyond, a thrush called
I wondered, how beautiful life is
with little things and big joys
and a million hues
The spring was here, joy was here
life is really beautiful
I stood by my window,
Taking a glance through my heart's window,
On my skin, the scorching heat
On my forehead beads of sweat.
Down the lane stood an elm,
with leaves of brown
Somewhere beyond a thrush called.
I wondered, was life really beautiful
With little joys and little sorrows
I was past my youth.
I stood by my window,
Looking thru my hearts window,
On my skin, blew a chill
Down my spine went the chill
Mist on the glass.
Down the lane, stood an elm
With branches bare, auburn leaves flew down.
Life wasn’t that beautiful
With little things, big sorrows,
I was a withered crone
Waiting for an end to come.

reasons to smile :)

a rather small attempt at fiction

Its a hartal out here in kerala ( some protest against the hike in fuel prices) and i am stuck at home with nothing to do. To top it all its raining and the view from my balcony is a bit too beautiful so cudnt help but turn a bit romantic. PS dont blame me for getting mushy blame the weather

************************************************************************************
She kept staring outside, yet she hardly noticed the beautiful fleeting imagery. The wind ruffled her hair. Her black eyes were moist with tears. Someone’s radio was playing Ricky Martin’s “nobody wants to be lonely” .How true she sighed. A blue battery operated bulb was the only source of light in the train compartment. Everything around her looked so dull and gray

Yet she could see the sparkle of his eyes, she could feel the exuberance, his vivacity. His very presence was the only hue in an otherwise bleak monochrome picture. She was leaving for Bangalore. At Cochin memories still haunted her, no matter how hard she tried to forget them.
She felt oddly thirsty, reached for her bottle of aquafina. As she raised the bottle to her lips, her hands trembled, the bottle crashed. She couldn’t hold the back any longer. Memories came flooding back. Their trip to Europe …the Eiffel tower …the fun they had…the return journey…the plane crash…the smell of burning flesh…chafed skin…the disfigured faces of her family. It all came back in a flash. She could hear the nurse tell her that she was indeed lucky to be alive. Lucky? How? with no one to share this beautiful gift , her life with. She wanted to scream and everything faded just as quickly as they had come.
She felt his eyes over her as they looked at her with compassion She turned and looked at him for the first time. He barely had any hair; his eyebrows were just a thinning line. She felt she was sitting next to one of the aliens from “Taken-Steven Spielberg series”. But his eyes intrigued her
She sat back with a sigh. She looked outside at the passing fields, the grey silhouette of bare trees. The sun had set long ago in the horizon. The sky was just a grey muslin cloth. A jagged tear ripped it apart. A strong flash of lightning startled her. The sky poured down its tears. The first few drops fell on her . A silhouette of those happy days flashed in her brain. Throwing ice balls at her brother…teasing her mother. Everything looked beautiful, perfect. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
The warmth of his hand startled her. The soft loving stroke made her feel wanted, loved. She dabbed her tears with the tissue he extended. And for once in days she felt relieved.
He told her that he was going to the regional cancer center .A second round of chemotherapy was needed. His words shocked her even more his composure and tranquility and his love for life. She realized her cowardice. She cursed herself for despising the creator. As seconds elapsed she felt strong. She smiled.
Little jokes. Small anecdotes. He gave her plenty of reasons to smile. He told her lots over the 12 hour journey. She, who had otherwise forgotten the little good things in life, was now smiling
The train stopped. Her destination was still two stations away. He bid her goodbye. She looked through the window as he moved away. Strangely though something made her get her bags. She found herself getting down. She forgot herself. She clutched his hand. He held it tight and together they moved into the crowd. She knew all her life she was going to find reasons to smile.

FIFA flu

11 more days to go. And there is just one word that rings in my ear football more football and even more football. Along with the endless number of fevers that monsoon brings along with it in my little Kerala, a new addition. FIFA flu. Once in a four year epidemic.
I can’t understand this hue and cry. Well a more honest statement would be I can’t understand football and hence I don’t understand this passion involved. Ok I can understand if my country is playing, but not this fuss over some Brazil playing against some Italy in some country called Germany.
Even Toyland has been invaded. My little cousin has lost interest in his Gijoes and Mattel cars. All of them suddenly giving way to Zidanes and Rooneys.
My granny’s village, where cable TV is nothing short of a luxury, hasn’t been spared either. I bet hard core jingoists would be shocked. Flags of Brazil and Italy flying high. Wonder how many times you actually get to see an Indian flag flying high. The not to be missed piece of work was a life size cutout of Ronaldo with a bottom tagline that read “BEST WISH TO BRASIL FROM BRASIL FANSE ASOCIATION”. That’s when I learned my life’s lesson that football is one game where the heart overrules the head. Guess that explains the football rogues. Spellings don’t count, all that counts is the passion involved.
Entire blogs are being dedicated towards football and FIFA world cup. People including me are writing about it. Media for a change is forgetting India’s biggest religion, cricket, and its god, Sachin. Football jerseys are the latest in things in the world of fashion. Guess football is actually a phenomenon
I was halfway through this blog entry, when my calling bell rang. A group of young guys, led by my neighbor, all clad in jerseys of their favorite football playing country. All they wanted was a meager donation for their FIFA ( fathima nagar* inter-club football association) cup. For the less knowledgeable mortal souls Fathima nagar is my neighboring colony. Eyes popped out I looked at these guys again. I was told that this cup actually is conducted on the same lines as that of FIFA. Well I wasn’t going to contribute my hard earned pocket money for something as silly as this. But a bit more of coaxing, some threats, and lots of blackmailing from my neighbor and I ended up paying 100 bucks. Hey after all I was a rather nice little girl .
Gosh!! My neighborhood has fallen prey too. And now…..Sniff sniff. Hachoo!!! And now that the air is laden with FIFA flu, surprisingly, I seem to be catching it too. Hachoo!!!

A tryst with aalo ke parathe

STATUTORY WARNING: refer http://www.indiarasoi.com/aluparatha.html
before u cook. Don’t ever trust azeera for the recipe

As usual dad had caught me sleeping over the morning paper. A Vesuvius all ready to erupt. “Highly irritating to the core”, that is what he called it. I tried explaining that I was more of a nocturnal creature, that I loved working at night, that I prefer to go to bed late and get up late and hence if I am forced to wake up early in the morning I will naturally tend to sleep over the paper. Everything fell on deaf ears I guess coz I was still sent to my mama to help her out rather than doze away.
No surprises again mama was already to assign me my task for the day . “Cook dosa’s for breakfast dear”. Oh my god!! She dint expect me to slog in the kitchen early morning did she. “U must be kidding”. Her face turned all red with anger. I suggested, “how about bread and peanut butter for break fast”, grinned gleefully and lauded the brilliant idea by my rather meager brains that helped me get into NITW. Fumes from her nostrils. A matador bull charged at me. Hey trust me I don’t remember wearing red.
I protested hard only to be subjected to a torture even greater than the guillotine. A frail woman still standing straight at eighty something (I often wonder how), the best mom in law any girl can ask for, walked in. A droning lecture on “101 reasons why girls should learn how to cook” all reasons cited with examples from real life. I learned the stories of Mr. Khan’s wife, Mrs. Kumar’s daughter, Mrs. Sharma’s daughter in law and god only knows who else’s . Excerpts from the lecture ….. “Girls are the light of a family….. has to care for her kids and hubbies ( oops I meant hubby , I am strictly against polygamy you see)…. holds the key to the future.. good girls take good care of their mom in laws ( I bet that was a dig at my mama)…. Fights…. Talaaq…” Man I swear I heard the entire script for an Ekta Kapoor saas bahu serial. I ran to kitchen for refuge, I would rather cook.
A rebel that I am I vowed to let the world know that I was cooking. I clanged the vessels hard, grumbled (loud enough for my neighbors to hear), dropped the spoon every two minutes, mumbled under my breath. Hitler marched in,” don’t test my patience and
You don’t have to keep that face of yours grim when you cook”. Okies gimme a break. I continued with alacrity on my face but reluctance in my heart.
Brain wave… I love aloo ka paratha for that matter anything Punjabi. Eight months of life@warangal , and I was already in love with Punjabi food, the Punjabi dhaba [PD] next to my college, the delivery boy at Kazipet PD (oops I swear I don’t love that guy but he looks cute alright). I loved dealer mehndi, RDB (at least the title song), and Harbhajan Singh…..brain waves again. Why not cook one of my all time favourite dish and also stun my mama with my expert culinary skills.
With all new found vigour and enthu I embarked on the suddenly delightful task of cooking. Peeled potatoes.. chopped onions.. boiled them .. sautéed them with masala… mixed the flour .. made the dough .. rolled them into parathas and fried them. Yippee my first paratha was ready. I called out, “try my paratha it rocks”. Music Lights Action. Mama took her first bite. “Hey azeera how about bread and peanut butter for break fast”.

first ever blog ....... A million hues to be touched upon