Open letter to my batchmates

Dear friend,

                  Who am i kidding?, not all of you can be classified as friends, some are way beyond that,

Friends do not accompany you to the railway station just to see you off and decide to hop on to the train themselves to delay the farewell by a few hours, friends do not weep like freshly widowed army-wives, friends do not hug you and say "I'm not letting go", while meaning it.

Given the advancements in the field of medicine and the number of 90+ not out batsmen(and women) in my family, four years do not seem like a lot, but boy did we change ! I'd bet half my grades and inheritance( both equally insignificant) and challenge you to find one person who hasn't changed, some more drastically, but all of us have changed. We've gone through events together which(if filmed) could be classified under 2 categories, sequels to the 'SAW' series and sequels to the 'Hangover' series.

There are a million examples i could delve into to tell each one of you how special you are, I'm quite the social guy, be it online or in person and in my 13 years of schooling and 2 years of Pre-university College I've made friends, loads of them, some so special that they're family now,but it took time, with you, it was destiny, diverse backgrounds, nothing in common, not even a common language with some of you, but we clicked ! I guess living 24X7 with someone makes you family first and friends next, but i assure you, had we met under different circumstances, we'd still be the best of pals.

As most of you know, i'm usually the guy who looks at the academic calendar and goes "hmmmm... 3 days of bunking before the vacations begin and returning 2 days late makes it a fortnight's holiday...coolio", not this time, this time i made the mistake of staying back a couple of days after the semester(course) ended, and boy was it hard(boy am i starting too many sentences with the word 'boy').Seeing you off at the railway station or even those brief farewell hugs in the canteen or PMC (for non-BITians : Piya Milan Chowk, which is where one meets one's love interest or dou) , a little part of me died on the inside, with each farewell.

This might be the right time to point out that for the first time in my life, it has taken me this long to write a piece, if i weren't typing this out, the initial paragraphs might have been blotted, lucky for me, tears won't show on a blog, hopefully the anguish and pain do though.

Haven't really been myself this past week, i doubt any of you have, but the realization that the way of life one has been accustomed to ever since one entered adulthood hits you hard, you aren't just leaving behind a place and friends, you are leaving behind a way of life, one that taught you to fend for yourself while having someone's back, one where caring and sharing become apt descriptions of you, no matter how you walked in .

I could go on, but since the bottom line of this post is that all great things end too soon, i think i must conclude(see what i did there? ), but before i do, HINDI ! how can i forget Hindi?, Most of you had a major role in this department, i shudder to imagine how I'd survive four years without learning from you guys(or with you guys).

Three and a half years were spent grumbling about how we never "lived" for four years but "survived", this last sem, especially those last couple of weeks made me realize that we did live ! To the fullest extent,

 Life wasn't rosy,The rooms weren't too cosy ,No scope for being lazy,No hope for the crazy.
But we were always around to wipe them tears,never missed a chance to bump mugs and say cheers, Friends who were never described as peers, chased away home-sickness and all of my fears

I just hope I influenced your lives to half the extent you guys influenced mine, because whether one admits it or not, the greatest fear is the fear of being forgotten .

yours forever,
Nikhil ,voldy, suar ,piggy, joe,nik, joey or whatever name you know me by

Nikky Boner

If you read the title and went “ewww” despite not getting the bollywood flick connection, you’re probably family, if not; the time is ripe for your palm to meet your face or your head to meet your desk, your choice.(you are probably thinking I used ‘your’ and ’you’re’ excessively in that sentence, well, now you are)

Most of you guessed right, this has something to do with the movie “Vicky donor”, not everything, but yes, something.(I hate spoilers, be it books or movies, so I assure you, you can read this post and watch the movie later, not like every hindi movie is a “kahaani” or “A Wednesday” anyway, this one certainly isn’t )

There are days when one feels bored for no reason, a boredom not even twitter can solve, real-world boredom. Today was one of those days, and I (very much like the protagonist of the movie) have the ability to kill time and feel happy on my own, so off I was on a day out, good food at a new restaurant followed by a movie was the plan, the only unplanned parts were what I’d eat and which movie I’d watch.

A quick twitter poll and a couple of positively depressed juniors I met ruled out “Hate story”, so “Vicky Donor” seemed the obvious choice and boy am I glad.  

It isn’t some art-film or something with too deep a message, neither is it your average  bollywood flick, allow me to elaborate, an average bollywood flick is one in which the hero has a trait, job or a secret that the viewer is introduced to within the first quarter of the movie, by which time he meets, woos or attempts to pataofy the chick, he succeeds, just before the intermission and about a fifth of the movie is about the rosy, cheerful lives that good-looking people who can sing and dance  at the drop of a hat live, then, without warning *snorts* out comes that secret and all hell breaks loose, movie then defies all Freudian theories and at times Newtonian too, just to right those wrongs and in the end, all is well.  Wait, so Vicky donor *is* an average bollywood flick, my bad :p

However, there are few random observations I wish to share with you :

1.     I remember random stuff like the guy’s car number (DL 06 C 2596) I think , old me went and watched non-khan hindi movies in a cinema hall for one reason only, that was before I started using the hashtag #ForeverAlone on twitter.

2.     Punjabi grannies drink whiskey! The only liquids apart from water and Kaapi my dadi partook were paanka(lemonade) and teertha(holy water).

3.     This awesome analogy is true Punjabis: Bengalis:: Kannadigas: Tamilians ::Smarthas : Madhavas .

4.     I have more in common with the bongs than I thought I did, you see, I thought the only thing we had in common was that I love double D and they love double Di, but looks like hatred for delhi is something we share too.

5.     I have more in common with the Punjabis than I thought I did, you see, I thought the only thing we had in common was that we love to “that which comes before part-B”, but looks like we share our hatred for bongs.

6.     Anyone can grow fat, seriously, that lanky, creepy looking dude who used to yell “Deewane, parwane, mastane” is now a creepy looking fatso with a Punjabi accent as authentic as my tamizh accent when I say “machaaaa vaa inga !”.

7.     I have a new “type”, that chick whose answer to the question “What’s your name?” is the same as my reply to the poor folks stuck in an elevator with me when they say “Do you smell something funny?, who did that ?”- “yeah, me”. (her name is Yami gautham and she is the sole reason behind the title of this blogpost)

One for the parents

How many years has it been? 23 today,

“Amazing” “Awesome” ”Oh my gosh”, the Americans would say,

People may feel the years went by like a breeze,

Practically speaking, they don’t pass with ease.

You’ve enjoyed the ups and borne with the downs,

And during times sad, been each other’s clowns.

No matrimonial site can find such a perfect match, ever,

No Nazi experiment could create kids so clever ;)

In all these years, not once has the romance dimmed,

Voices have been raised, but love has only brimmed,

Early in this journey, entered yours truly,

Root of nine years later came along a tyrant, unruly,

Seriously though, my brother and I are truly blessed,

At this point, my rhyme shall not be messed,

Rhymes are all I can gift, till I earn and pay my own bill,

Yours forever, your unspoilt, young Nikhil.

P.S: if you haven’t observed already, the first letters from every line , when read downwards form a phrase .

Goodbye Rahul Dravid

Unparalleled in humility and a class apart,

The gentleman's game is his chosen form of art,

Rarely did he cause any tumult or uproar,  

Every stroke he played , made the dil maang more.

The epitome of Edison's definition of genius,

footwork that could only be described as ingenious,

That subtle smile and coy demeanor,

A simple life and an untarnished career  , (i dare thee to find one cleaner.)

Contributions went unnoticed, credit was left due ,

yet,not once did we see his face display a shade of (red) hue,

Never one to claim glory or hog the limelight,

Always played with his heart and fought his own silent fight.

Many a post shall be dedicated to you today, my humble sonnet is but one,

Watching you play , my dear sir, has been immense fun .

Birthday-Bums time FB !

Whether social networking is a boon or curse, a fad or utility, in vogue or passé, the answers to these questions are extremely volatile and depend on various factors, the purpose with which social networking sites were made and what they serve today indicates the evolution it has been subjected to. Love them or hate them, be it for professional reasons or personal , rarely will you find anyone between the ages of 16 and 56 who has not signed up for a single social networking site(Dad, if you’re reading this, know that you’re the exception) , ok I’ll start referring to them as SNS (not to be mistaken for Scotch N Soda , there’s no love-hate relationship there…everybody loves that).

The role of a SNS also depends on it the person using it, no doubt it can be a powerful tool if used right and can help reconnect or stay in touch with people or help one’s business / career reach heights that cannot even be dreamt of by conventional ways, but, there’s also the stalker, the balker and the one who logs on and writes random shit after his bloodstream is a cocktail riddled with Johnny walker.

Statistics related to SNS are as mind-boggling as those related to competitive exams and the chunk of active users is comparable to the number of serious candidates appearing for the CAT, to most people , Facebook is a calendar that reminds you to wish people( you haven’t met in a while and don’t give a tiny rat’s ass about) on their birthdays and twitter will remain the place where one steals funny one-liners to post on Facebook with no remorse whatsoever because they can’t even spell plagiarism let alone know what it means.

I cannot begin to count the number of times my hands have automatically guided the cursor towards the block/report for spam button , but I’ve held back , almost every single time , not because I have any hope that things will get better(If their grammar were a puppy , it’d be in such bad shape that it would break my heart), but because I could do with the laughs(if you went “so meannnnnn” you’re probably one of them).

Having said that, I am very much aware that there are times when I myself am uber active, and I’m man enough to admit that those are times when:

         I have nothing better to do 

            I feel it is my duty to enlighten some of you on something I deem important      

            The recipe for the devil’s workshop now stands updated and alongside an idle mind, a smart phone is a  necessary ingredient

            I need to maintain my klout score

 I’ve digressed and will probably have to rename this post, I started off writing because I got pissed off at Facebook, rather the people I know who are on it , logged onto both twitter as well as facebook after the historic judgement recalling 2G licenses of various service providers , but not one single status regarding it I tell you , screw that , not a single update that was remotely intellectual, atleast the tweeple were cracking jokes left, right and centre.

So FB, despite all the news you’re making, what with the IPO and 8^th birthday and all, “son…. I am disappoint”.

P.S : follow me on twitter if you aren't already , god-promise I'm funnier there.@suar4sure

Faith and Death are Neighbors !

I haven’t written for a while now, nothing too interesting has been happening I kept telling myself, maybe there was a part of me hoping that something would come up, but as of this morning I was a content kid on vacation, back home, utterly and pleasantly jobless, spending quality time with my family, putting on lost weight and making up for lost sleep, and then, it happened.

Normal , pleasant morning it was, woke up feeling cold, a customary coffee, followed by seeing my brother off to college and a sumptuous  breakfast (3 masala dosas ).  The plans were made , ill spare you the astrological details, it’s an auspicious day to visit a subramanya swamy temple (To those of you who aren’t familiar with the name , he is the elder brother of ganesh(our elephant-headed god who is pretty famous)).

We reach the temple around half past eleven and are promptly told by a flower-vendor that the temple doors were closed 5 minutes ago, his neighbouring competitor(or wife, I’m not sure) another vendor tells us to follow an elderly looking man clad in a white dhoti, and follow him we do, for mom was determined to take me to that temple today, and voila, there is another entrance, we go inside, partake teertha (holy water) after the mangala-aarti , finish the darshana and head out.

Being the bangaloreans we are, the first thing dad and I do is scout around for something to eat, and turns out that we were in the vicinity of one of the oldest bakeries in Bangalore called the V B Bakery, we finish packing a week’s supply of cookies, buns and cakes, and leave to return to the car, Then, it happened .

Now I’ve read a lot of accounts, heard a lot of stories, seen my share of movie scenes depicting Near Death Experiences, but let me tell you this, Nothing can prepare you for it, nothing can ever describe that feeling, I don’t know if what I experienced was near death per se , No, I did not see a great white light, all I saw was the bumbling fool of a rider who sped towards me like a drunken monkey while I was crossing the road with my dad.   

I know I’m not goal-keeper material (to me they are as fearless as people get),  I’m just an average joe(pun intended) when it comes to the courage department, but when I saw that moron speeding /spiralling towards me, I was actually calm, I mean I dodged the fucker with the reflexes of a seeker (viktor krum ishtyle), which is why I lived to write this, but it was a feeling like I’ve never had before.

There are so many facets of this experience that make me feel blessed, I mean, we all read books and watch movies that speak of unconditional parental love, but in that frantic moment right after the incident, I could see in my dad’s worried eyes that all he cared about was if I was ok, he cared not if he was hurt anywhere, he did not even observe the speeding idiot lying on the pavement.(eventually we picked him up and gave him water and checked to see if he had a concussion ), in the moments after the incident, my state would best be described by how James Bond likes his martini – I was shaken and I did not stir from the place.

I felt no pain whatsoever and dad wasn’t hurt either, so the mystery still remained, how did the blundering fool fall?, because hit something he did, the answer to that question was discovered in quite an embarrassing manner, we were on the way out of E-zone (an electronics mega-store of sorts)  and my mom pointed out that the back side of my shirt was ripped !.. the part below the hip (yes, I do not tuck my shirt), and my jeans were ripped too, left butt-cheek region. Some part of his bike must have gotten stuck in clothes or just brushed along resulting in loss of control.

To say I’m a changed man and that this gave me a new perspective towards life would be overstating it, I already knew that my parents love me more than life itself and that I’m a scaredy-cat whose love for self-preservation borders on a hybrid of narcissistic and psychopathic , but faith is something that needs constant updating or reinstating, and that’s what happened today, faith in prayer, faith in a higher power, faith in love and above all , the faith that I’m destined for so much more and that god will take care of any hurdles I may encounter.

  

Oil- The great leveler

18 years of my life i spent training my body to wake up a little later than the usual on that day of the week which is the result of paganism evolving into neo-christianity(did i come off as too Dan brownish?...no offence meant), little did i know that one shabby sheet of paper would change it all- The mess menu, that torn-up,oily,smelly piece of paper which looks like a collage in which someone used clippings from a news paper called" The aloo and puri daily" , And the one dish powerful enough to make such an impact : Chole Bathura on Sunday mornings, The oilier,tastier,unhealthier bada bhai of puri, a melt in the mouth delicacy that makes little boys who miss ghar ka khana forego sleep and hangover remedies(at times, even taking a dump).

Wars have been fought, families and countries have severed ties, blood and sweat have been spilt (enough to drench any small nation), but that is not the aspect of oil i wish to talk about, the time has come for me to introduce you to the protagonist of this story, he goes by many names(all of which were provided by me): Tel man,fry-man, bhujiya-man, wok-man and my personal favourites- bandli-man or yenne-man. Ill use text from the respective languages in the future or italicize them, i promise(pinky-swear).

There may be one or more tel-men (dudes in-charge of frying stuff) in every hostel mess, but this is my blog, hence my subject shall be the Tel-man in my hostel mess. I'm sure most of you either watch or have heard of the NDTV travel/foodie show called "Highway On My Plate", anyways quoting Rocky and Mayur(the awesome hosts) while they were in Jharkhand (Episode aired on Jan 9th,2011), "keep in mind , good(food) in Jharkhand means, has excessive oil" and mess food is no exception, that makes tel-man a celebrity chef of sorts, it matters not if you're the most popular kid on campus or if you're a goon surrounded by 8 minions at any given time, he cares not if you're listening to bieber or mohit chauhan or floyd while waiting, but wait you shall , and its each man for himself, because when it comes to the golden brown piece of sunshine that is the chola bathura , there are no compromises.

Note to self: Find out Tel-man's name next Sunday.

Appendix-1(accepted usage of the word :tel(oil)):

1. "machi, see machi, how much tyel is there in this puris*squeezes a handful of puris like they were made of sponge*"-regular oil .

2. "viva kaise gaya?""*makes rude hand-gesture*, bina tel ka le liya bhai!": "How'd the viva go?""They did not even provide us lube bro !"

3. "CS jaaye tel lene, chupchap padhai kar" : "Balls to Counter-strike, cock-up and study"

And finally one last shout-out to the dude who makes us smile once a week and gives our sunday a fitting start. Go Tel-man !