Tom

If there was one thing Tom knew, it was spinning stories. Ever since he was a child, he was a prolific liar. Hence a prolific story teller. Before the invention of the iPad, story tellers like Tom were the limelight. Creativity set camp on the edge of his tongue. His stories echoed through the school. Everyone, including teachers and one seemingly student friendly principal, spoke of Tom and his stories. Everyone but me. You see I was his friend since we were born. Literally. While everyone did hear some of Tom’s stories, I heard them all. I was by his side for each and every one of them. He was the superhero and I was the sidekick. Except, the sidekick did help the superhero sometimes. Tom didn’t need help. He was as imaginative as a toddler and as skillful as a samurai. These two elements intermingled expertly every time he narrated a story. It was a gift. One could not acquire such talents by reading novels or watching movies. Trust me. I tried. Needless to say, jealousy caught up with me over time.

Before we could graduate high school, we were drafted to the military. It was the time of war. We had just turned eighteen and this would be an unwanted surprise gift. So off to war we went. Jealousy took a back seat and pride for the nation drove us. But war was not as we expected. With a stroke of luck, we were posted in the same unit. The reserve unit. We waited our time with the call of war on our mind. We trained night and day. But if there was one thing Tom knew, it was spinning stories. Even with all the training, Tom found time. After the lights were out, everyone crowded around Tom to hear his stories. Every night this happened. The jealousy was back. The attention he got and I craved. The jealousy intensified. We were sent home after the war was over. As a token of our (non)service we were asked to retain our rifles, Swiss-knives and uniforms that we were issued. With the promise of course, that in the time of the next war, we would be the first ones on the battlefield.

Back home, our parents were ecstatic upon learning the news of our arrival. They threw a party for the two of us. We were escorted from the station by our mothers. It was surprising indeed. It was overwhelming indeed. Jealousy took a back seat as emotions got the better of me. All our loved ones gathered just for us. We cried. We laughed. We sang. We danced. We drank. We drank more. It was a memorable day. We were now famous in our little town. Mothers wanted their daughters married to us. Fathers wanted their sons to be us. It was a happy time. We celebrated every night. I showed off my Swiss-knife to pretty girls. But of course, if there was one thing Tom knew, it was spinning stories. He needed no Swiss-knife. He spun stories of war as I listened. I was the sidekick after all. Jealousy was back and at its peak. Night after night, he was the centerpiece. One night, it got to my head. I stabbed him in the back. Literally. With the Swiss-knife I loved so dearly. The Swiss-knife I was to use for a war on the nation. The Swiss-knife I used for my personal war. The enemy, my friend. My friend, the enemy.

 

 

So who am I you ask? Pleased to meet you, I’m Tom. If there’s one thing I know, it is to spin stories.

 

The Monty Hall Problem

To those of you who know the Monty Hall problem may continue. Others please read the extract from Wikipedia below.

Suppose you’re on a game show, and you’re given the choice of three doors: Behind one door is a car; behind the others, goats. You pick a door, say No. 1 [but the door is not opened], and the host, who knows what’s behind the doors, opens another door, say No. 3, which has a goat. He then says to you, “Do you want to pick door No. 2?” Is it to your advantage to switch your choice?

Vos Savant’s response was that the contestant should always switch to the other door. If the car is initially equally likely to be behind each door, a player who picks Door 1 and doesn’t switch has a 1 in 3 chance of winning the car while a player who picks Door 1 and does switch has a 2 in 3 chance. The host has removed an incorrect option from the unchosen doors, so contestants who switch double their chances of winning the car.

This question has been debated for a long time. Here’s my take on it.

Imagine you’re on the show “Let’s Make a Deal” (Khul Ja Sim Sim being the Indian equivalent) hosted by Monty Hall. You know the rules of the game. 3 doors, one of them has a car behind it and the other two have goats. You take home what’s behind the door you choose. So you pick a door (say door #1) and Monty shows you what’s behind one of the doors you didn’t choose… and it’s a goat. Say its door #3. At this point, he asks you if you want to change the door you chose. You say yes. Change it to #3. He will be shocked, yes. Crowd will be silenced, yes. At this point, Monty’s probably confused coz he never had anyone change their selection to the door with the goat he just opened. He asks for a commercial break. A series of soap, detergent and vehicle commercials follow. While the commercials are on, Monty goes backstage to ask the producers of the show if you could change your selection to the open door. The producers repent that they don’t make people sign disclaimers from acting stupid on national television. Given the rights of an American, there is nothing that legally prevents you from picking the door which is already open. Now dear Monty stumbles back onto the stage and screams “We’re back America”. He asks you again if you would like to stick with door #1 or change to the other closed door. You reiterate that you want to change to door #3 with a straight face. He reminds you that there is a car behind one of the other two doors which could be yours if you played your cards right. You say you understand but you stick with door #3. He asks you if you’re sure. You reply affirmatively. To address the curiosity of much of the audience and his own, he asks why. You explain the Monty Hall problem.

“If I stay with door #1, there is a possibility I might end up with a car. A brand new car. At which point I rejoice and celebrate. But, I already own a car. So I take the new car home. Now what I have at home, are 2 depreciating assets which require a constant supply of an exponentially appreciating commodity while serving the same purpose of transportation. And needless to say, no goats. My life expectancy reduces, statistically, as the number of cars I own increase. Since I am the driver in the family, I am effectively reducing their life expectancy as well. Also, now that I have a second car, I need a second insurance. So the premium I pay each month has now doubled itself. And who’s to forget the cost of maintenance. So in effect, I have just won a bankrupting death machine… With wheels. However, let’s say I was to take home with me, the goat. I invest, say, another $100 and purchase a goat of the opposite gender. Now, I have 2 goats which feed on grass, paper, basically anything that’s readily available and free, thus helping recycle. They also act as good pets for my children as they’re known to be feeble and loving. The female goat gives me milk and both of them provide manure. They mate and make me more goats which in turn give more milk and manure. I sell these commodities and though it may take a while, I come out on top regaining the $100 I invested. The reproduction goes on and my return on investment increases.

For the short lived happiness of a sense of victory, I forget what’s more important is prolonged happiness at a later time that I would gain from options that do not seem presently appealing.”

And that’s how you play the game.

To the bitter end

“Tell me a story”

“About what?”

“A simpler time. A happier time”

“Funny I can’t remember.”

“Is this the only way out?”

“Yes”

“I don’t want it to end this way”

“It must”

With those words silence filled the room. Regret and failure preoccupied his thoughts while she searched her memories for a time they were happy together. The truth was even she couldn’t. She couldn’t accept it. She dug deeper.

“Tell me the story of how we met”

He was lost. He didn’t reply.

“Tell me the story of how we met” she repeated.

He ignored her even though she wouldn’t stop. He knew he had led them to the point of no return. The decisions he made. The turns he took on his straight road of a life. His thoughts couldn’t help but digress into those directions. Back then he thought they were right. Even now he believed so. But in that moment, there was a shadow of doubt.

“There is no point in dwelling on the past” his rather arrogant half replied.

But he did think back to the time. Even though he completely ignored her. She kept talking. But he didn’t listen. He was lost… or unconscious. He had no idea. He was dreaming. He thought back to the time he had met her. Back then he was ambitious. Full of aspirations. As he thought back he realized he ignored her back then too. He never gave her the attention she deserved. It was circumstantial. Like every other man in his time, he was obsessed with his work. He thought back to a simpler time. To the days beyond all the lies and irrationality of adulthood. He tried to remember his mother’s embrace. He thought hard. He failed. He vaguely recalled her smile. She worked hard to keep him in school, even though he didn’t comply. He was forced to leave two schools as a result of his untoward behavior. His mother, though disappointed and defeated, egged him on but his arrogant self wouldn’t comply. He wept as he thought of the time he saw his mother in a coffin. It still was the most depressing day of his life. What made it worse was the fact that if his mother were alive, she would have disowned him out of shame.

A thud woke him up. As he opened his eyes, he saw the lifeless body of his wife in front of him. Motionless and still. Her lips were quivering in an effort to say something, as she drew her last breath. He leaned closer. He couldn’t understand. He only imagined it was an expression of her love for him. He gently kissed her and closed her eyes. He whispered into her ear

“Good night Eva”

with the belief that she would hear him. A bottle of cyanide lay open on the table.

It had been 16 years since he met her. Since he first fell for her. Since he first expressed his love for her. Yet he married her only yesterday. His job made it difficult for him to make time for her. So many people depended on him. She never complained. Her love for him was pure and unconditional. He never understood it. He often asked her out of surprise,

“How can you love me? Don’t you know me?”

“I know you. That is why I love you. I would rather love a monster who is true to me than love an angel who deceives me.”

“Are you calling me a monster?” he would joke.

“It’s figurative my love” she would smile and reply.

He missed her warmth. Even after all he had done, she was by his side right to the bitter end. Ultimately, isn’t that what life is about? He wondered.

He wept uncontrollably as he thought of the only two women who loved him and how he had let them down. He walked over to his table and opened his drawer. He withdrew his Walther PPK pistol. The most apt of all endings to his story, he thought. Till the end, only his wife and his pistol remained faithful. Together they lived and together they would go down.

He locked the door and walked over to his wife’s body. He looked at her face for the last time and smiled and said…

“I look at you now Eva as this will be the last time I see you. Heaven’s doors will be wide open for you but I will not be so fortunate. The time has come for us to part ways. May you find the happiness you never knew with me. I will love you forever always. ”

He took a step back from her and faced the giant portrait of himself on the wall. He was ashamed of who he was. Of who he had become. Even God could not redeem him. He was hell bound. He lifted his hand with the revolver up to his temple and closed his eyes and said out loud…

“May God have mercy.”

As he pulled the trigger, blood splashed all over. The Nazi sign on his collar bore another shade of red.

Across the mountain

The year is 1988. In a small house overlooking the snow covered mountains, I lived with my parents. With infinite serenity around us, we could live our lives in that small house we called home. In summer, every inch of land would be encompassed in a layer of green. It was the finest artwork that He could ever make. In winter, the scenery defied any law of beauty that ever existed. No words could do justice to what we would witness year after year. It was breathtaking. It was undiscovered. Its beauty lay in its loneliness. For if it were ever discovered, it would be plundered by development. It would be like putting maquillage on a goddess. So intense was the beauty.

On long summer days in my childhood, I would often walk for hours together along the base of the mountain taking imaginary pictures. On one such day, I walked longer and further than I would. I had been told not to walk too far as the mountains were a threat in summer owing to the melting ice caps. But, that day, there was an unusual pull of nature. I lost track of time and kept walking, till I had reached the opposite end of the mountain. And there lay another house. It was almost like a mirror image of mine. I wondered if I had walked all around the mountain and reached my house. As I walked towards it, I soon figured that it wasn’t my home. There was a boy scampering across the knee-height grass fields, chasing a rabbit, with a smile on his face. I walked towards him, till he noticed me. Soon as he did so, his smile faded and he ran towards the house. It was getting dark so I turned around and made my way home. I was on time as I had traded my play-time for the extra-long walk. The boy across the mountain’s behavior kept my thoughts occupied. I decided that I would leave early the next afternoon to reach the other side quicker. And so I did. I walked on and on; the only difference, today my walk was not purposeless. As I reached the other side, I saw the boy again. I recollected that I had walked towards him the last time and probably that was what had scared him. So I stood still. As soon as the boy across the mountain saw me, he froze. Even though he was far away, I knew he was afraid. I figured the best gesture I could make was a wave. So I did. And surprisingly, he waved back. I smiled. I began walking towards him. He still kept waving. When I reached close enough, he stopped waving and smiled. We acquainted each other. His name was Imran. He went to school in the school on the other side of the mountain. By the time, we exchanged names of our schools; I realized it was time to leave. I bid adieu and left. Mother didn’t suspect that I had strayed so far off. But I had a smile on my face which was unusual. On noticing my smile, she jokingly asked, “Kyun puttar! Apne jigari dost ko mil aaya hai kya?”  I ran to my father without answering her question. We dined and went to sleep. The next day, I ran back as fast as I could after school. Put on my shoes and sprinted to meet Imran. That was the first day we played together. I explained my time constraint and he agreed to walk halfway across the mountain so we could play for more time. I was happy with the plan we made. We played every day from that day on… until I told my parents about Imran. “Us ladke se kabhi milna nahi samjhei!!” said my father. ”Agli baar us se mila to maar maar ke tere paon tod doonga” I listened with my head bowed down. I reckoned that Imran’s parents would definitely beat him if he said he had me as a friend. The next day, I walked to meet him, for the first time, without a smile. We didn’t play that day. I told him what had happened and he thanked me that I told him that. The way he had described his parents, both of us were sure he would be beaten black and blue, if he told them he was playing with me. As we parted that day, I gave him a rock with both our names engraved on it and asked him to treasure it. Although it had been only a year since we met and played, it was hard to let go. We left with tears in our eyes and memories in our hearts. I never fully understood why my parents were against my friendship with Imran. Until quite later.

The year is 1999. I am an army man fighting at the frontier in Kargil. For a whole month, I have seen more dead than living. The bloodshed, the cold, the starvation have taken a toll on each and every one of us. Not only us, the Indian soldiers. Fond memories of home haunt us all. Even though nightmares fill our dreams, for an instant in those dreaded thoughts, we think of home and our loved ones. We each wake up with tears in our eyes and resume our daily duty of killing enemies. A war started by people who seldom partake in it. War of governments for a piece of land, best left alone, for the purpose of extending their national borders. Yet it is we who fight day and night. We fight for survival. Every day we live is a blessing. Every day we live is a curse. Every day, we question the rationality of the war. Every day we launch futile attempts to retrieve our long lost sanity. The war is no place for a 20 year old to be. We were merely quarreling puppets in this war of puppeteers. The adrenaline had worn out and we were exhausted. We just wanted to go home. I had enough blood on my hands to be condemned to a lifetime of hell. But, if and when I returned home, I would be decorated with medals. Not only justifying the wrongs I have done, but being rewarded for it. Suicide attempts were an everyday affair. The war is nothing like they show in the movies. Pumped up, blood thirsty soldiers driven, by the love of their nation, to kill the enemy. No. We knew we had to kill. Those were orders. But we failed to understand why. Nothing validates the “murder” of so many youths. After almost a month, there were rumors about the Pakistani army being forced to retreat. This came as relief to us all for we did not seek to kill. There was no warfare that day. It was a mutual day of relief. Still, the watchtower remained vigilant on either side. We all dreamt of going home and meeting our loved ones.  We smiled after eternity. The next few days, the war seemed to die out, as the Pakistani forces were pushed back into Pakistan. It was the last week of war. There was exchange of fire but there were very few casualties, as Indian forces moved closer to the border, forcing retreat. The week was quite impassive as our morale went up. We were almost cheerful.

It was the last day of war. It was probably a last ditch attempt on part of the Pakistani army to inflict damage, on orders of the Pakistani government as we would later come to realize. To say the least it was utterly imprudent. It was a group of about 20 Pakistani soldiers who charged towards our camp firing wildly at anything they saw. It was suicidal. Even before they could reach within a few meters of our camp, they were dead. As we braced ourselves for another attack, there was news from the Indian government saying Pakistan had willingly pulled out of the war. Our camp exploded into cheers. Placing down our weapons, we prayed to our Gods and thanked Him that He kept us alive. As we walked outside to breathe the lead free air, we wandered around the land that we had succeeded in retaining. I walked towards the bodies of the 20 odd soldiers who had effectively brought an end to the war. My heart went out to them as they would have been alive if not for the tactless decision made by the Pakistani government. As I strolled around the corpses, I stumbled on something. It was a rock. I found it peculiar as it didn’t belong there. I lifted it off the ground. I brushed the snow off it. I noticed that there was something engraved on it. My heart almost stopped. It skipped a few beats and then raced. It was the rock I had given Imran. It fell out of my hands and my legs gave way. I couldn’t feel my limbs. I crawled around looking for Imran’s corpse, frantically scanning the name tags on the uniforms. “LT. IMRAN ABBAS” read one of the uniforms. I looked at the lifeless face of Imran and memories came rushing back. I took his head in my lap and closed his eyes. I was overwhelmed with sadness. The war was over but we all paid a heavy price. Mothers left childless; newly married wives, widowed; I lost a friend I loved dearly. And the governments offer money calling it “compensation”. That’s outrageous for the loss of a loved one cannot ever be compensated. I looked at the sky and mumbled a silent prayer for the boy who lived across the mountain.

The perfect evening

It was one of the few days when Robert returned early from office. He had called his wife that afternoon and asked her not to cook dinner as he would be taking her out for dinner. “A meal with no dirty dishes to wash is one of the advantages of getting off work early”, he thought to himself as he started his car. With this thought in his mind, he smiled. He wondered why his wife had not called him that evening. It was customary of her to do that. He looked at his watch. It was 6 p.m. She would call at 5:30 p.m. every day. It was unlikely that she would forget to do so. Why hadn’t his wife called him that evening? Was something wrong? Did something happen to her? And just like that, his OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) kicked in. He was obsessed. The illness was a boon and a curse for Robert. Probably that was what made him a “Damn good detective”, his boss exclaimed more than once. But now, he was obsessed for the wrong reasons. He tried to reason, rather unsuccessfully, with himself that she had forgotten to call on several occasions in the past. And that she would have a good reason as to why she had forgotten to call. He was unable concentrate on the road. “How could she forget?” he asked himself while swaying back and forth in his car seat. He was absolutely incapable of putting his mind, and now body, at ease. His lips mumbling some gibberish. It usually took him 20 minutes to reach home. But today, it took him 28 minutes. He looked at his watch and cursed his ailment for being late.

There was an unusual sense of calm in the building. He didn’t realize it till he had climbed up to the second floor. Two more floors to go. As he climbed further up, he grew more and more wary and his footsteps slowed down. By the time he reached the third floor, his footsteps were inaudible… looking around in all directions for signs of normalcy or the tiniest discrepancy. To his disappointment, he could find neither. His pulse was racing, but he tried to control it, like his doctor had taught him. By the time he had reached the fourth floor, the silence had become his fear. Just as he reached his apartment, he noticed that the door was ajar.  His heart skipped a beat. His OCD had escalated to its zenith. His mind was imploding with questions. He was pretty confident something was wrong. It wasn’t a hunch but an almost certainty. He had his right hand on his revolver and his left hand had already drawn his knife, ready to strike anyone who would astound him. Very cautiously, he approached his apartment, trying his best to see as much as he could from the door opening. The room was dimly lit and that just made him more anxious. Suppressing his disorder, as he had done so often in the past, he leaned against the outer wall of his apartment, with the door to his left. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He thought of the beach where he had met his wife for the first time. It brought him peace… as it had done so often in the past. His pulse slowed down. He took another deep breath and filled his lungs. His muscles were now relaxed and his mind vigilant owing to the inrush of oxygen. As he opened his eyes, time seemed to slow down. He was ready. As he opened the door extremely cautiously with his left hand, he drew his revolver, and recalled that it was fully loaded. As he stepped in the apartment, his illness became his strength. The OCD was controlled. The price he had to pay for suppressing his illness for a span of ten minutes, in an intense situation, was a week-long migraine. After stepping into his living room, he saw it was empty. There was pin-drop silence. He paused there as he contemplated his next move. And suddenly, he heard a whimper. It was almost obviously from his bedroom. He had a mental image of every object that hindered his approach to the bedroom. Even if he were blinded, he could make his without making even the slightest of sounds. He started moving stealthily towards his bedroom. He had to focus on the situation. Any slight deviation in thoughts could create a million unanswerable questions, which would ultimately lead to a violent fit. Fortunately, he was used to these situations since he was a detective. Unfortunately, he had never encountered one with his own family. He had to focus. Just as he took the final step towards the bedroom wall, there was another sob. He leaned against the outer bedroom wall and took another deep breath. He was ready. He faced the door and took a step back. Then with utmost caution, he put his left leg forward. His right leg was now stretched behind his body. He tried to get as much momentum as he could and kicked the door open. The magnitude of the kick caused the hinges of the door to come off. The discharge of sawdust made the atmosphere hazy. He stepped into the bedroom and he was shocked at what he saw. His wife stared in awe at Robert. He stared back at her. He looked at the TV and it was the finale of Oprah’s career. So much for the perfect evening.

The day I will never forget

Before you begin reading, this is a riddle! Its not an experience from my life!

 

It was the afternoon of 2^nd of July, 2008. It was the first time I saw her. The sun hid behind the clouds as if ashamed of her beauty. It ought to be.  In a garden of red roses, she stood out wearing her pretty yellow dress. She would have been frowned upon by others as the dress barely covered her knees. But I didn’t care. I was just lost in her ways. The way she moved. The way she covered her face, when the sun showed itself to catch a glimpse of her beauty. The way she smiled at me when I looked at her. What made me happy was she never made eye contact with anyone besides me. Let alone a smile. I was completely lost in her. I was in a trance from which I was unable to snap out of. Time stood still. I could live a lifetime in that split second. Each step she took, just enticed more people. The men complaining to their wives about her audacity to wear such a dress, while staring at her from the corner of their eyes. “Oh the irony and hypocrisy”, I thought to myself. She had reached the other end of the garden. Disappointed about something, her face which was bearing a smile so far, turned gloomy. And so did mine. She walked back the length of the garden. She still looked sad. She was looking around for something. Anxiously. And then she smiled… when she saw me. When she walked towards me, it was like a dream come true. The smile… just for me. When she sat beside me, I felt shivers… and a sense of calm. When she spoke to me, her voice echoed in my head. I always believed that if you fell for someone in perfect weather and surrounded by a garden of red roses, you weren’t in love with her. You were in love with the illusion created by the ambience. But this was different. I just knew it was. When she had to leave, I held her hand. And she simply smiled and said “I’ll be back tomorrow”. I let go and she walked away. I couldn’t sleep that night. Her thoughts filled my head with expectations. I was never a diary keeper. But that day changed me. I could not afford to forget this day. Or any time I would spend with her. And so I began chronicling my thoughts for her. The next morning, before the sun rose, I went to the garden and waited for her. I waited through the morning on the same bench on which we spoke for hours the day before. I didn’t mind the wait as long as I would get to see her the minute she walked into the garden. And walk in she did. And that smile appeared the moment she saw me. We spoke till the sun went down. When she had to leave, I offered to walk her home. An offer she gladly accepted. I dropped her back home and she promised she would be back the next day with that innocent smile. I walked home with the broadest of smiles on my face. I reached home and wrote my feelings, which only grew deeper. This ritual continued for months together. Her mother loved me as I had become her closest friend. “She has trouble making friends”, her mother once told me in confidence, which I found hard to believe given her personality. Now, we did everything together. We were inseparable. She thought we were best friends. Only I knew she couldn’t be just a friend. There was not one flaw I could find in her. She was perfect. And I rediscovered it every day. Each minute spent with her was one of happiness. She would never disappoint me.

 

It was the 19^th of December when she came over to my place for the first time. My mother was glad to finally put a face on the girl with whom I spent every waking minute. And she was overjoyed. We spent the whole day in our room listening to music and talking about our future. Needless to say, I had nothing much to talk about. My future plans involved only her. And she had no idea. That night, as I wrote my diary, I thought about my future with her. I got lost in my dreams and fell asleep while writing. The next day, I was awoken by her voice. I thought it was a dream but she was there with her sun-lit face. She smelled like strawberries. I got out of bed to get a glass of water not realizing I left my diary out in the open. When I was back, her smile had vanished. The day I dreaded had befallen me. I stood there speechless. She seemed so disappointed. It wasn’t like how I had expected it to come out. I tried to explain myself, but she stormed out in tears. I wept for hours too. We did not speak for a week after that. I left her many messages but she wouldn’t call me back. I still went to the garden where we met first and still sat on the same bench on which we spent hours talking. I reminisced and missed her every second. After a week, she came to the garden and quietly sat next to me. It might have been at least an hour before she let a word out. “I’m getting engaged in February”, she said to me. “This is the most clichéd of all endings to my story”, I thought to myself. But I didn’t utter a word. As the words sunk in, I realized what I had just lost. “But…”, and before I could complete my sentence, she interrupted me. “I love you too”, she said to me. Those words were etched in my mind. Nothing could erase that. I could not believe what I was hearing. I was so happy. I was so sad. I gave in to the overwhelming emotions and burst in to tears. And so did she. When I stopped weeping, I consoled her and got her to stop crying so that we could talk. Only now I understood what she had been going through. “My parents would never understand”, she told me. “My mom knows you are my best friend and nothing more. And it’s us! I don’t think she will ever understand”. “But I can explain it to her”, I replied. “She wouldn’t understand. She had fixed my engagement long before she told me”, she said. I understood her predicament. I said no more. I realized that her parents wouldn’t understand. Nor would my parents. It’s her after all. We watched the sunset together, without saying a single word with her head in my arms. I walked her home that night and bid goodbye. Her mother invited me in for dinner but I politely refused. I couldn’t sleep that night. I wrote everything I felt. Had countless vodka shots and passed out. The next few days were pure hell for me. I couldn’t get her out of my head. I broke my cell phone and disconnected the telephone line from my room. Yet, every time the phone would ring in the hall, my heart would fill up with hope. Only to be trashed.

 

It was the 23^rd of February… an auspicious day according to the priests. It was the day the engagement was scheduled. I did turn up for it coz I knew she had to know I was fine with it. And I did it. Then I thought to myself. “This room full of people would never understand how much we love each other”. I was made to sit right next to her throughout the engagement. That just made it more painful. We didn’t know what to tell each other. I made some excuse and got away from her. I stayed for the ceremony but didn’t speak to her. She seemed happy. Seemed. Only I knew that. I left soon after the engagement was done with a tear rolling down my cheek. I reached home and wrote it all in my diary. Then I burnt it. I spoke to her a month after the engagement. I missed her. And so she missed me too. We spoke for hours and decided to meet at the garden. We were just really glad to see each other. For the time we spoke, we forgot everything. We were detached from reality. We did our usual ritual and left at sunset…  and after a long time, with a smile on our faces. We were just happy to have spoken to each other after so long. And we met every day from then on.

It was 2^nd of July, 2009… the day that changed my life. It was the 1 year anniversary since we met. Something magical had happened. And I called her up barely able to control my excitement. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She hung up just after I told her the news.  I had no idea what was going through her head. I went to mom and came clean about everything. She was confused but she was supportive. I went to my room and sat alone thinking how she felt. After sometime, there was a loud thud on my door. I opened it and she stood there. “I called off the engagement”, she told me, “My mother understands now”. I couldn’t hold back my tears. We cried, hugged and kissed. I knew nothing could separate us. Now that she was mine. The day I’ll never forget.

 

What magical thing happened?

Tribute to the tricalite

In our dept, good days are hard to come by. And by the time you smile to enjoy that momentary happiness, you fall asleep. I feel, and I think all my trical compatriots would agree, that batch of 2007-2011 EEE @ NITT knows the true definition of momentary happiness.

I’m reminded of the 2nd year the lab days . Back then, momentary happiness was when we finished writing the result of the experiment and then realized we still had the circuit diagrams, observation table etc to draw. After completing that, before we could heave a sigh of relief, we would remember that the graphs were still left! “Ah yes finally I finished the graphs! Now off to bed” we thought! Arey kidhar jaa rahiyo hai!? abhi obsi toh baaki hai be! :’( After scribbling whatever nonsense was written in the batchmate’s obsi, when we would write the result, realization would strike yet again! Forgot to write theory for the record! Damn! Abhi page phaado aur phir likho kaamchor ! “Phew!”, we exclaimed after finishing the obsi and record! And after all this we would get a “Jeero” ( the number 0)  for not drawing a resistor between 2 parallel lines! If that wasn’t enough, further humiliation followed in the form of more “Jeero”s  for viva. The welcome to department sem created ever lasting impressions on our profs! “Worrsssttt batch” was a title for our batch thrown around by every prof! And we did wear that crown quite proudly for some reason!

After 2nd year, people who actually gave a damn about obsi and record marks were reduced to only a handful. And right when everyone lost interest in labs, enter the no obsi no record sem! OOPS lab and LIC lab! This sem was more like a recovery sem for people wanting to keep CGPAs above 7 or 8 or 9 as the wrath of 3  completely hopeless subjects was unleashed upon our class in the previous sem. Back in the 5th sem, momentary happiness was having OOPS lab the next day. “Mast AC mein baith kar Kushal se copy maar ke nikal lenge.”  ”Print out liya kya?” “Nahi be printer kaam nahi kar raha” and that excuse worked almost every time coz even Gram would play along! LIC lab! Pre-work and post-work were two really disliked phrases! Though this lab required some prep, no one really cared… No obsi no record no work! That’s what we interpreted! The dept was trying to say something but who cares!

Then came the semester with CPCs as the don’t care attitude only intensified! And this just got our seniors worried! After every CPC session, we would get a lecture about how useless we were in tech, softy and apti! As the frequency of CPCs increased, so did our bunk score! Back then, momentary happiness was getting an evening off from CPCs! After-lab CPCs were the worst and we began to question reason! Also these were the semesters of shanky, who safely assumed his subjects were the only ones we had. His incomprehensible lectures and never-smiling face accompanied by his threats to flunk the whole class (in lab too!) haunted us for a year and a half! The way he stared in surprise at people not knowing something in control systems was a funny sight! And how almost all his lectures ended up with him showing off his supposed knowledge of F-16s!

Final year! Rang the happy bells in everyones head! We thought being final years would mean bridging the gaps of dislike between our profs and us! But we underestimated the impression we had created! Now they would go on to bitch about us to our juniors rather than seniors! :O who wudv thunk it! The 1st placement sem had us all confused focus-wise! Studies, placements or shanky’s lab?! what should we focus on?! Just as we struck a balance (after CT2), we realized we had yet to conquer 2 peaks namely Industrial Eletroncis and VLSI! What the F**k!! When do we get off the leash!!? No wait! That question was to be asked in the final semester. Final sem! and here we are still doing project work and giving reviews with utmost seriousness! This dept has taken every ounce of energy we had and now we’re dry!

5 IIM admits (A,B,C @meena, B @bear, C @fawas), 1 XLRI admit (@akshaya), GATE AIR 8 (@nithya), highest paid NITT B.Tech grad in India (@bodhi – ITC), highest placement record and double placement record set after many years by EEE 2007-2011 batch of NITT ( @casa- thanks a million), amazing MS admits (@shiva, @Gram, @kow, @Rahul and others) and after all this, we’re the wooorrrssstttt batch there was! Hats off to my classmates and profs for 2 very different reasons!

The land of lost hope

Let me begin on a sad note.. The Goa trip which had been planned, postponed and re-planned, now stands cancelled! The most unfortunate and unforeseeable circumstances brought the slow demise of our trip.. And i sit in my room writing a memoir of this trip that never was..

In the beginning, there was some confusion.. But only regarding our living arrangements and as to what we would do ! But some things are just jinxed from the start. This was one of them. The amount of thought and time we spent on planning this trip was immense.  But it took just a few minutes for us to conclude when the trip wasn’t going to happen. The planning effectively had started from our last semester. Since my visit to Goa in summer. The beauty of the place was enthralling! Peaceful to describe it in a word.. And the sunsets were a world apart.. Now it seems like a distant dream.. Now, there’s nothing to look forward to.. Empty days await as we while away the remaining time of our college life beginning with this overrated overly-anticipated Valentines day. “Dry till Goa”… An unfulfilled resolution which will be soon broken by an outpour of booze! Something to look forward to…

It’s hard to say why it’s hard to show the disappointment.. No regrets nonetheless.. One resolution remains kept.. “Everyone or no one!”  It was selfish to keep the plan on even after Skunky couldn’t come.. And it was double fold when Yassar couldn’t make it either! As I sat there and made excuses as to why we should go ahead with it! Serves us right… No regrets nonetheless.. No guilt anymore either! And my happiness is derived from that! In a way I’m glad! The apprehension of my parents was apparent too! And since that day I was in two minds.. I wouldn’t be surprised if I backed out the last second.. No guilt anymore as I walk to class this week.. Just clouded by boredom… Like the past month.. Like the past year.. Like the past 3 years!

I’ve watched all that I could and reached my limit.. I’ve done all that was possible.. Can you blame me for drinkin!? And the sad note lasted forever!

Holy S**t its politics again!

The age old debate of fixing Indian politics still reigns on! The argument never ends well and the only end result that comes of it is the common loss of energy and precious time of our lives! I’m fed up! I refuse to be a part of anymore of these pointless quests of either party trying to prove its dominance over the other… I have opinions! Some of the questionable! But I dont care! And neither should anyone else.. For an opinion is “a belief or judgment that rests on grounds insufficient to produce complete certainty”. And I live in a democracy! I’m allowed to think/speak/write as I will! And thus this blog entry….

I DO NOT believe the political situation of this country can be changed… By now, it’s so down, deep and dirty there’s no salvation. Just plain hell in the afterlife for the guilty. However, I DO believe India as a country can be improved. The fact that people confuse politics with the development of our country is ridiculous. The 2 maybe related on some levels. Yes, politics hinders growth. But, you’d rather help in development rather than set out on a futile endeavor to change the political system! Change begins with you! Yes I agree, but change the right thing. Politics doesn’t prevent you from a noble person… Help in your own ways. Help within your limits. Skeptics will say sky’s the limit! Well, go for it! It’s high time you put your words into action. Rest of us rationalists will be heading down the sane road –> Opinion. This is not an outburst of negativity. Just realization of what’s practical.

The youth of out nation that’s so hell bent on changing the political face of our country fails to realize the corruption around them by the youth of our nation. It’s a shame! Influencing masses for personal interest has been a text book trick of politicians. Now it’s up the sleeve of every student body president… We shouldn’t talk about deans hustling cash without having a thorough look at ourselves. Well, at least some of us shouldn’t!! So why try to change a system which is unchangeable,, with the support of a few who are as corrupt and manipulative as them!! Its mind-numbingly dumb –> Opinion. It’s you against them. And we all know the end of that story.. You verbally attack some politician. Some goons physically attack you on his behalf. You end up in a hospital with broken bones and failed organs , or on your deathbed. Media makes a story of it and has a field day. You have the public sympathy for a week or two and then the focus shifts to someone who did the very same thing. And the cycle continues. This in no way is an insult to the people who did end up losing their lives for the sake of a better political scenario. In fact, they should be getting CNN-IBN indian of the year and not one politician after the another, for taking credit of the people below them… Jaago India Jaago! It’s time to wake the fuck up! Stop wasting time on the whimsical idea of you changing the system and do something that contributes to the progress of India. —> OPINION

The Final Straw

I lie in my bed killing whatever little time left of my college days. Not just college days, the final days where I qualify as a child! No MS plans so… this is it! I used to wonder what the big deal was and why people would get so sentimental! Why they would  spend night after night consuming unsafe amounts of alcohol! Why they would speak to their friends for hours together talking about things they had never discussed before! Why they would get choked up at farewells! The answer is quite simple. And I finally understand what its like. The time has passed. And this chapter of our lives draws to a melancholy conclusion.  Our first few months at college were spent fantasizing about being the senior most students. Who knew when the time came, we would fantasize about our first few months. Now that the time has come, I cant help but feel nostalgic. Looking in every direction, all I see is memories. Some photographed for us to reminisce. Though there’s nothing like reliving them. As this time slips through my fingers, I cant help but feel incomplete. Leaving this place would mean leaving behind a part of my life. The part that taught me how to grow up. The fact that I, not my parents, am solely responsible for my actions . The fact that getting upset and angry solves nothing. The fact that I am not cut out to be an engineer. The fact that college teaches you much more than just academics and is more than just a weight loss program. Looking back at the days I first came to college, I cant help but feel sorrowful. I have made many friends in this course of my life. Not one of them do I regret. And I treasure some of them way too much. Quite rightly so. For what we went through was too special to forget over the petty arguments we had. For the fun times we had indisputably surmount the few and forgettable sad times. With every sip of whiskey, I cant help but think it may be the last one with my friends. The company of whom I desire with every sip. Just hoping the good times would never end.

This place has given me a hard time, but letting go will be much harder.