A semester in emotions!

At 2 AM on this 1st Day of the last month of an exceptionally long year, which seemed to have passed in a giffy, with an abominably intimidating BM-201 examination looming on my head in about 7 hours, I cannot think of anything better to write about. Tomorrow on, people are 'packing their bags' and are 'ready to leave'. Yet another semester has drawn to a close and yet another year has passed in the book of life. Give me a moment to ponder over the happenings of this year, and more importantly - as the title of the post indicates- the semester '2-1'.

First and foremost, I am fairly certain that by Thursday I'll be 3/8th an engineer. Why engineering? Well that's a different story altogether and such discussions should be initiated in a comfortable ante-chamber on a warm winter afternoon over a freshly brewed cup of coffee. *bliss*

Adding to the senility of my actions, I just googled the 'different types of emotions' and what flashed on the screen is reproduced below;

"The human emotions can be classified as primary, secondary and tertiary emotions. The primary emotions are:

• fear
• joy
• love
• sadness
• surprise
• anger

..."

Thus, I have decided to write 6 posts, about these very 6 emotions that I encountered this semester. Allow me to recapitulate the experiences of the past quarter year and give me the chance to present before you, my version of human emotions albeit in a furiously personal way.

Till then, it's time for me to get back to the mundane and gooey world of Business Management and Material Sciences and I can bet this for sure, the emotion I am experiencing right now as I type this very word is definitely not 'Joy'.

Still on a high!

It's almost 40 hours after Thomso 09 drew to a close. About a 100 hours of hysteria, frenzy and unadulterated fun. And after all that jazz, I am not ashamed to admit that I am still on a high. More than a joyful period, I will revere Thomso 09 for the learning experience. A few points worth mentioning here would be;

1. Watch Out! for the best

There is a strange sense of satiation that fills me from within. I am not content with myself at all, but I do know for a fact that I tried, and real hard at that. Working with the re'freshers' was an unexplainable experience. To interact with a score odd junta, each unique in their own way, made me realise that the knowledge pool of the world is boundless. We learn from everyone - some having a superior content than the others- and hence, we evolve.

I have no qualms in admitting that I learnt how to be a good human being, again. To see my 'juniors' work for the greater good gives me a strange kick! *hic*

2. Watch Out! for the best already known to all

To all my sophomore brethren, Salaam! I am immensely grateful to each one of you for making me work to the best that I could (well, not the 'best' actually. Quoting a virtuoso, "It's all about pushing your limitations to redefine your potentials"). A few hitches here, a few goof-ups there but nonetheless I have gained infinitely from this experience. Thank you for the support, the cheering up and the honesty. A time I'll remember for a lot many days to come, take my word on that!

3. To the biz-magnet himself

Whilst all the running around and pandemonium, there is someone who put up with all of it. To him, I shall always be obliged. Apologies for the time not spent with you during the carnival of zest. I know you always understand, and that's what makes me feel a tad bit more guilty. Cheerio Sultan, cheerio!

4. For the man himself

To be a TOC member was his 'juvenile fantasy', or so he claims. But to take that fantasy to this level and to make it thoroughly professional is the job of a man with great character. To the sardar who I always dissed, I am proud to proclaim that he proved me wrong. It's not easy being in his shoes, and examples of the past are but a mere reflection of the same, and to brave those enduring times with unlimited perseverance is what makes me respect him even more. After all this, it doesn't take a genius to figure out why I was glassy-eyed seeing the 'man' on stage that night! Congratulations Aman, great job!

So now that I have bared it all, It's time that I return to my subdued (?) self. I shall have to endure the hangover now, but one li'l birdie tells me that the party's just begun and you shall never know what I did last night!

Verses, not quite!

I can never write poems. Never could.

There was this one time in school, 11th grade if I am not heinously mistaken, that my teacher asked us to pen down our thoughts on 'Harmony'. I was in one of those 'oh-I-so-don't-want-to-do-it' moods and thus, this was my magnum opus;

'Harmony, oh Harmony!

Where have you vanished this day?

I was content with the free classes hitherto,

This English pedagogue is the cause of my dismay!

.. '

And then the poem went on about how I would have murdered the Mathematics teacher, and how cacophonous was the Physics teacher's ranting. 'Harmony' was completely disregarded. But obvious, I did not submit this master piece. Instead I wrote one of those really sentimental verses on 'Love thy brother' and 'We are all one', and I never really liked it.

This sudden sprouting of poems on 'Blogosphere' has made me very jittery. It has reminded me of that treacherous day in school. But more importantly, it has made me realise that I am a complete novice when it comes to appreciating these jewels.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Well for me, more often than not, I always end up going through verses in haste as I really cannot sample the delectable taste of the master's writings.

But I do promise the Shepherds, the heat-stricken victims in October, and the root 3 mathematics geek (!) that I am trying real hard. I really ought to do justice to your writings and thus I have vowed to read through, very patiently at that, each and every word of thy composition.

Till then, bear with me. I am an apprentice at work, and I shall not let you down!

*Salute*

Of Crest, Of Trough!

I remember, vividly at that, my physics teacher in 9th grade teaching us longitudinal waves. She had a peculiar gastrointestinal problem and whenever she would say the word 'trough', it would metamorphose into something like 'trrruuu..' (burp!).

Anyway, that is besides the point here. May her belly rest in peace, or atleast allow others to live in peace.

I am here to talk of Hope, and of Despair.

How would one feel if he is told that he has only a few days to live? That his days are numbered and breath counted. I cannot particularly empathise with the bloke here, but all I can say is that the first response is that of numbness. Second, of suffocation. Third, of unknown and unwarranted calm. You know the end, there is no mystery shrouding it now, but still your heart tells you to look away. To let it be in the dark. To be intentionally oblivious, knowing that it's futile.

Now what would you do if, god forbid, you are at this crossroads?

A few days ago, the media was splashed with news of a certain Ms. Ray fighting myeloma of a rare kind. I personally abhor the intrusive facet of the media world, but this time, it was different. They were giving the lady support. They were spreading hope for others. Ms. Ray was not to be bogged down by the imminent end. 'You are not going to have the last laugh!' is what the lady radiated. And for that, I salute her.

To know you are reaching the final destination is frightening. To reach there like a lamb is brave, believe you me! But to come to an end with gusto and a verve is what makes one a hero. To spread hope to those lambs is nothing short of godliness.

So next time you see someone down and out, just don't lip serve his situation. Try to be with him. Try to assuage his grief. Positivity is around him, make him see that. E pur si muove - and so it moves!

Try to be his hero!

Metro Aunty!

This post is purely a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to anyone living or dead. I cannot recall the other part of the statutory warning so let me NOT exercise my bird-brain too much.

Have you met the Metro Aunty?

Have you faced her wrath?

Let me introduce you to the newest predator on the block- The Metro Aunty!

Ever since the Delhi Metro started getting 'derailed' from the right track and it's subsequent 'crumbling' under the 'stress and tension' from the Delhi Government, the corporation has decided to check on the security aspect of the operations. Thus, the Metro Aunty was born!

How does a Metro Aunty look like?

She is your typical h'A'lthy punjabi (NO offence meant) aunty ji. With curves that literally kill you (of shock) and a voice that makes you accede to the fact that a crow's cacophony is the sweetest sound ever heard, you can't miss her. Statistically she is about 40-45 years old, stand at 5ft1, weighs in at 170 pounds and is always seen in brightly coloured Indian apparels.

What does a Metro Aunty do?

She is a beauty on duty. Whenever you want to travel the metro, you have to go and talk it out with her. The first interrogation, "Aur bhai! Kahan ja rahe ho?" has to be politely replied. Then the conversation follows wherein you need to convince her that life isn't that bad even though the pulses are costing a fortune and that the sixth pay commission isn't a farce. Once she is satisfied, she leaves you with a friendly (back-breaking) pat on the back. If she isn't satiated, you're done for. I shall not get vivid about the further details.

If there is an anomaly, she gets mean. She will force you to discuss the latest sitcoms on Star Parivaar and shall not leave you till you convince her that bottle gourd is an inexpensive vegetable.

Why the Metro Aunty?

She is the perennial benign (yah right!) security chick. You can't, even if you force yourself, ogle at her. She can get as personal and intimate with the women miscreants and can deliver didactic sermons to young lings.

So next time you travel by the metro, beware! She is right there, waiting for you and hoping that you'll fall in her trap. Watch Out!

To you!

Why is it that whenever I read a post, the first thought to strike me is, 'I wish I could write even half of this.' And the people responsible for this criminal thought are none other than the people who are widely acknowledged for their brilliance.

There is a certain 'leftist' who leaves me awe-struck after every line he pens down. There is a certain big-'Bang' who writes just like he is - superb. There is a 'princess' who likes to write "not not" to please someone, but for herself. There is a Shakespeare incarnate who pours his heart out, leaving me gaping at his excellence. There is a certain 'Pee-Gee' who is dyslexic (read: spellings) but I am yet to come across a wittier, yet mellow, writer. There is another 'ET' who is great and I always try, I repeat, try to emulate him. But alas, I fail miserably. There is a pseudo 'Frenchman' who writes as if words are his monopoly and his style.. commenting on it would be doing injustice to literature. Yet another 'wrestler' namesake who is a wonderful human being, and whose writings are nothing short of precious gems.

It is rather very quaint how people influence you to such a great extent. And I am glad that they have. It has made me a better writer (I'd like to take the liberty of concluding thus), a more aware individual and an evolved person.

So just a plain-simple thank you folks! Saying anything more is going to ruin it. And that's the last thing I want.

To me!

On my way to a hog joint this afternoon, I was listening to a song very close to me. A song which forces me reminisce about achievements. Of failures which made me face people I had left behind while going up the ladder. It's strange how a song, and that too a 3 minute long ranting of an obscure singer, make a person so overwhelmed.

This post is an outcome of nothingness, and thus, on a selfish note, I am addressing it to me!

Of all things people say, perceptions are the only facet that determine a person's response towards you for a good sometime. They do change, but how often? How many times have I gone up to Person X, Mr. Y and Ms. Z to tell them I am NOT the way the think I am. I am different. I am not arrogant. I am not a tyrant. I am not a slanderer.

Being branded a certain way is born out of people's need for comfort. We compartmentalise you in a certain category and voila - the work is done! You remain 'there', wherever 'that' is, for me and I know how to behave with you accordingly.

My question is 'Why?'

Why can't you let your attitude, and consequently your behaviour, be decided on a mutual consensual platform. Don't you think, well put yourself in those very shoes, don't you think that you'd much appreciate not being called a 'loner' when you know that you are very amicable and gregarious?

Point two, success is ephemeral. So is downfall. A crest leads to a trough and vice versa. I have been overjoyed with the high points in life and have been bogged down with failures. In retrospect, they seem very trivial issues. More trivial than the trivialities of our everyday existence. But then again, there's always a time when the pettiest matter seem to be of such paramountcy that we let our existence be guided by the circumstances.

Thirdly, we as human beings - creatures with the strongest tool, yet making us weak, emotions - never learn. Once bitten, twice shy is an adage, a hackneyed adage. We never seem to remember it at the right time. Because then, what drives us is this very tool. All practicality fails. All wisdom is futile. Every saying is unlearned. We, at the end of the day, are emotional fools.

I am not complaining. I don't want to complain. I am proud being a fool. I am proud of my failures. I will still try to make X, Y and Z get to know me. Know me to such an extent that they are able to decide, without biases, about the future course of action towards me. So yah! I am at it. I am going to be a part of this rat race and I am going to win some day or the other.

Till then, as any other rat would say, who moved my cheese?