‘Vasavagiri’ … just another word or a phenomenon ?

A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing … especially in the wrong hands !! This couldn’t be more true than the case of Freud’s works in the possession of Vasava. Never have I seen anybody pore so diligently over the contents of a book (three of them actually), but Vasava’s managed to slowly but surely inch his way through three mammoth tomes that bear the name of Freud on their cover. Why on earth anybody would want to do this especially when their line of specialization is not psychology but business administration is not entirely clear but the fact remains that a lot of people including yours truly are extremely worried about the consequence of this on space and time as we know it for Vasava without an understanding of human psychology could mess with your head nicely enough …

Which brings us to ‘Vasavagiri’. This is neither a way of life as professed by Vasava (we call that G*nd*giri) nor a new fangled fad but a word that is representative of the myriad things that Vasava does and uses to facilitate the catharsis of the million and one ideas that are pent up within the confines of the mad jumble that is his head. Vasava like lord Vishnu ‘reincarnates’ as a hobby. The most recent of his Avatars being ‘Ninjasava’ and ‘Ninjamani’ (a creation of Sachin who has this habit of naming people like ‘three-year-olds’ would).
His pet peeve is the fact that certain tams of H5 have waged a war on him and all things Gujju. A sure shot way of ending an argument with Vasava would be to say – “dude, I’m soooo scared. What are you going to do? Burn me alive? :D”. Well, knowing Vasava, saying stuff like that is like playing with … erm … fire … : ).

What he sees in Mithun Chakravarthy or ‘Mithun Da’ as he calls him, we’ll never be able to fathom howsoever long we dwell upon the thought but the fact does remain that he’s probably the actor’s biggest fan on the planet. He’d probably have to change his claimed religious subscription on Orkut because he positively worships Mithun Chakravarthy. He’s been caught having a verbal duel with people arguing that Mithun Chakravarty can kick Superman’s a** with one hand tied behind his back and the other hand conducting the San Francisco Philharmonic Orchestra. Oh well, as they say, “One man’s bread ……”… hmmmmmm … sigh… Try to get him to listen to metal and he’ll sneak out of your room when you’re not looking, but if it’s a movie that you want to watch, there’s no better company than Vasava (except for that one movie … think it was called ‘Primer’ or ‘Slimer’ or something like that. There is a child-like innocence about him that there is still an entire world out there that is pristine and unexplored, waiting to be discovered and captured on film (or digitally as in his case).

If somehow Leonardo Da Vinci were reborn and walked amongst men once again, there would be little doubt as to the form he might have taken. The genius who could create a work of art out of a few ‘strategically’ shaped pieces of colour paper and an issue of ‘The Economic Times’ or sand or most recently even snow, Amit Vasava, we bow in deference to thee and thy Vasavagiri. We should consider ourselves blessed (rrright) indeed to have seen creative genius such as is in the possession of Vasava at work.

Seldom in our lives would we see such people who are infatuated with the beauty exuded by even mundane stuff (like a giant coffee cup spilling it’s contents onto Prof. Purvar’s bald shiny pate) that might seem trivial to most others. Vasava is a person who is blessed with the rare ability of being able to see and capture the beauty in a dew drop glistening in the light of a magnificent new day or a fiery all-consuming flame about to scorch the tip of a cigarette. Years later when we’re all old and broken by life, we would all be able to reminisce and cherish the glorious days that were, thanks to Vasava’s careful chronicling of life at IIM L with his trusty camera.

You rock dude! H5 wouldn’t be the same without you! You’re a best friend to man and chicken alike ;) … but you know we’d have to kill you someday for all those damning videos you’ve taken of us right ? :D

Maastaah Clement Whatchumacallit !

… and then there was Clement …

Maastaah !! Maastaah !! This is a question of your Honah !! So I will try my best to do justice to this testimonial to your glory !! Hai !!

From the days of yore when a fellow band member christened him on stage with a name so terrible, so evil, that we may not reveal it here for the mere mention of this diabolical word, nay, the mere thought of uttering this word would bring upon us great misfortune, pain and suffering … mostly upon the person who named him thus, actually. The humble guitah playah whose evil handiwork it was of naming him will refrain from revealing this most evil of names for fear of his own well being and the safety of his loved ones.

Bass guitah playah extraordinaire, this dude recently amazed us all with a near perfect rendition of ‘Orion’ by Metallica, a steep task indeed for mere mortals. But Clemo’s no mere mortal is he? His wizardry is not confined just to the realm of music. Hell hath known no fury like that of Clemo playing NFS. His driving skills would leave you awestruck, but at times – ‘airstruck’ too, the meaning of which would be elucidated to you by his good friend and neighbour, Passi (for a nominal fee of course ... )

A master act on football field, he’s always the first to reach the field even when there’s a 3.4 jam on or when there’s no one else on the field! He’s “committed to music and to football but more committed to football than music” in his own words :D. The ‘commitment’ is there for everybody to see when the game begins. There are times when his opponents just can’t figure out who or what just stole the ball from them and it’s a common sight seeing a whole bunch of people just standing around and staring in admiration at his skills with the ball … ahem : ) … cough … football …

… Or maybe they’re all staring at his beard (erm … say what now?) … Some people have beards … Clemo has a ‘wild streak’. That’s what the dude chooses to call it anyway. Well at least the dude saves tons of money on shaving cream which is a good thing if we suddenly have a world wide shaving cream crisis. When shaving cream prices are soaring, guess who’ll be laughing …

Ever resilient and tenacious, Clemo’s like the tortoise who refused to give up. He wants to make it in the marketing universe and mark my words, he will too, someday. For now, he’s stuck with pondering about simpler things in life like how to play ‘baddy’ with an acute lack of ‘you-know-what’ (subject to the interpretations of the reader) or the sick maniac who told him that term six was ‘chill’ (so that he might be able to leave his mark on a strategically selected portion of that person’s posterior with his boot).

All said and done, Clemo’s one of the most genuine persons you would have ever met (assuming you haven’t met too many genuine people before … I’m lovin’ this :D ). His ultimate aim is to make a difference to society and not be blinded by the lure of the big bucks that might lure him off the ‘path of righteousness’ (although the big bucks in question might actually help his cause … sigh). A deeply religious person, it’s amazing how he can amaze us all with his metal prowess on stage and then conduct a prayer meeting in his room with the same amount of enthusiasm. Not a meal goes by without Clement extending his thanks to the Almighty (even as a certain fat lead guitarist gorges down his entire meal in one gargantuan gulp sitting right next to him), which only goes to show that you don’t have to worship ‘you know who’ to play guitaah like a guitaah God.

We wish you all the best in life Clemo, Mastaah … and hope that you do someday chance upon the person who wronged you so by telling you that the sixth term was a cake walk (although it is :D ). Make us all proud. I’m sure Cli* Burton’s smiling at you from the heavens (sorry I couldn’t help it buddy ! … err… I was talking to Cliff Burton … Clemo, you can go and play Police and Karateka or something :D )

Potty Amma (PT Ma’am)

Most American sitcoms about kids growing up have scenes from gym class or PT class as we call it in here in good ol’ Hindustan. The physical education teacher is usually portrayed as a big hulking brute waiting to terrorise the living daylights out of hapless school goers. Well, things weren’t too much better for us kids who passed out of National Public School (NPS) Indiranagar either. An entire generation of us folks who studied at NPS Indiranagar had a PT Ma’am, a big hulking female PT instructor and a mallu at that too ! This school enjoyed the distinguished reputation of having teachers who never (well maybe a few of them did) raised a hand against their students but there was this one teacher whose brutal beatings, whistle cord whippings, pinches from hell and face wetting, ear splitting abuses we used to bear silently without ever telling a soul because quite frankly, we were scared shitless (excuse the term) by the lady (I know I was). PT instructors of all shapes and sizes came and went but Mrs J. was was a permanent fixture in school with a number of batches of students growing up having nightmares night after night about the lady right from KG 1 all the way till graduation day. Her size and shape might have changed over the years but that’s an entirely different issue.

There was this dude who joined KG 1 with us and studied with us for many years before we finally realized that he was PT Ma’am’s son. For years he had kept the fact concealed from us and as we got older (and wiser) he used to resort to telling us that she was his aunt. By the 6 th standard however, we all knew that D .J. was indeed Mrs. J’s son. I personally felt really stupid as the facts were right there for us to see. They shared the same last name and they walked to and from school everyday till he was atleast in the 5th standard. It probably would have been obvious to any outsider but the fact was that we so terrified of her that we just couldn’t fathom the fact she too was capable of procreating and raising a family!

If there were to be an opinion poll on one’s scariest moment in school, an encounter with PT Ma’am would definitely feature pretty high on everybody’s list for there are few sights more intimidating than that of a scorned PT Ma’am staring down at you with her nostrils flared and eyes ablaze, waiting to pounce on you and devour you for lunch as punishment for some heinous crime that you had just committed. I for one, could probably sue her for the long term damage that she’s caused to my head after all the raps on the head I’ve taken for talking during assembly or for my premature arthritis that years of kneeling down has caused.

I can vouch for the fact (from personal experience) that the punishments got lighter both in terms of intensity and number as we reached higher classes. I was down to 10 whippings a year by the 8th standard and a paltry 2 in the 10th standard. It’s a pity I didn’t continue in NPS after the 10th because I’m sure that I could have told my grandchildren stories about how I finally spent a year in NPS without being scarred by my PT teacher. Well I can’t complain that she didn’t give us a fair warning before she pounced on us though. Who could ever forget those words she used to utter with that heavy mallu accent of hers – “ Stope (like hope) marrmarring”.

PT class was always a nightmare. We’d all have to line up and then stretch our arms out as she inspected our nails and canvas shoes. Long nails invited a rapping on the knuckles with the whistle cord and dirty shoes or socks would earn us a couple of lashes around the calves. The class itself usually began with all of us running a couple of rounds around the school ground in a line in the order in which we stood during assembly after which, PT Ma’am would split us into groups for either drill practice or to play different sports (it was boot camp and not school I tell you !). She would screech something like – “From left to right, count in threes” after which she’d go – “No. 1 stay wherever you are, No. 2 three steps, No. 3 five steps”. This was the terrifying part, because if you goofed up (like I invariably did) and landed up a step behind or ahead of where you were supposed to be, you could rest assured that there was going to be a torrent of choice abuses hurled in your direction or a couple of smartly delivered whistle cord lashes or a combination of the above depending on how far away from your stipulated destination it was that you had strayed.

We always used to pray that the next PT class would not be a ‘drill practice’ one for those were probably the most painful classes in the history of all painful PT classes. PT Ma’am was a heavy set woman and it was a sight to behold as she would leap up and down like she was possessed, while demonstrating the steps of the latest drill routine. But, what soon followed made every damn US marine drill sergeant seem like Mother Teresa. A tiny mistake like a fly landing on your nose and making you flail your arms about trying to get rid of the fly and PT Ma’am would be on you in a heartbeat to do her bit to make a believer out of you. The most hilarious part was the way the lady counted. She’d go 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 while ascending and while descending, she’d go 8-7-6-5-4-3-1-2. In all these years, I have never been able to figure out why it was 3-1-2 and not 3-2-1 like it was supposed to be.

Hell hath seen no fury like that of a PT Ma’am who’d just sighted some unfortunate, unlucky little kid who’d forgotten to take his fortnightly haircut. I have seen at least a hundred guys in my 12 years at NPS who’ve been paraded around school with a rubber band in their hair as punishment for sporting hair longer than two centimeters. I also distinctly remember how she once demolished a kid during assembly for having bad teeth. I don’t know how or why she noticed the poor little kid’s teeth but I still remember the boy cowering with fear while PT Ma’am lambasted him for a good five minutes right in the middle of assembly for having “the most hoaribble teeth in tha werld”(read with a mallu accent). Then, there was this rule about girls have to wear some ridiculous thingamajig called a bloomer under their skirts and PT Ma’am would actually make them show her their bloomers every once in a while just to make sure that they still wore them. That’s one feather in PT Ma’am’s hat that she was always impartial. She tormented the girls just as much as she did the guys. I still remember some of my female classmates at NPS shudder at the sound of the bell that announced PT class because they would have to play throw ball under the supervision of PT Ma’am. She absolutely detested girls who played the sport badly. Speaking about hats, how could one ever forget the ridiculous hat with the solar fan that she sometimes sported. I remember her wearing it on special occasions for years especially during events like the school annual day.

We would all pray that some teacher would be absent everyday so that we’d have a substitute teacher who’d usually engage the class in some fun activity but the moral of the story here is to be careful what you wish for because PT Ma’am too was given substitution duty at times. The meaning of the words ‘pin drop silence’ couldn’t possibly have been better understood in any way other than by being in attendance of one of the classes for which PT Ma’am was the substitute teacher. People used to be scared witless so much so that they would think twice before even sneezing or coughing during those classes. The safest bet to last with most body parts still intact when the bell rang was to rest your head on the desk and go to sleep for the 40 minutes of the class’s duration.

It would take me years to realize that PT Ma’am did all that she did by design and that she was not a distant relative of Adolf Hitler as we had assumed and that’s also probably the reason why PT Ma’am still has her job after all these years without having been arrested on the charges of brutalizing little kids. She enforced discipline in the way that she knew was most effective – by instilling fear in our tender young hearts so that what she spoke was the law and boy, am I glad that there was someone like that around. She was probably the only reason why the students of NPS refrained from any kind of behaviour or activities (atleast within the premises of the institution) that would bring dishonor to the school. We had all been conditioned like Pavlov’s dog from our childhood to respond to the spine chilling sound of her voice or whistle (or both) ringing out through the darkness whenever even the thought of doing something wrong crossed our minds. Whether or not most people out there would accept it, the fact remains that most people who passed out of NPS are successful today only because of the disciplined way of life that was taught to us in ‘Potty Amma’s’ own effective albeit brutal ways.

The only days that PT Ma’am ever smiled or spared everyone the whip (literally) were on Onam, children’s day and teachers’ day, the other thing about her on these days being that she would be dressed in impeccable traditional Mallu attire. Teacher’s day would be when Ma’am would conduct the assembly herself and show us losers the right way that it ought to be done. Who could ever forget her attempts to get some unlucky bloke with a loud voice whose voice had just begun to crack, to memorise the school assembly commands. “School stand at ease, school attention !!” (again with a thick mallu accent). On Children’s day, she’d actually smile at us herself even if we had long hair or dirty shoes that looked like they were made of mud and not leather.

The school I joined after the 10th had NPS as the center for writing the 'boards'. I hardly expected anybody in school to recognize me after two whole years but PT ma’am did. Not only did she recognize me, but she came over herself after the exams were over and spoke to me at length. She remembered my name, my mom’s name (she’d met her like a decade before that) and all the crap that I had been upto in school. She spoke to me so sweetly that she seemed like a completely different person altogether. The legend was indeed true. She did treat students like human beings and not like some turds after they passed out of school.

I recently got to know that she’s going to be retiring in a short while from now. They ought to make a statue in her honour and put it on a pedestal right on the platform in front of the school building so that the scores of future generations of NPS students would know of the legend that was ‘Potty Amma’. PT Ma’am, you are a legend in your own lifetime. We owe more than we realize to you. PT Ma’am, we’ll remember you forever even if some of us find it hard to admit it. You were and will always be one of my favourite teachers. Ma’am you rock !!

Ravi … Man, eh?

Well here’s the one that everyone’s been waiting for. Well, they do say that patience is a virtue and I could just have been testing your patience … just as Ravi would have … ;)

I’d like to begin by drawing your attention to the testimonial this gentleman once wrote for me. I’m sure he meant well when he began his ‘testimonial’ to me thus – “murgi...the only person on this earth who can gimme competation for the biggest ahole....heheheeee....” … Well ladies and gentlemen this is vintage Ravi. This one sentence apart from proving that he spells nearly as badly as Bharath, summarizes the abomination known to us all as Ravi Maney.

I still remember Ravi’s first week at college. He had some kind of plaster on his nose or eye or something and I genuinely felt bad for the dude as he seemed such a nice down to earth person. A couple of weeks down the line, I was looking hither and thither for the person who did him the injury in the first place so as to personally thank him for the great service he’d rendered unto mankind … well, temporarily atleast. I’ve often thought of performing similar services for mankind a number of times in the years that followed … : )

Now for those people who think I’m being overly harsh and judgmental, let me tell you a little more about the kind of person Ravi is. Imagine that you are an assassin in the act of murdering Ravi (don’t we all like to imagine that every once in a while ?) by stabbing him with a knife. Ravi’s the kind of person who would refuse to die and then make you want to stab yourself by calling you a lousy murderer and telling you that some cousin brother on his father’s side who was 7 years old could commit murder better than you. He’d drive you closer to suicide then by telling you that the knife you selected and which was now stuck in his abdomen was not even sharp and that his grandmother could sharpen knives better than you. Then he’d probably say that the knife that you used was possibly not even a real knife but a paper mache knife that you had bought second hand from some dingy grey market shop … grrrrrrrrr … I still remember the time when I came to college wearing my brand new Adidas shoes, the purchase of which a number of people (self proclaimed authorities in sports shoes) had been involved in over a period of many days after visiting a number of stores across Bangalore. I finally manage to pick a pair at quite a hefty price and decide to wear them to college right the very next day. Ravi sees the shoes and says – “Nice canvas shoes dude. What happened to your old ones? How much did you buy these for … no, how much did the store owner pay you to take these off him … giggle giggle … “ … It’s a good thing I didn’t hear any more of what he was saying because I was cursing his family unto a hundred generations ...

It can’t just be a coincidence that I always somehow manage to befriend the thinnest people around. I’m like a magnet for thin people and all my best friends in school and college have been extremely thin. Well, one could surmise that most people in my vicinity would look thin anyway but it has always bothered me to no end that these thin people who had decided to affiliate themselves with me, made me look fatter than I already was. Ravi’s like a parasite and an underfed one at that. Well I don’t mean that in some weird Freudian psychoanalytical way but simply in a grade school level biology class way, that he was like an organism that attached itself to a host and then sucked all the nutrients that the poor host organism had spent quite a while in assimilating. Ravi spent most of his engineering days attached to one host organism or the other (read Harsha or yours truly or a combination of both) eating whatever came it’s … err … his way … : ) … I’ve often been scared witless when during a meal at ‘Sanman’, a hand would suddenly materialize out of nowhere and dig into the contents of my plate. Wonder why Ravi still stayed the way he did and I, the way I am …

Rumours abound about a recent treat that Ravi gave some really lucky people, with his own money. But I’m not believing any old house wives’ tales about these treats that Ravi gave unless any food that Ravi paid for comes my way, period!

Ravi once said that after engineering he’d extort a percentage of everybody’s salary once they were all placed and then live happily ever after without lifting a hand for the rest of his pathetic life. The bloke’s dreams were short lived though as he got placed with Oracle soon after Engineering and just when everybody thought that Ravi would finally dish out those long over due treats (he owed us big time folks), he proudly proclaims that the placement firm that he got into Oracle through would be collecting the first few months' salary so we’d still be seeing hands materializing out of nowhere and digging into our plates at restaurants …

I’m going to be writing a book called ‘Mein Kampf’, on my struggle to get my copy of ‘Mein Kampf’ back from Ravi. He borrowed it shortly before I left for Hel(L) and my persistent requests (read death threats) have not resulted in the said book reaching me. But judging by the state in which another book that I’d once lent Ravi, reached me (3 years late by the way), I wouldn’t be resting my hopes on this one reaching me in any better shape. Ravi was quick to point out that the book was in three pieces when I lent it out to him but I swear to God, the book was brand new when I lent it to him.

I’ve often wondered what Ravi was up to at office and my ponderings in this regard have multiplied manifold after one particular incident that springs to mind about when Ravi in a spate of boredom (Oracle had put him on the dreaded ‘grave yard’ shift) sent a mail out addressing each and every person in class including some people whose existence yours truly was well and truly oblivious about ! Well that one mail categorically proved that this monster had a soft side too because the size and scope of the email suggested that a gargantuan effort (by Ravi’s standards) would have been necessary to compose an opus of such epic proportions. Well it was the usual ‘Raviesque’ bitching but we all know that the dude means no harm at the end of the day … and that’s the story of what has since gone down in the history books as Ravi’s 'magnum opus'.

I can never forget what will go down in my memory as the ‘Ooty incident’ when my posterior was exposed for the viewing pleasure of half the population of the hill station when Ravi in a state of mild madness caught me unaware as I was engaged in conversation with another classmate (who shall remain unnamed for it is his misfortune that he would have to die with the memory of yours truly nude (a truly ‘intimidating’ sight but a ghastly memory nevertheless : )). To put it in simpler language, I was talking to another classmate when Ravi, all of a sudden decides to (for whatever twisted reason unbeknownst to the rest of humankind) pull my pants and jockeys down. What transpired over the next 20 minutes is something that I would like to erase permanently from my memory but something that Ravi would never allow with constant reminders to me of all those empty threats and expletives and ‘brutal blows’ I hurled in his direction. Ravi, dude, you and I have kept all those things that Rowen uttered that night when he got sloshed in Ooty secret. It's time to let the world know ... hehehe

Well, all these little incidents and accounts apart, Ravi’s been a person in whom I’ve always confided my deepest and darkest secrets (wonder if that was such a good idea). Ravi would be the person I’d call when I was in dire straits with certain (all) subjects (not having opened the prescribed books for the entire term) to ask him which portions of the syllabus were ‘worth studying’ and which were not. A typical conversation over the phone on the night before the exam would sound thus –

Me: Machaaa, I’ve not started da (10:30 pm on the eve of the exam) … what do I do ? I’m screwed da …

Ravi: Chill da… Open the syllabus sheet. Ok … study the fist chapter, the second one … just glance through it … the third one simply follows what’s been learned in the second chapter, so it shouldn’t take you more than half an hour. Leave the fourth chapter … you wont be able to understand shit in so little time … actually YOU would never have been able to understand it … and so on … : )

Me: (A lot more relieved) Thanks da macha … so you’re sure that I’ll be able to finish the entire syllabus in an hour and a half like you said ?

Ravi: Yeah, I finished it in an hour and that’s why I’m telling you that you’ll take an hour and a half ...

Me: (that cocky @#$%^ … grrrrrrrr … some day …)

Ravi’s never gonna make it to the UNO for sure ‘cause if he did he’d cause a war between two countries and then ensure that the two warring countries went at it forever. MC and I would have made up much earlier if it hadn’t been for Ravi. Come to think of it, we’d have never fought in the first place. Wonder how Oracle included him in that quality audit team ...

Ok … well most of what I’ve said above may have been just a tad over-exaggerated (well, that’s left for those of you who’ve had the privilege of knowing Ravi to decide) but Ravi’s been a best friend all through college and one of the few people who’ve gone through extraordinary measures to ensure that we all stayed in touch even after we left college. Ravi'll never be the one to back-stab anybody (he does a pretty good job saying stuff right in the person's face !!). He'll never be the one to back off from lending a helping hand to anyone in trouble (He likes to stick around and laugh at the person). He's one deeply religious 'mo fo' but he's goin' to hell for sure ... muhuhahahahahaha ... but then, aren't we all ???

Ravi … the dude who we all hate to love and hate to love … naaaah … just kidding … love you the way you are bro … You remind me of me, maybe a tad worse than me but close nonetheless (you're probably right when you say that I'm the only person on the planet who can give you competition for being the biggest a**hole ) … rock on dude … You rock and you know it !!

Anubis ...

‘tis in college that you get to meet some of the nuttiest characters on the planet … the kind that you see only in movies and say – “Now, there’s a dude who just can’t be real”. The stereo typical teen movie college freaks have an inspiration from real life after all for every once in a while we chance upon perfect nutcases such as ‘Anubis’, the stereo typical adorable ‘teen movie college freak’. To whoever said that mallus were un-cool and that there was no way on earth that a person who consumed every part of the coconut tree from leaf to root and thought that anointing oneself with coconut oil was the latest fad, could be cool, here’s irrefutable evidence that suggests otherwise.

Anoop Haridas Menon … dude, I personally feel that Anubis is way cooler, so I’m gonna stick with that. Anubis is one of the coolest dudes to walk the planet, period, although the hairstyle he currently sports ensures that his face ‘makes sense’ even if you saw it upside down… :D …

Blessed with a sense of humour that most stand up comics would kill for, this dude has often dazzled us all with some of the most amazing line long quips we’ve ever heard … For a sample of this guy’s twisted but mind bogglingly creative genius, add him as a friend on gtalk and track his status messages.

Apart from this, the reason why we got along famously from the word go is because he’s the only other ‘connoisseur’ of death metal in Hel(L) and apart from my grandma, he’s the only one to have never taken my case about my fake Malayalam … hehehehe … but he’ll never get me to listen to Slip cock or crotch or whatever … (sorry buddy, I know you musta broken out in tears by now : ) ) I have never seen a grown man cry the way Anubis does when someone disses slip knot … I mean, come on dude, they’re just a bunch of morons in masks (I’m lovin’ this … hehehehe )

It’s actually hard to believe that this dude could possibly have once sported the typical oiled mallu look with thick glasses to the boot, walking around with a Brilliant’s tutorial book in hand, back in school … that kind of stuff could get one beaten up back where I come from … hehehehe … But, now that the mallu look is out of fashion, this dude’s here to stay !! Gamer extraordinaire, the world’s biggest (any bigger and he’d be the Goodyear blimp) slip knot fan, Hel(L)’s own t-shirt designer, self proclaimed photoshop and Bryce 3d guru (fraud), lazy bum and one of my best buddies on campus … dude I’ll never forget the jam sessions, the movie marathons, the mallu dissing sessions, the loser talks, the metal discussions, the video exchanges on youtube, Index ’06 ‘free riding ;)’ and all kinds of other li’l stuff that’ll be inside my senti li’l fat cholesterol filled heart forever … hehehe …

One particular escapade that’s going to remain imprinted in my head forever is about how three of us - you, me and poor krupa went bawling after an insti party into the prof residential area and unleashed our pent up feelings about all things prof related … if it weren’t for krupa’s sobering up and realizing where we were, we’d probably have gotten our sorry posteriors kicked outta college before ‘nubis could have uttered ‘tibilisi’ (people, this is one of Anubis’ ‘tourettes ‘)

Dude, why did you have to go and take finance and bring your coolness coefficient down a few notches ? We’d have loved to have you in the folds of ‘Zero fin @ IIM Hel(L) … sigh … maybe in a different life … rock on dude …nay … metal on dude … IKMK IKMK IKMK IKMK !!!!!!!! Anubis rulez … Stay cool, stay mallu …

An ode to the toads

Aniket’s our able leader,

Benefactor, supplier and feeder.

His whip strong and fine,

Keeps our behinds in line.

Prodipto’s the thinker with the brain,

With him around, only victories shall we gain.

He’s gonna win us Index,

Like a superhero in tight spandex.

Murgi’s the man with the tune,

Overall, a big fat loon.

His guitar leaves one and all spellbound,

His globe has the power to confound.

Anoop’s our very own funny man,

He’ll soon land himself a world wide ban.

They say he’s got the gift of gab,

Somewhere under twenty layers of flab.

Sai Suman’s, the man with focus,

If we faltered, he’d choke us.

He teaches school kids on week ends,

On other days, he does sit ups and knee bends.

Vasava’s the man with the brush,

Some of his works could make you blush.

Although he claims that he’s a Buddhist,

His paintings always celebrate the nudist.

Hemant’s our own Mr. analyst,

Ever the unrelenting misogynist.

His motto’s - In excel we trust,

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Sandeep Lal, the hip hop king,

We no talkin’ ‘bout tha way he sing.

Odes in his praise abound,

About the way his pants always kiss the ground.

Rupak’s Mr. Responsible,

Of unbridled clumsiness reprehensible.

God of all things Powerpoint,

He’ll never be the one to disappoint.

Sovan’s our knight in shining armor,

Perish all thoughts in this regard you may harbor.

If you thought our remarks couldn’t get any snider,

We just meant that he’s ‘free and a good rider’.

Last and definitely not the least are the fachas,

They might think otherwise, but they’re just a bunch of bacchas.

All they want is free food and booze,

But with them around, we aint ever gonna lose.

If you’re wondering ‘bout this set of clowns,

Upon whom all logic frowns.

Here they are in their Sunday best,

To do the bidding of that Aniket pest.

So, here they are, our motley crew,

A mish mash just like Irish stew.

We’ve got people of all colour and hue,

With the requisite amount of spunk and enthu.

Ajay Chauhan thinks he’s the Infobahn

Rohan Chitnis is no sucker for fitness

Hemant Gangaraju once made out in a zoo

Akash Singhla loves all the hoopla

Abhishek Bali leers at the kaamwali

Anirbhan ... “I have to work! Darn !”

Ankit Agarwal’s a li’l know it all

Rajat Goyal, knows not the meaning of toil

Monika Sharma’s quite the ‘charmah’

Shweta Jhamb … well, what on earth rhymes with Jhamb ?!

The Score - Index '06

The Score

… and then there was the Score …

It could only be destiny that brought a Score of individuals together , a Score of brave men and women, a Score of warriors who would for a period of three months share one vision, one dream, one breath … From the days of its conception, the team has come very far indeed to become the indomitable and formidable force that it is today.

The strength of the Score is not in the ability of each individual alone, but stems from mutual respect and the never say die attitude of each and every one its able warriors . Every stumbling block, every minor setback encountered, whenever the glimmer of hope seemed to flicker and fade to black, the warriors of the Score would only brush the dust off, bite the pain and get right back on their feet and just keep marching on.

Ably lead by our general Aniket at the helm, there does not exist too daunting a task for our 20 warriors with their myriad talents, abilities and skills. The Score has seen victory and so too has it smelt the stench of defeat. But, when the fog of war clears and when the light of a new day illuminates the heavens, the warriors are rejuvenated by the fact that they still have one another.

Nothing else matters …

It is with immense pride that we would wear the insignia of the Score at the battleground of Index ‘06 and the throngs of our war chant ‘IKMK’ would reach the heavens … Today we fight the good battle for tomorrow you will all sing odes to our glory while we rejoice with the Gods in Valhalla.

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