Friday, August 31, 2007

A Quest In Vain

Following account is a real life description of a most depressing afternoon of my life. It affected my life so much that just in order to forget this incident, I stopped eating two specific food items, abandoned my favorite mess forever and stopped subscribing to certain cellular phone service provider. So, if you are a heart patient (I sincerely hope not) or a pregnant woman (I most sincerely hope not), you still can most certainly enjoy my plight. Before you come to terms with YOUR SHARE OF PAIN.
A QUEST IN VAIN (These two lines are there just because they rhyme)

A doctor eavesdropping my heartbeat could have died of heart-attack. I could feel my legs shaking and my knees could give way to my bodyweight anytime. But, I had to do this. I just had to.
Earlier the day, I,the new age Don Quixote of Da Macha ( These two words along with illla-saaar constitute my Tam vocabulary) set out on a mission. The same mission every IITian (well, almost every) has on the day before the dance workshop*. After a short walk which was used to remember the tricks and catch lines from "101 ways to start a conversation" I reached the CLT entrance. An inner voice told me to stop this endeveour immediately and return to senses. But all I could hear was a thousand times magnified female voice saying-"yesss youuu indabluh teeshirt. khaman aap"
Now time for a serious peice of advise. If you are standing in front of an Airtel Stall dressed in a blue t-shirt and you hear "yesss youuu indabluh teeshirt. khaman aap", then get the hell out. Don't think.Just run. unless of course you enjoy to try and hang on to a heart shaped balloon placed between your thighs and supported by crotch while you are hanging upside down with someone smacking your face with more such horrendous balloons. That too in the area boasting of "the highest Aphrodite density you ever get to enter" in 52 weeks.
After dropping the balloon, secondarily, because of the balloons that caressed my nose and primarily because of the glaring eyes of 30 odd people( and thus losing the opportunity of my lifetime to win the coveted hanky with airtel written on it), I hoped to salvage some pride by trying to get the "Oh it was a bit childish, but, I enjoyed every second of it" look on my face.That is when I saw HER. SHE was divine. SHE was ah-so-damn-beautiful. SHE was out of this worldly and I was in love.
A doctor eavesdropping my heartbeat could have died of heart-attack. I could feel my legs shaking and my knees could give way to my bodyweight anytime. But, I had to do this. I just had to. My faltering legs were headed towards HER, despite that strange kind of shaky feeling that was starting to grip more and more parts of my body.I felt pain, but this time familiar. The butter chicken at mess, burger at stall and the upside down exercise for five minutes seemed to have caused strange movements in my bowel. SHIT.Yes, shit. That is the word I muttered when I crossed her for the first and last time while running towards the hostel.

Necessity is the mother of all inventions.
The country needed good engineers. So, they started IITs. Students in IITM needed to have a week of enjoyment and female company. So, they started Saarang. But, your average shy studious IITian couldn’t muster up courage to talk to unknown girls without any specific reason. So, they had to find a reason. Thus, came the novelty. THE DANCE WORKSHOP.
Since, only western dance was taught and only couples were allowed, the regular Joe got a chance to be a Romeo. And this (a proper reason to talk to girls) along with hours of group discussions, three continuous days of bath, a bottle each of perfume and hair oil and a shave gave the IITian confidence to talk and actually invite girls to the workshop. The series of invitations, acceptance, rejection and “bulbing” during invitation that occur every year are part of IIT folklore. Due to high rate of rejection and bulbing during invitation, and ,of course, limited registration very few people manage to enter the hallowed portals of the workshop and information on what happens inside is a bit vague. Though there have been some success stories due to the dance workshop, majority of junta still think longingly for a chance to dance.

Spirit of the stairway

Espirit de l'escalier: It means that moment when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at a party and somebody insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party.... As you start down the stairway, then-magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should have said. The perfect crippling put-down.

That's the spirit of the stairway.

This spirit has been victimizing your's faithfully since time immemorial. This blog is to express all those "perfect things" which were left unsaid.