Adieu ..

After hating, cribbing, and cursing the city of Ahmedabad, am feeling nostalgic sitting here in my dorm room, all bags packed, ready to take a train for Delhi in a couple of hours. I still remember the first day here when everything seemed gloomy and dull, and gave an uneasy feeling in the stomach that something bad was going to happen. The first year was miserable, more to regret than to cherish. The only places I frequented were probably the malls and an off-chance movie at one of the multiplexes. Academic pressure was so immense that vacations felt blissful and we would take every opportunity to flee this God forsaken city. With no local points of contact, even an attempt to join AIESEC proved unfruitful. No friends. No relatives. We felt like strangers throughout that period. Everything we wanted to get involved with proved to be a goose chase with no results - ranging from a cellphone recharge shop to a sports club - futility was what we felt.

So why then am I nostalgic? What changed in me, because there is no way this city experienced a sea change? It is easy to develop a dislike and equally difficult to feel a warmth towards something. The past two years have not been the easiest in life, and I have experienced a multitude of ups and downs - personally and professionally. This is the same place where I was overjoyed with my summer placement, and the same where anxiety was on the verge of killing me for final placements. I still have not answered the question though. Why is it so difficult to leave Ahmedabad now? Was it not what I had been waiting for all this while? Was it not me who said I'd be glad to leave my alma mater as soon as possible?

Emotions defy logic. Its probably something I have learnt the hard way. But now, when am about to leave and reflect on all the phases in the past, I cannot help but smile. The get-togethers in Poply's room, where we used to pain his happiness till he finally yelled out for us to get out, the weekend visit to malls, just to window shop and get some decent grub, better than the mess food, the hunt for a swimming pool, which was within budget and clean too - how we drove the auto-rickshaw driver nuts describing the place we wanted him to take us. All these short memories, even though not always funny have become a part of the time we spent here, and funnily enough, I do not remember the painful classroom sessions or the demoralising surprise quizzes, but the little tid-bits of time spent among friends, and strangers, and how coming to Gujarat opened my eyes to how wonderful Indian people and India can be.

Staying up late in the night in second year, playing Quake with Harry and Poply, then running off to do the chicken dance in front of the loser's room, the weird conversations with Chipco where both of us discussed the trivialities of life, poking fun at people's ignorance, and having long discussions on why the chicken crossed the road! :) The occasional booze sessions, where Thylo used to be the one to turn in drunk and then follow up with his melodramatics, or yelling out from the dorm window who was banging whom ! :D Fielding in the gallery of the second floor, with Harry producing his spin wizardry and Poply unwilling to budge hitting the ball with whichever limb possible. :P The pizza parties. The dorm dinners. The hoax. The faccha gyan sessions.

But I will say that probably the last two months of my stay here have changed everything for me. I might not have been in the best of health, or the highest spirits, but I made two amazing friends, and I realised through them how much enjoyable life in Gujarat could be. I pity those Delhiites or Bangaloreans who dismissed Gujarat as a dry state even when it comes to having fun. To be able to go out into the city, or to places like Baroda, is what makes you see what Gujarat feels like. It isn't the case that I was pulled out of a downward spiral, but just that it presented me with an experience where I forgot completely about the negative aspects of where I was, and let myself enjoy the moment and soak in all the fun around. The long talks, chit-chat on old memories, leg pulling sessions, pointless banter and frequent chuckles, Bombay sandwich, all made the day wonderful. :) I won't elaborate too much on this, because I do not want to label these moments of ecstasy and archive them in a folder called "sweet memories" in my head, but rather have them fresh, just lingering at the back of my head, with vague recollections that would keep hitting me on and off, and bring a smile to my face. :)

I kept cribbing these two years on how miserable life had been at the institute, but now that am leaving, the miseries do not stick, but what remains in the conscience is a feeling of belonging to a dorm, an institute, a place, a city, and above all to friends which has become and will always be an integral part of my life. ;)

Around the world in 14 hours ..

.. or at least it felt that way. On a lazy Wednesday afternoon, a time I'd rather be spending lazing around in the bed, has been taken over by the scorching heat which is forcing me to stay off the boiling mattress. Might as well complete the second half of the train journey lest I forget for want of an ageing memory which is not getting any sharper with passing time.

From the last post you must have realised that train journeys usually come about as unwanted reminders of how irritating some people might get, but what is about to ensue now is what drove me to keep this post as second. If I hit you with this one first, the Gujju family chronicles would have lost their place. Now am no playwright, but as a convenience to the author, I will try to quote as much as possible and provide a list of the main characters at the start. Feel free to reference the list whenever you're lost in the post.

O.G.P. - played by "oh ji prahji" *balle balle*

J.M.D. - played by "jai mata di", the *shiv shiv shiv shiv* auntyji

J.S. - played by "Jai Saurashtra", the continuously beetle-tobacco chewing maniac

Hum - played by the U.P. couple, who could not refer to themselves as "main" (me)

I know a compartment in the train usually has 8 berths, but trust me with the Gujju family hogging 2, and the above 5 (3+2), we just had one big unhappy party! The scene opens with O-ji-prahji seating himself next to me, and running his fingers through his moustache and beard, like a dacoit happy with his prize catch after looting a helpless village. The fingers go left and right, round and round, up and down, before he finally gives up, having annoyed everyone around with the final hook of the finger dishing out a yucky dumpling from out of his nose. I look the other way, hoping to imagine him away and having a beautiful maiden seated next to me. Alas, the burp that explodes from his mouth dashes all such hopes!

While OGP has been busy with his displays of indecency, the couple seated in front of me have managed to drag out everyone's luggage from under the berths to make sure their trolley bag was "accessible". The husband tries desperately to use his scrawny frame to manage a heave so that JS' bag can be shoved into the fray of suitcases as well. He fails. Now weirdly enough, this bloke is a sly fox, and instead of asking for help, he tries to get a workaround and starts eyeing in my direction. The eyes meet, his moves down, to my feet, trying desperately to catch a glimpse if any space is available. Oh no you're not! I cross my feet, the soles facing his eager eyes. The territory has been marked. The jungle instinct is raring. The hyena dare not harbour into the lion's den. The bloke realises the ferocity in my eyes and backs off.

JS could not be less bothered about his stuff, which is why I wondered if the UP bloke was being sensible in sticking it out for his luggage. As if the continuous rattle from JS' phone playing old forgotten Hindi songs which would make a few friends of mine VERY happy given the games they play, he gets a phone call. The ringtone is not set to default Nokia. What plays is a mix of a whelp yelling after being hit, and a donkey making orgasmic sounds. It as become a funny habit amongst people to let the ringtone play. Ok, we get it, you have music playing. He stares, bobs the head a little to the right, a little to the left, makes a face, squints his eyes as if staring at the number from a far off place, twitches his moustache, and clicks, "hello" - finally!

The telephonic conversation that goes on from here, makes time stand still, and all hope vanish, for JS could not have murdered words as much as he did during those 5 minutes of talking. He wanted a cake which had "Muckkey Moooooooz" on it, and the "philabhar" was to be "pn .. apppppl". The reason given for the cake's shape was that the boy who wanted it was a "phan" of the "kooomik shomik mein aate hain na - chitra witra". After 4-5 repititions of the same words, with futility, JS agreed on texting him the name of the cake, the flavour and the name of the boy. You would think the ordeal ends here, wouldn't you ? Having explored all possible ways he could have messed up the procedure to order a cake, this same bloke gets a phone call after an hour with the person on the other side yelling "It is not his birthday, its Manoj's birthday!!" The following words cannot be mentioned due to censor board guidelines, but they took the effect of the bloke forgetting which of his sons' birthday it was. The humanity !

We pull into Delhi Cantt. railway station, and JMD makes her entry. She's accompanied by her son, who's walking with a stick, limping. The son tells behenji to hurry up, and she starts panicking rocking from side to side in a STANDING TRAIN !! The train has stopped for only 10 minutes, and the suitcase needs to be slid in, hugs given, kiss on the forehead and 4 rounds of goodbyes yet to be done with. The son looks at his watch tenaciously, sweating a little apparently from all the running to make the aunty catch the train. Now in this reunion, or rather farewell, our great OGP has to butt in. He stands up, half his shirt tucked into his jeans, and the other half dangling. An embroidered jeans with a yellow dragon running from the back pocket to the lower end of the right calf. Right in between the mom and son, he grabs the son by the shoulder and starts shoving in a polite manner. The reason given by our wise sage is, "If you do not get off now, you won't ever be able to let go! Let go of the feelings and never look back!" We all are in shock - what in Gawd's oh so sweet name is this crazy dumbass talking about?! He continues to press him backwards, the mother, in the typical "Mother India" melodrama is dragged, trailing OGP. All of us just sit there, agape, at the hilarity of what is happening.

The bloke gets off and as sardarji brings aunty back to her seat, she starts sobbing, to which he gives her a lecture, the details of which I cannot reproduce, because I shut my senses off for the utter nonsense that was playing in front of us - there is only so much that my conscious brain could take! By the time I regained consciousness, everyone had snuggled into their blankets, and food had arrived. Dinner, was a "pleasure" with the grand Gujju family, but as always, I guess Punjabis make sure they have the lasting effect of being the most obnoxious. OGP wants chicken. The train ain't got enough chicken. He should have mentioned it when asked before. OGP picks up a fight. In his usual Big Brotherly fashion he takes the attendant aside, slips in a 10er and asks for "arrangements" to be made. A 10er ?! Are you kidding me ?! The attendant is infuriated, tells him the money isn't necessary, and gets him his goddamn chicken. Now am no newbie, but I am a 100% sure that the cover on top of that chicken was moved, and nothing other than spit could have formed the garnish on that piece of meat! He chomps, as happy as a pig can be. He burps. The attendant is called upon again, and this time the complaint is "chicken khane mein mazaa nahi aaya, veggie khane lao". The bloke never returned, and we had to listen to OGP harp on rudeness and unprofessional behaviour for another half hour!

The aunty meanwhile, had decided to call up her son and tell him how there were flesh eaters in her compartment - yes, she was actually whining on the phone that she was stuck with non-vegetarians. For heaven's sake lady get a grip on your numb skull ! She sits up, crosses her legs, which have already started smelling of goo. The stench fills the compartment, each of us looking at the other's face, contemplating who shall be the one to break the news to aunty that she is a stink bomb right now. In the end, I guess, curiosity gets the better of OGP, and he breaks the news to aunty. Normally you'd expect the person to blush and lower their feet slowly, feeling slightly ashamed, which would cause qualms in your tummy, thinking you might have been a little rude and intolerant. But no, aunty has a surprise for us, she simply denies its her feet that appear to have been dabbling in pigeon poop. And she starts happily chomping again, loudly talking on the phone. You expect an old lady to be courteous in the least, even if she's lost sanity, but this one's a hoot. She goes on to tell her son on the phone, the guy sitting opposite to her, JS, is munching on beetle nut and disgusts her to the core. She even mentions that because of him, she has been reading the Hanuman Chalisa to drive away his filth! The UP couple is mentioned as a pick right out of the saas-bahu serials, and the audacity of her ridiculousness came to its peak when she gave them just another year together, after which according to her, either the husband will go deaf listening to the high-pitched voice, or the wife will leave him for his resistible, nope not irresistible, but RESISTIBLE looks! Well you're not expecting me to disclose what she mentioned about me are you ?! If you are, am sorry buddy, but that ain't happening !

Story time. Dinner done. Awkward moments settled. It was time all differences be forgotten and we reconvene as one big happy family. OGP had this uncanny knack of becoming grampa all of a sudden, only difference being, instead of the horror stories I was expecting, all he gave were unrealistic accounts of his travels. Apparently, he threw a guy off the train for causing trouble with the catering and creating much fuss about it - ironical ! ;) Well he says the train was stalled for 45 minutes, I wonder how that must have happened, considering the chain was never pulled and the bloke was pushed off a moving train. I guess the most annoying aspect of my journey came when asked what my business in Ahmedabad was. Despite desperate attempts at trying to remember names, I just could not and in the eventuality of losing face, I had to mention my university. It invited far reaching interest, much to my dissatisfaction, while I answered nonsense queries, and entertained foolish requests. One of the moms there wanted me to give her son a call and counsel him on choosing an MBA over Medicine, including tips on how to crack the CAT, and then also wanted me to mail him a consolidated list of the pros and cons for each II* (word has been omitted for obvious reasons :) ) and also against the leading B-schools in the US! She must have been nuts to think I was going to do any of that.

We slept. We woke up. From 8 in the morning till 10:12 when the train pulled into Ahmedabad junction, aunty had recited to me a million and 5 times that both her sons were in the Army, one was shot in Maniour, the other was posted as a captain in Kashmir, and he quit, was now working with Idea, at a very good post, and Idea is an MNC, and recession hit only small firms, and that I should reassure her that her son won't lose his job - who am I, the friggin' MD of Idea Cellular ?! Sheesh ! We pulled to a halt and I ran for it, ran for my life!

Disclaimer: This post has been written over broken periods so ignore any discontinuities, weird ramblings, because I do not have the strength to proofread anymore !

The electrifying concert

UK - April - U2. I'll be rotting in Delhi, probably browsing through VH1 looking for glimpses of the live coverage.

USA - July - Coldplay. I'll be rotting in Delhi, probably burning the midnight oil to get some money for the Stock Exchange.

India - Kardinall Offishall.

No, it isn't a mistake that I haven't mentioned anything about the concert in India, coz most of the "hip-hoppers" coming here are a turn-off. Who in their right mind would name themselves, Kardinall Offishall (Cardinal Official) ?! So here is the updated version of the last concert:

India - Kardinall Offishall - when? - like I care!. I'll be happy such buffoons stick to Bangalore.

My The Big Fat Greek Gujarati Family

Now I know what you might be thinking, how corny. Its not. I can't help it if the Rajdhani from New Delhi enroute Ahmedabad in Gujarat is riddled with Gujju families, and one of the most hip'n'happening ones happens to be in my compartment. Its been a long time since I did a train journey, perhaps why I was feeling nauseous at even the idea of a 14-hour ride alone, with no company. Recession has struck, my friend, spending twice the amount on a 2 hour flight just is not that inviting anymore.

I could go from the best possible way to build up the humour, but that would mean double the work for me and since am already writing this whole thing up, just got off a 14 hour train ride and have to take another 3 hour bus ride a few hours from now, I'm going to do this the simple way - chronologically. So get your popcorn and remain glued as this 14 hour saga unveils.

New Delhi Railway Station sure has received a facelift ahead of the Commonwealth Games, but what might seem pleasing to a Delhiite's eyes after looking at a dingy old station for 25 years, might appear as a nightmare for a Korean couple getting off the Guwahati Rajdhani! A dog scampers onto the railtracks to scare away a rabbit-sized rat, who is gleefully nibbling away at a potli - a wonderful display of human craftsmanship set forth by the Indians in which garbage, enough to explode out of two bags, is compactly packed into one, tied tightly and slung across the tracks to strategically land right in the middle, not to endanger any approaching trains. With this woeful scene one can live with, but when you have a bloke drag his child up to the nearby tea-stall, pull down his shorts, and yell at him to pee, it just makes you want to snatch your heart out, and stomp it with your own feet. When will Mera Bharat Mahaan learn ?!

After the ridiculous display of our "patriotism", the train moved forward, finally inching its way out of the junction. Not two minutes into the journey, I realised what I was in for. The lady, a bulky woman of around 55 with greying hair, a heavy voice, and an annoyingly long pony tail went plomp right next to me. Well no, had it been the "plomp" of someone easing their butt onto the seat, I would have said *plomp*, but unfortunately, this was more the gaseous release of unwanted intestinal residue, in short she farted. Now they say its the SBDs which are the most unbearable - Silent But Deadly. I think the lady was oblivious to that fact and decided to become an exception to the fact. It stank so much that the nose hair would curl up and never reveal themselves in broad daylight for fear of having to bear that torture again. Now, usual human reflex demands that the nose be clamped between the thumb and index fingers of either hand with utmost immediacy, but common human courtesy commands you to just smile the smell off and not make the other person feel bad. Am too courteous for my own good ! The lady was, however, unwilling to acknowledge, and bent over, exposing me to the main firing line of the bazooka! I was sweating. This memory, if ever formed, would not leave me for life ! I think there was more in store for me which is why God spared me and left me to live another day.

Now I understand, and am completely at peace with a large family traveling by train, packing their luncheon, creating a lot of noise, because I identify with their excitement, to be able to go around frolicking with familiar faces over an entire stretch of three compartments, that has to have some value. But the tipping point comes when, just because you're thin, you get pushed into a corner, well not literally, but because there is an entire dining table of food laid down beside you. Looking directly at someone else's food is bad manners, they taught me. I had to look the other way, my conscience is feeding on some sort of muscle building protein I suspect. 15 minutes. 25 minutes. I look down again and 43 minutes have passed, my neck starts to ache. Am swearing. Am frustrated. Am in half a mind to throw a tantrum and scare them all away. I don't. Instead I simply turn and give the kid one of the coldest stares ever. Its easy to pick on kids, they get scared easy. So did this one. He ran off to his mom, hugged her tight and took refuge in her palloo. Try not to smile. Try not to smile. You can do it. There you go. Ah shoot, there comes the smile, of great success, and achievement in scurrying off a little kid. Alas, it gets misinterpreted as a playful prank I was playing on the kid, and within a split second he's back right next to me, wiping his soiled hands on the berth, licking them, his nose drooling with goo!

I'll skip the next few ordeals I had to go through for the sake of humanity. We now cut directly to dinner time. Well now Rajdhani offers dinner, included in the ticket fare. So like an honorary Indian, every service has to be availed. In a move by the government to improve food quality, the pathetic excuse for a soup had been scratched off the menu, much to the disgust of the Gujju family apparently. There was much hue and cry for not getting a bowl, or rather tumbler full of swill which was probably first tasted by guinea pigs to check for fatal diseases and then sent through sewage processing. It makes sense to have bread-sticks with soup, but if the main attraction of that combo has been taken off, there ain't much point to the side-kick making a guest appearance is there? So in their plates land two NutriChoice biscuits - a range that has revolutionalised the biscuit industry in India, since for the first time ever, biscuits feel like they're meant for humans and not just dogs. But alas, what do we do? The whole family calls the poor caterer, gives him a good lashing, followed with demeaning words, and the child squishes the pack of biscuits under his feet! I am awestruck! How ridiculously apathetic and insane can you be?!

Main course arrives and having ordered vegetarian food, the Gujju family sits together, this time thankfully the other berth owners have occupied the seat next to me. They call for an extra load of 25 paranthas, which is obviously ruled out by the guy serving since the basic order for others needs to be satisfied first. The bloke, receding hairline, curly hair, an unbuttoned shirt, white chest hair showing, a faint hint of a moustache, and tracks, which I believe could have only be soiled the way they were by wrestling a pig in mud, stands up and shoves the serving guy. We all get up in shock in anticipation of a fight. The caterer gets scared, scolds the guy serving and sends him off. The family gets its 25 paranthas.

Come sleeping time, I am disgusted at the people, and agitated at not being able to get back at them. I know it was none of my business, but still the kid in me wants to seek revenge. Now what am about to disclose better remain between you and me, and not go out in the open lest that family find out. I had the middle berth. My bottle of water was full, and my mouth was dry. All I will say is, if you fill your mouth up tight with water and let it out through a narrow opening by pouting your lips, the stream travels far and wide, and can easily land up on someone's face sleeping somewhere down below, without them realising if the roof is leaking or is it God pee'ing! ;)

I spared the Gujju family after that, reason being, ah well that story shall come in the next post! Stay tuned!

Wah ri Dilli

After a long break, am having to stay in Delhi, and not surprisingly, here's what I heard on a single outing to the marketplace.

Bloke: "Haan yaar .. aise hi nikla tha .. thodi marketing kar raha hun"

My conscience: Marketing ?! Dude !! Why show off your skill in English, or lack thereof, the word is SHOPPING, not marketing!!

A bonnie lass: "Kajrare kajrare .. mere kale kale naina"

My conscience: *mouth agape* Mere ?! Firstly, its "tere" and yes, with such black eyes you can be nothing else but a witch !

A pindu (in her teens): *looking at my shoes* Papa, mainu wi canvas de joote chainde ne !!

My ego: You moronic buffoon ! Its CONVERSE shoes, not friggin' canvas ke joote ! Ass !

Bloke: *trying on a pair of bathroom slippers* Mommy, yeh chhote hain!

My frustration: Abbe ullu ke patthe, take off your socks first, and then try the slippers on!

*Sigh* this just the beginning of what is to come!

Ink

For the past few days my mind has been host to a tussle between two ideas that had popped up for a blog - a sword fight ensued, and after a grueling battle that saw both sides suffer heavy casualties, I guess this post won the honours of coming up first. Well I could technically go on and glorify this battle and justify why am posting on this subject before a more lighter aspect I have in mind, but I think I'll do my conscience some justice and disclose the truth.

My fingers have the supernatural tendency to act independently - figures why I love writing and typing so much! Well not two days ago my very own fingers turned on me, and in moment of anger and desperation, all lay down with just the right middle finger standing up to me, facing me. Now I can either take offence and tell them to bugger off (for want of decent language on the blog), or I could wonder what happened. But considering what I had them going through over the past 28 hours, I was not surprised by such rudeness on their part. Don't worry, am not going to disclose any objectionable dirty secrets here, stop racking your brains looking for ulterior motives. Fact of the matter is, for digits that have been used to blogging or writing essays on literary critiques, poems, letters, mails, it becomes derogatory to ask them to do something that is beneath any form of sense or emotion. To ask them to ramble on for pages without full commitment, to spew shit (I can't help it, can't make it mellower than that ! ) all over Microsoft Word, is without a doubt, debasing their credibility and honour!

Confused? Not more than a day ago my Facebook status read "Shakespeare's time is past .. a new Dark Age of report writing dawns upon us *no smiley*". Ah, bet the light bulb just lit up over your head didn't it ? But keep reading, its not just the motive I want you to figure out but read on a little to see what has become of us, over so many years. Education - has got many evils, none of which I am going to explore here. However, I am going to elaborate on something I realised, while drawing up an 18 page report and a 10 page book review. They say writing a book review on "how you feel" after reading the book is a 'good' thing. They say summarising your findings on a project you pursued 'helps' you 'realise' areas of strength and improvement. Don't ask me who in Pete's name "they" are !! The whole benefit behind the report writing exercise has become a farce. Projects never ensue, for want of procrastination. Reports just end up being fabricated, out of thin air. The surprising and sad fact is that such a realisation would come as a shock to several professors and colleges. They would never have imagined that students now can cook up the most believable nonsense off the top of their heads - they can conduct surveys and bring about key findings without setting foot out the door.

This is not where the story ends, unfortunately. Am not saying am the ideal student or haven't been part of such fabrication in the past. But yes, I will also say that I have time and again tried to be faithful to the effort. Alas, the system never rests from chasing its own tail - if one thing is overcome through resolve, another absolutely redundant aspects forges its ugly head up. Any honest and rule-abiding student who wants to get something meaningful and substantial out of the exercise is automatically put at a loss when it comes to writing down his or her (for want of political correctness) findings in a report. Why? Simple. The professor does not want to see anything short of a 15-20 page report. No matter if the whole experience could be summed up in a well-composed 5 page report, we sir want to have the student drill and pain his happiness to the point where he just cannot take it anymore.

What does the student do? Elementary, my dear reader. Its inconsequential at this stage to produce quality - the emphasis has already been laid on quantity. We as students have a multitude of weapons at our disposal. Verbosity. Font-size. Font-type. Line spacing. Headers. Paragraph styles. Title pages. Abstracts. Table of contents. References. Appendices. And a lot more. For want of time, and knowing how greatly reduced an attention span we now have as humans, am gonna detail just a line or two on each mode of clever writing, and then conclude.

Verbosity - Its not enough to spit words on to paper, it is quintessential to chew, break them into pieces, churn them in the stomach, regurgitate and vomit the cud out onto the paper to make it look well-processed and full of "mental nutrition". Let me give you an example. It is mundane to state "the present situation was sad". Instead, it is aptly defined and done with adept clarity if put the following way - "the circumstances we have been forced into present themselves as very unsatisfactory and not conducive to our well-being, defining the moment as least opportune and absolutely unacceptable by current standards". *phew* Now the professor would not be alarmed at the ambiguity of what is being said here, but would go "Hmm .. deep indeed - I reckon this lad(or lass - ah boy this gender equality is gonna kill me some day!) has a great future as a philosopher or thinker, he goes to the root of every problem". NO, you ignorant fool. This guy has a great future as a politician - coz he can twist words around with such art that even a scholar like you has been bamboozled by the utter hilarity of it all! In verbosity's defence, it does make your paper go from one line to three lines per thought! Deep indeed, I say. Deep bullshit!

Font-size and font-type - Am not gonna elaborate on font size, except for stating, a professor will screw you for going from a size 10 to 12, but if you're wise and tread the size 11 line, no mai ka lal can get you for it. Font-type or font-face, choose your terminology based on whether you're a Mac or a Windows enthusiast (the geek in me lives), is more subtle than the size. Choose Bradley Hand ITC, Verdana, Book Antiqua, Garamond over Times New Roman, and observe the wonders you can work.

Line spacing - One and a half line spacing is allowed, make it double, because trust me nobody's going to be sitting down with a ruler to measure when the report comes up for correction - just make sure you send it as a PDF document, and not a Word one.

Headings - Introduce them. You can never have enough, because every new heading demands a blank line before and after.

Paragraph spacing - This is something very technical. Instead of keeping the space at 0 pts, make it 2 pts, before and after - ah forget it if you're not a computer wiz!

Extra pages - Add a title page, even for an assignment. Add an abstract - don't worry, do as the name suggests, write in some tree-hugging hullabaloo crap that more or less summarises your ideas. A table of contents goes a long way even if it includes just entries of Introduction, Main body, Conclusion. References, even if just two, SHOULD be mentioned. An appendix is any irrelevant information you still have and might not have used, and can afford to include in the report, because it "somehow" touches upon the topic.

Take care of all the above and voila, in no time, you'll have a brilliant piece of art comprising 15 pages at the very least. Shame that quality has taken a hike, and what matters to professors is the weight of the submission. While writing up such utter useless nonsense, it drills into the conscience; the futility of it all. How over time we have become so accustomed to figuring out workarounds rather than the actual assignment, that the benefit that was to be accrued has been lost, and defeated comprehensively by the willingness to cheat. But like all other realisations, this one too is short-lived, and I know, the value of this post is going to boil down only to those pointers given above for making up pages, pretty soon. Oh the irony.

Welcome aboard Air India flight IC7618 to Delhi

Ever wondered how boarding a flight becomes a different experience every time you're at the airport? New faces every time you check-in. New flight attendants every time you fly. What remains unchanged is the presence of an element that makes the day memorable in a weird way. Nothing out of the ordinary or melodramatic, but just a change, an anomaly that does not fit into the picture.

Up at 5 in the morning, still drowsy, occasional lapses into the unconscious were not a surprise for me. As I dozed off at the airport in anticipation of a happening arousing interest, the idiot box hummed a continuous rant on the success of Delhi-6 as a movie, and the shame brought on Pakistan with the attack on the Lankan players, an unrelenting kid coaxing his mommy and poppy to give him a ride on the trolley bag. A usual early morning scene at the Sardar Vallabhai Patel Ahmedabad Airport one must say. Flights came in, flights took off, anxious airline officials ran looking for the last passenger to board the plane, in short the usual routine at any airport. At 8:15 came the announcement for boarding for IC7618. About time! Now as a young bloke, you kind of have an unexplained desire to see a fresh face amongst the people boarding, just to identify with the presence of that face, and acknowledge you're amongst fellow "kins(wo)men". Unfortunately, my sin was that I booked with Indian Airlines - the airline that flies old businessmen and government officials! As if my drowsy bent back wasn't bad enough, the sight drooped my shoulders too, as I ambled or rather skid my way to the bus to take us to the flight. This is going to be a boring trip - a painful hour and half!

Once aboard, seated in 14 A (I still am confused why after repeatedly asking for an aisle seat I was handed a window seat !!), I placed my guitar into the overhead bin and slid my backpack underneath the seat. Ah, settled in. I do not know if its an inherent Indian thing, or some sort of prejudice oldies have in general against a guy with a guitar and spiked up hair, but I sure became the cynosure of all the Gujju businessmen surrounding me. Venting out their frustration in mumbles and mouthing weird sounding Gujju, they tried adjusting their bulky briefcases pushing and tugging at my guitar. One of them struck a cord - no not the phrase, he literally plucked at one with all the tugging - I had to yell out HEY !! - out of sheer anger - you don't meddle in a "musician's affairs". So what if am still at the stage where I just carry my prized possession around, it still is my ticket into the niche club of talented artists!

After all the greying men had cozied in and let out the initial bursts of laughter greeting each other, the pilot took up his mike and spoke in, clearing his throat. What follows henceforth is a detailed speech made by the pilot - based purely on the way it sounded rather than the way it was written. May William Shakespeare's spirit forgive me for this brutal murder of his language of poetry!

"Heya blokes! Welcome aboard this flight from Amdabad to Deli. The flight is gonna be a lotta fun - oh look the sun's out! Oh boy what a day to be flying - people on the right - look out - there's birds outside !! We-L (yup - that's supposed to be 'we' and then an 'L'), I will be flying you out on this beyoootiful day, and the weather in Deli is bad - hell bad! They got smoke. They got fog. So they got smog. That wat happenin' whe' da smoke hit da fog - make 'em smog! Anyways, we have two aaaxcellent and beyoootiful flight attendants at yor service - please do remember to smile at them and they will make your day - I repeat they will make your day - if you know wha' I mean! *snicker* So sit back my friends as I take you out on this bright day - we should make it in an hour and 15 minutes - but you know it will be 15 more minutes right because we will be going round and round Deli - they never have space for us ! *ha ha heard in the background* Again, don't forget to smile at the two sweethearts attending to your needs today!"

Ok, I understand Air India suffers from a negative image of having middle-aged flight attendants who can scold you if required, but to revamp your image with a pilot who resonates more with a drunkard hippie, and is promoting the flight attendants as if they were in a Bond movie aboard the chartered plane of the villain is absolutely hilarious! His accent hinted at him having grown up in the "hood" or having deep influences from gangsta talk from movies - and that too with Gujju businessmen. One of them signaled to the other that the pilot might have had a shot of vodka in the morning! Ah boy, the hilarity - you should have seen the look on their faces. There I was laughing away to glory on the way he spoke, and there was the poor chap sitting next to me hugging his bag fearful of the kind of hippie who might me flying him to "Deli"!!

The irony lies in the fact that the aircraft was an Airbus 2X2 - something very similar to a chartered plane - there goes the climax for the Bond movie and lovely flight attendants. That is where the fun ended, but I was glad - another flight, another anomaly - mission accomplished. Another feather in the bag of stories grandpa Kshitij is gonna be telling his grandkids 40 years down the line!