The un-biased coin.

The unbiased coin.

20th August , 2008. 5: 30 Pm.

The sky above the port was the colour of television ,tuned to a dead channel. I hadn’t finished my cup of tea and it had already gone cold. My daughter had returned , victorious over death, clinging to that last piece of rock undisplaced , when everyone inside the bus had died in that cliff . 2 long years later, she had come back to me, when the world presumed Dr. Sen was lost, or dead. She had found me ,in this other part of the world ,on this long deserted island , just when my experiment was in a state of completion. I had so much to disclose to her.
“ Titli, have you heard about the second law of thermodynamics ? that entropy cant be reversed ?”
“ya,when I was young ,you often quoted that universe is the single most accomplished conspirator.”
“Exactly, it always tries to keep things in symmetry ,in a stable state.Nature hates Chaos . Now what if the theory of Probability is nothing but nature`s craft to eliminate chaos ?”
“ Biased coin ?”
“No, what if a heads falls because a tails would tamper with entropy of the system, the universe ?”
“let`s take an example ,I flip the coin ,heads, I send this email containing my life`s work to the world,and tails I go for a walk with you .”
“You better send that email,dad,why wait ?”
I flipped the coin. TAILS. “Hmm…lets go for a walk.”


7: 30 Pm.

Twilight in this island was dangerous. I should have waited for the moon,but what I cared about was some time with my daughter.
“Do you believe in spirits Dad ?”
“ Scientists have discovered that when a person dies, his weight is decreased by a weight of the order 10 ^(-6)gms. Applying E=mc^2 , that pure energy from a soul would be humongous.Now imagine so many deaths could trigger so much energy in the universe. Chaos.Unstability.”
“Then what happens to that soul ?”
“ I believe that it conjures itself to some form of dark energy or precisely negative energy which conspires against the symmetry, the stability.”
“Destructive ?”
“exactly, evil ,as the name goes,tries to disrupt the balance… .So where are we going now ,back to the camp ,or to the waterfall?Hmm.. let fate decide. Heads,we go to the waterfall.”
I flipped the coin.
HEADS.

7:50 pm.

We were walking beside the waterfall.
“ Dad, how can you exert that the universe selects which side of the coin is going to fall without biasing it ?”
“Symmetry. Let me illustrate to you. In your probability classes you symbolized heads as H and tails as T. If A corresponds to 1 ,B to 2 then H=08 and T=20.”
“Then why isn’t heads preferred ? for T has a higher value, thus greater entropy or chaos ?”
“not always,What does 20:00 oclock signify ?”
“8:00, indeed! This will change the course of the world. Maybe someday, someone would delve into your logic and find out a way to change the future.”
“That’s what I fear Titli. Am I interrupting nature`s course of stability? When I needed your opinion the most,here you are with me.”
“Go ahead with your work”.
“ Lets see the choice of the coin. Heads , I send that email”
I flipped the coin.
TAILS.
“ You rely on your coin too much. Send that email dad.”

8:08 Pm

“Lets get back to my camp.we ll go via the other way crossing the bridge across the falls. Maybe I should listen to what you say.”
“Dad, what bridge ? there`s nothing in front of us except the cliff giving away to the falls , are you hallucinating?”
I could see the bridge whose lime bricks were shining in the moonlight. I took a step forward .
“Dad, please, lets go back the way we came here.”
Wasn’t she seeing what I was ? A fear originated in my heart.
“I haven’t asked you Titli ,how did you know I was in this island ?I was cut-off from the world ?”
“Lets go back and I will tell you everything”
“ Heads, that rock to which you were clinged on, gave away two years ago”
I flipped the coin.
But with a quick glance at the watch , i knew which side of the coin I would see.
4 times, I had flipped the coin today. T-H-T-H. 20/08/20-08 , 20:08 o`clock. I looked at her face. She knew that I had solved the riddle. The puzzle that this universe had conspired for me. I knew it ended with the end of my life.
“I came back to save you Dad, so that you would be famous someday,theres no bridge across the falls”
I smiled. “No one intervenes nature`s course Titli. Lets leave it to someone else to prove me right”
I reached for her hands. And I took a step…forward.

Atanu and me

Atanu and me.

That night seems to linger in my memory like a rain-stained window pane. Abstruse in interpreting what are the absolute delineations on the other side , but clear enough to form a hazed impression on a juvenile mind. All I reconstruct are just slivers, those effigies of Ma Kali and Loknath baba being packed along with those newspaper-folded boxes of spices. That large green box where mother had packed all bed-sheets and pillows together, doing the cumbrous task alone with a little bit of help from me. It was a dry night of 1995 , and my five year short life-span had never encountered a night long insomnia and a journey at the back of a truck. Almost all other trifles of that night has passed in evanescence. The night when my grandfather ,after a month of contemplation, made a self-gratifying decision of moving back to Siuri, the place he had fallen in love with when he was handsome.

I don’t think my grandfather could have figured out then, what a scrumptious but also dichotomous life he had conceived for me. Where Durgapur and the village called Parsimulia had entwined with each other to weave a world of reality vis-a-vis fantasy for me . A world where on one side existed those paunchy history and geography books , but on the other side was fire-flies, load-sheddings, rather mela, jilipis, khelna gaari and Atanu.

His real name is Manu. Atanu was the name gifted by my mother. He was born on the same year , I had seen Siuri for the first time ie 1995. My mother often enquires whether I remember Atanu sleeping peacefully in his grandmothers lap, that black koshti-pathor coloured infant. I politely say that I was just five, and when you are five , the only impressions that are immuted in your memories are of objects that are humungous , like a truck , a bridge or objects that are contrastingly out of place like a Romeo-juliet paperback in a stack of India-today magazines.A dark –tanned child is too dimunitive and commonplace . A platitude. I remember his face since he was five . The only efficacy in his silhouette type body was his eyes . The reason why I have loved reading “The kite runner”. I can never imagine how a person in the other quarter of the world had so perfectly described , the acquaintance I shared with Atanu. Or maybe a good book always stirs your imagination and sketches few things , that were just languid connections , so brightly that you are confounded by the astounding resemblance with the book.

The tree beside that pond where a thousand fireflies used to gather. Peeking through its branches those tiny lights of Tilpara barrage could be seen. That sand house made on the river bed of Mayurakshi, that mango tree which broke my leg while climbing, Atanu has been there in every incident . He was never a friend,this, my society had taught me. Cause there was so much sartorial, monetary and caste contrast. A Brahmin and a bairagi were never the same. This idea had been sown when I was born and had sprouted into a fully grown tree with its source too deep-routed to throw away. I remember once , mocking him for the way bairagis were cremated . In a standing-posture. I laughed aloud at the way he squatted on the paddy fields for clearing his bowels.
My day in siuri started with his satiric laugh beside my bedside. Mine started at 10 and he went to work in the paddy fields at 5 . He could never figure out the laziness and the munificence of my mother in letting me sleep. Hence the laugh. “Dodo kaka” when will you wake up ? We will have to enact the last day of Mahabharat today.

Religion had changed just one thing in the village. Oblivious of maths and science, the only thing that a village boy learns by heart is those two epics , whose authenticity is often questioned. Atanu had an edge over this strand of history, whenever a conscending situation came. He knew `who was who` in Ramayana more than anyone else. He never disagreed when it came to the endowment of roles. Hanuman , my best friend had the priority job of finding Sita , killing Ravana was a job to be thought of later. He had made me a bow and arrow, whose arrows were often hurled at him when I was angry , and he was satisfied with the gada . I still remembered the frequency of my unending laughter when I figured out that the smeared poster which his grandmother worshipped as Ram-Sita , was that of Arun Govil and his co-actress whose name I cant recall. Ignorance is bliss.

I still remember the day he first got a sip of Coca-cola. The way he punched his head to stop that fizziness in his stomache had been an item of humour in our family whenever we needed a light environment.
I last met Atanu 3 years ago , the day his sister died.She had been burnt-to-death by her husband. He had fled from the village.I still remember Manu`s misty eyes as he promised me ,he would grow up to be a policeman so that he could catch that scoundrel alive. A quicksilver conversation between two immature and impractical boys. But that small incident has silted all my thoughts revolving Manu with guilt. Guilt that I wasn’t just a toy of entertainment to him as he was to me , an escape from books ,from studies. I was his mentor ,that was what he thought. Maybe his brother.

I didn’t realize the trauma and helplessness that flowed under his statement for a long time. I have heard he is studying in class 11 and is flourishing in his studies. Maybe siuri in parallel with Atanu is the only reason that I have that slight knoll of literature and fantasizing in me amidst that unending plain land of Crap-studies.God help him.

Glasgow kiss.

I was quite quenched with this 10ft * 25ft of space that i had pulled in. Maybe the smallest performance
space on earth. Warner theater where Petrucci played had a performance space of 250ft * 200ft. Didnt matter.
Every place has its idiosyncracy.Someplace Else was smaller than the green room of Nippon Budokan.Still
the biggest stage of my life.I was given a time span of 10 minutes. The time a band takes to optimise itself.
"Orient Express" was already there.Having a mug each. I gave life to my guitar.

3 years ago..
“John ,have you been to the only pub in kolkata which plays western and nothing else?”
“ Do such places exist ?”
“ya they do,and we are standing just few metres away from one of them .”
“Oxford has a pub, roshan?”
“ WTF, The park has “
“Its called ‘Someplace else`”.
The name sounded somewhat provocative.
“ Hey lets go there, make a round trip”
“ John, that’s a pub.”
“So ,we wont drink .”
“you ll go to the pub and wont touch booze?”
“we ll sort it out , lets move guys”

To go into the place which is someplace else ,you ll have to move through the lounge of one of the oldest grandeurs of kolkata. It smells money. Big time money.
Someplace else is the restroom of generally 2 types of people in kolkata. The people who reek alcohol, and people who reek money. The sofa on the left side are generally for the family. The tables flirting on the left are for couples . Only the few stools are left behind for those few who pay a visit to appreciate music. Conclusively, no place for school students.
We sat on the stool. The sofa and the chairs had signs of ageing in them , I noticed. The favorite trick of the hotel management students ,dim the light ,play the music ie reduce the vision enhance the auditory sense. The bartender came with his bible. We looked through it . We didn’t drink booze. There was just a pineapple soda and a himalaya which we could afford or preferably which was non-alcoholic.
“One Himalaya please”
The man in the black suit smiled at us.The smile symbolized “What are you ass holes doing here?”
“Sir, anything else along with mineral water ?”
“Lets, leave john”
“ one pineapple soda only”
My 100 bucks were going.
I was not ashamed that day.Not guilty of our stupid ignorance.I knew I had to come back here someday. For there was a 10 ft * 25 ft of space present in Park street that I had completely fallen for.

1 year ago...
“Dad, I want to play in a pub called someplace else. This economics doesn’t suit me anymore.”
“ Are you drunk ? or youre doping ?”
“All I am is serious right now”
“ You learned guitar , I didn’t bark .You play in a pub. You go out of the house.”
My dad didn’t utter the same syllables twice. My fate had been written.
6 months ago…
I didn’t go out of the house , but my dad stopped recognizing me. John was gone , for him . But I knew someday it would be perfect someday. The only thing I admired and loved was my Yamaha 6 string. I wanted to make my bucks with it. Not a degree given by a University which doesn’t even allow quarantined students to give a re-test. I knew where I had to play. That small 10ft * 25 ft space. I googled Orient express.

I wanted to start with Glasgow kiss . “ I am gonna play music from my new solo album Suspended animation, and this one is called Glasgow kiss”-John Petrucci
But somehow my hands were protesting .My father`s face was the only thing resurfacing in my mind. He would never know, mom would never tell him. That made me feel more guilty. I started with “Lost Without You” .It somehow fitted in.
There were few claps .few trinkles in the glasses. Maybe it wasn’t that good. Still, my first earning . I packed up. I wasn’t still happy . I heard someone call my name. I recognized her. Tania sen . “ Are you jobless , right now?”
“On all accounts ,ma`m” “Call me on Monday , I think I have something for you.” Hope, I thought .
I was moving out when the bartender called me .
“Sir, a gentleman offered you a beer.”
“Where?”
“On the leftmost corner.”
It was dark as usual. I had to go to the table to recognize him. The broad smile on my face was brought back seeing that special blazer father used to wear for once in a blue-moon occasion .
“ Well , ever had a beer ?”
“No,dad”
“ Don’t tell mom”
“ I wont”

Who says beer is bitter ? it doesn’t after you’ve had a kiss from the world. A Glasgow kiss.

Home made parody

TRIED TO MAKE A SONG after many months.hope it turns out well.

Home made parody

EvoLovE Ma-Riju-Ana Scene 2 in G-issshtyle

What happens to a person who is illiterate but madly in love with someone else?Who comes to his rescue?One who is empty of words to express his desire has to lose to some Angreji babu ??No.... Cause DOG Ahhhh... i am sorry GOD comes running for assistance.Love is not bound by any linguistic barrier.Cause then Riju would have never been the husband of Ana .Here s a memorable story of the Desi Cannabie who married an english teacher Cannabie , a friend who betrayed another, and of DOG ...ahhh there again Sorry blokes ....GOD obviously .... in G-style. Note that it takes place before the advent of inspector Manish Dubey.
For Riju it was love at first sight,he confessed this to his best friend I-Gunda on the first day itself.The Green paar HOLDE saari and the Anglicized Hindi of Ana seemed to cut through his heart.He wanted to learn english .He wanted to make Ana his bride.But alas he was only a good for nothing cannabie.He asked I-gunda who knew a little bit of english ,but flaunted of it in the whole G-para ,to write a letter for him on the eve of V-day, to express his emotion to Ana.But as his name suggests I - gunda was evil. He was always jealous of riju`s personality ,his charm and green muscular dilineation. So I- gunda thought` What a chance to insult riju and forfeit his amoural desires forever ?? ` He wrote a letter in G-style.This is what he had written-


" Dearest Ana,

As......... I am yours forever and ever......

This is something i will never say.

I will never hold your hand when you are alone.

Whenever i sleep ....

I take your name,inhale your fragrance,lose myself to that dark hair of yours

Dont you think so??

Cause If you do, you are so wrong.

Do You think i will leave you in the crossroads of life?

Do You think i will let you cry ,let you ever feel the pain of separation?

You are so right about it.

If you think i lose myself completely in those greenish eyes of yours.....

You must have lost your mind.

You are asking me " Is there someone else in my life??"

Its great you figured it out.

Thank God !! I am, sort of relieved.

I also had an inkling that you wanted to be my Valentine ??

I came to know that you think i want to go on a date with you?

This is the biggest joke i have ever laughed at.

What made you think so ?

You think i am dating a girl more attractive than you ?

Actually I am.

Am i thinking what will you feel about me after reading this?

I GIVE A DAMN !!

And for the rest of the world

I have never cared about it.

I dont care whether You will ever love me....

This is the first time i am saying this to you isnt it ??

I hope you enjoy this precise moment throughout your life.

I will forget you , i ll forget your face, your heart that you gave me.

cause i was lying that day when i said

I love you and will love you till my last breath ....... "


I-gunda was full of pride at his creativity of writing such out-of the box Hatred letter in G-style.He gave it to ana saying that Riju had written it for her. He was jubiliant to see Ana`s face contort with hatred as she read through the letter. but.....picture abhi baaki hain mere dost.

The world is a strange place, love is presumably more complex and stranger than it. Love turns the world upside-down... makes a guy write something what he never meant. Then DOG ,sorry GOD comes running for help.And whispers into that beautiful G- girl`s ears ,
"My dear kid, In love ...all you have to do is... to retrace your path along these words in order to get his real perception towards you" The girl seemed confused.
" What are you trying to say ,God ji ?"
"Idiot ! read the letter backwards,Love is blind ,it can take any path which moves forward or lead back. Depends on you to choose which one you want to tread ....Pyaar andha hota hain Ana beti...."
The rest what they say was written in the stars...
And obviously in.... G-style.
But did riju- ana live together forever ????
to be continued.....
PS: maybe this is one of the most creative blogs that i have written,if not the best grammatically...who cares bout the grammar when its written in G-style??

Exclusively Raj !

Raj Thackerey had employed a senior research scientist from MIT , who made a ground-breaking revelation ( Only for Indians ) : a Bengali has a different DNA structure from that of his Gujrati neighbour and Marathi wife. D-day for shiv-sena(or whatever sena,keep forgetting the name of his new party).Well more of a nightmare than a dream , but thats what i had last night. Penned it down for keeping a memoir of such an exclusively intangible reality or an alternate and impossible future.

Raj Thackerey becomes the Prime minister of our secular country . He deploys his newly formed bureau-Indian states traffic control organization ,seals borders of each individual state, keeps DNA-check toll booth in all the borders ,starts the usage of inter-state passports and initiates a chain of cultural, economical and god knows what other changes in the country .Heres some that come into my innocently ugly mind.

1. Chetan Bhagat is in jail. "2 states" Huh ?? Outrageous ! Preaching inter-state matrimony is a crime.

2. Jyoti Basu dies. CPIM top notch Prakash and Brinda Karat taken into custody for paying a visit to the dying comrade without providing prior information to the authority.

3. Nit s expand their state intake to 100 % and national intake reduced to 0%, no more Gulti`s in Bengal , no more mukherjees in Trichy.

4. No more Durga pujo pandals outside Bengal. Abhijeet (the overhyped singer) taken into custody for initiating a durgo pujo in the heart of mumbai itself, playing with meat in the tigers den .

5. Price of rasogollas hiked to Rs. 10 / piece ( all halwais sent back to Bihar)

6. Mamata Banerjee made the supremo of west bengal. remember Ratan Non-bong Tata ?? What happened to Singur impressed the Thackereys.

7.Bansal classes in Kota closed. Intake from other states stopped.

8. Shreya Ghosal, Shaan jailed for not singing in her mother tongue , but in hindi.

9. Rickshaws are extinct in Bengal.99% rickshaw pullers were from Bihar.

10. Shahrukh Khan turned for questioning , Usage of improper Bengali in front of 1 lakh janta in eden."Haamra Karbo ladbo jitbo re"

11. Subtitles banned for regional films. If you dont know the language , theres no point in watching it.

12.Akshay Kumar taken under custody for feigning a false name and title ( bhatia = punjab), nitish kumar = Bihar, Dilip kumar =???

13.Meer taken into custody for mimicry of Shiv-sena supremo.

14.Mumbai is the new capital of India.

15. Roaming charges for mobile users tripled.

16. Aamir Khan jailed for making a film on Raj and sena. Name : Raj-ni

17. Frito- lays increase their cost of chips from 20 to 40. inter -state potato transfer forum demanding 100% tariff.

18.Chhat pujo banned in bengal. 10 Non-bongs caught red-handed in a lake in kol. doing with the rituals.

19.Governers to be elected from the state itself.

20. Sonia Gandhi and family in deep shit-hole trying to figure out which state they belong to .

21. the commercial video "mile sur mera tumhara " banned in all television channels , the people in the video put under house arrest.

22. Royal bengal tiger is no more the national animal, so is the peacock the national bird. The maratha government in search of a exclusive maratha animal and bird.

23. Shivaji is the new Father of the nation. Rajnikant put to jail for acting in a non-marathi film named after the father of our nation.

22. No more Neha`s, Priti`s,Sonam`s . shift of amoural liasions to all the mitas, ritas, shrees pornas...

Not that i am out of ideas.

Im out of courage . My laptop prides in having a sticker just beside its keypad which proudly boasts a "Marketed in india under acer industries Mumbai...." emblem.

You could fill in some ideas or comments.Thankfully, Blogger wasnt MADE IN INDIA.

Ma-Riju-Ana.... a love story ,G - isshtyle !

i dont pontificate.So my life story ,as i am going to narrate will be a true introspection rather than a pompous ballad of a hero. I am malignant to humans, i am consumed by men who find me esoteric .I am a fountainhead of immense pleasure,of NIRVANA and untimely death.This story is not for people who are languid,goofy enough to neglect me ,incorrigible enough to consume me doggedly.I have raised men to unreachable success,i have fallen men to their ashes.Who am i ? I am Riju. Shah rukh Khan is my favourite hero.
Dhanbad was my birthplace.My native place is a paradigm of coal-theft.The coal theives prefer to consume us with their coal money. But i wasnt brownish when i was born.Like all the members of my species i was green in colour.The Americans are such buggers ,arent they? Prefer to omit "u" in such a small word colour,lazy creatures.Unlike the others of my clan i dont like americans. The field where i was born belonged to a bald old bihari whose fart smelled of rotten "muli", the cheapest vegetable found in bihar,sorry jharkhand.But that didnt stop me from polishing my knowledge-quotient which solely came from the "transistor" of the Ganja Bihari. I was apprehensive regarding the origin of my name,i pleaded to god that GAANJA did not originate from ganja.Now i know the truth . Thats why i am happy.
Ma ,wasnt mother india for me.She was just 3 weeks older than me.Ana was 3 days younger.From the 5th day of my incarnation , my eyes were fixed on Ana.She was the most greenly voluptous female of our "khet".And i was the most greenly muscular one.So whenever the transistor played the Sharukh Khan hit "Ana meri pyaar ko tum kabhi jhoota na samjho jaanaa....." She used to flutter her leaves in embarrassment and i used to whistle in G-for gaanja style.Mom used to be embarrassed.But alas we are stuck forever to where we incubate.So all Ma could say is "Barey badmaash ho tum...."(in case you forget from the film saawariya).By now you must have guessed that the only means of communication of desi-cannabies are bollywood numbers.Thanks to the "transistors ".
"Kabhie ana tu meri gali" that was all i could say . Time of amusement were over.The ganja bihari was plucking all of us and laying us bare-skinned under the sun to change our tan from green to coal black.I had heard(via transistor) that one hell of a human who gave a sudden shot of a dogs bark "AAUUUU" now and then had changed his tan from Black to white(skin pigmentation).I felt empathetic towards him. Even cannabies didnt like changing to a negroid tan.Racism was prevalent among us.The greens were impuned.After getting a sun-bath for two days my mother ,i and to my greatest disappointment Ana went "Black" .Naaahh not the Rani mukerji style, the "hum kaale hain to kya hua dilwale hain" one.
Polythenes are banned in the world of humans,arent they? but Ganja was oblivious of the fact.He stapled Ma, ana and me in three different plastic packets and kept us among his vast collection of cannabies .I could hear Ana singing "Soona soona mann ka aangann" .but her Saif s hands were stapled.But i sang back"Kurban hua"in G-style.Then came the police.
"Inspector Manish Dubey naam hai hamaar, gaanja kheti karta hain ,wo bhi bina license ke ganja kahika" India was the only country where you needed a license to grow a drug from a debauched politician who consumed them.
to be continued.......

The "N" th IDIOT ( 3 < N < [1/0] )

STATUATORY WARNING:

1.This is not an eulogy of the film that you must have guessed by now.I do not possess the oracular power of commenting on an Aamir khan film,lest criticising it.

2. I suck in engineering studies.And I am an egalitarian, believing that 7.97 and 8.00 are equal and Electrical machines is the single most bugger of a subject in this universe.

An Engineer refers to a person who has an ability to control and manipulate a machine,as defined by the oxford english dictionary .But wait, this was the Brit`s version . In India ,as one of my friends inputted me, Engineering means--

1. a) Rs. 10^7 dowry in Bihar if you are an IIT-ian ( cant clarify whether its only for the B.tech course) b) reduce a zero if you are a NIT grad c) Reduce another if from someplace else.

2. "O ji sunte ho ,hamare padosan ka beta IIT-Mandy mein padhta hain ,wo kabhi ghar aaye to khub se khilana pilana ,hamare shyam ko kehna uske saath chipak jaye taaki wo bhi kuch shikh sake."

3. Getting an Mba degree from IIM or II"P"M and working in a bank . Then start writing. These days publishers have a fetish for grads of good colleges.

Somewhere down the line we forget that the hard-bound 1000 page doctrine (Often used to kill a thief from a balcony dislodging it on him,seldom used for going through it) correlates an "Engineer" with his "machine".

An engineering college is one of the best place to inhale friendship, to develop so many ephemeral relationships with the opposite sex,even to start a band.But not a place to study .I am sorry that im not complacent about what i am studying or learning .

In your first year you are hectored by your seniors, and for the next three years either

1. you coax your proffessor till he drowns in flattery . You can expect a Cgpa of 8 if you have succeeded

2. Start studying english ( usage of that big ,hard bound book ) to bell the feline,and enter "The Bank of **** " anything other than India , Deustche,swiss being the popular ones.

3. Take note of each and every word that a proffessor says,including his cough "Ahemm" and mugging up till you have imbibed those precise words used in the definition ." Machines er definition ae ADVANTAGE word ta na likhle kintu marks paabena, zero boshiye debo ".Success is guaranteed ( cgpa > 8.5)

4. Cultivate an "ISHQ" with someone special, comb your hair , ignite your bike`s engine, and vrooom "THERE GOES THE COUPLE OF THE BATCH".

5. Your turn to hector your junior.

Only 2% of the total strength of teachers intrigue studs to learn engineering. And 100% of the total strength are ready to catch the fellow taking refuge of dishonesty.Thats unfair. A little bit of altruism is necessary. After all MEMORY is the least of the necessities to qualify AIEEE or IIT exams , so there`s always a chance of Shift + delete , an external drive is the only refuge ,isnt it?

"DRAW A NEAT FIGURE OF THE HARTLEY-OSCILLATOR"

Im sorry.An idiot like me ,has to use a piece of paper named "a Cheat".

Isnt it preposterous to learn nothing but score a perfect 9 in your semester ?

Isnt it jocular to disgorge flippancy to your teacher behind his back and cajole him in front ?

(was this a self-aimed question ? Dont know, maybe.)

Machines are not a means of emancipation for me , Rancho was an exception.Im infidel to them and find them mundane.Fidelty if possible should be reserved for a lucrative liasion,not a ghastly machine.

I do not want to make a career as a photographer or a musician ,for that matter.I want to earn money from the knowledge that i have imbibed in my college ,which tends to zero .(Maybe tends to a negative value, i keep forgetting what i had learnt in my school)But the thing which transfers me to a state of delirium is , what if one of the interviewers of a company questions me something that is beyond-

1. "DRAW THE DIAGRAM OF AN OSCILLATOR"

2. "DEFINE IT,EXPLAIN THE DIAGRAM"

"Dont worry , your MAN would not have learned something more than that .We are all petals of the same flower- ENGINEERING" my friend had joked.

But what if Rancho s exist in real life ,and both he and i have the misfortune of sitting face to face in an interview ?I dont think Idiot-1 will enjoy interviewing the "N th " one ,will he?

IIT-mandy,Nit-siuri...... yaar ,i know the population is steaming in India, but still so many PARADIGMS of engineering education arent needed. Whats needed from the bureaucrats is to spend money on existing colleges, to get good teachers for each college . Recently newspapers flaunted with pride that 30% of teaching posts in IIts , Nits are lying vacant.

Ain`t there anybody interested in teaching engineering ?

Corollary:

"WHAT IS A MACHINE,DRAW A NEAT DIAGRAM OF IT" doesnt amuse any of the generation of engineers, they dont prefer to take the post of someone, they had previously planned of writing an obituary.

I have taken refuge of that age-old friend of human being which mews seeing a bowl of milk.

Any college giving that masters of business administration will do for me.

Call me a bugger, i dont care.

Call me a moneyphilic, i dont care.I come from a middle class family , i love money and i need it.

But, Call me an idiot. i do care.I was never good in mathematics.

For i havent found out the value of "N" yet .

So ..... have you ?

If you have. "AAL IZZ WELL".