Exam Blues

I never thought I'd be writing before I get through my CAT, which is on the 29th of October. Though my preparation is quite not what I wanted it to be, I still feel, with my mock results, there is a good chance that I may strike gold. On some other parameters, 29th is the day to be. Why so? They're coming back again. Fear. Anxiety. Panic. Anxiety runs in my blood, a quality that I attribute largely to my mother. I have never felt what it is like to be calm in tight situations. It is a quality I have always fancied, but never possessed. Most of my defeats in life have have been a result of my failure to hold myself together when faced with adversities and uncertainties. Over-thinking has been as genetically passed to me as thick black hair or my large white teeth. Damn! Not now. Not once more. If there is a time to get rid of it, it is now. I believe CAT tests you more on your mental strength than your preparation. Even if I do not perform to the optimum in CAT, this is a test I should not fail. Not again. As is true with life, winning is more about character and less about skill. It's time I start winning. or at least start making efforts to win.

And they come back to you
Demons of the Past
And if you don't fight them now
May be you'll never do.


It's time to sleep.

What is a Boy?

Okay, this one is special. It was my first tryst with public speaking when Mrs. Rathore (I still  remember that benign lady, our Geography teacher) handed me this piece. I absolutely loved it. I worked round the hours with Miss Deepa Shah and Miss Nirija Bisht, and tried my best to master this piece. I still  vividly remember how nervous I was that day. The competition was among six speakers. While the fact that the "Gods of elocution" like Abhay Pande did not participate was true, we still had the better and more experienced speakers of the two sections which included stalwarts like Pappi Don (Swapnil), Sagar Lohani, Dushyant Joshi, Nishant Joshi and Craig Mcgowan. I was the only first-timer. I was a great deal scared. But somehow I had faith in my piece and (a little) faith in myself. Moreover, Miss Deepa Shah told me that I was improving significantly which did more to boost my confidence than any other thing. The day arrived. I had to speak sixth. The fact that everyone had spoken smoothly did enervate me a little. I made a few mistakes and flinched at them, which is a bad thing to do as you let the judge know that you have made one even if they may have actually missed it. However, overall it went quite fine. When we climbed down the podium, the speakers from the senior class who had spoken just before us congratulated us. A few of them told me that I did a decent job and stood a fairly decent chance to win a medal. I kept my fingers crossed. The results were announced. There was no doubt that Craig would win it as he had both a wonderful piece and a handsome persona. I don't exactly remember the name of his poem but it was something on men versus women. Nishant Joshi with his awesome recitation of Christabel by Samuel Taylor Colerdige stood second. By now my hopes had dwindled. But then, Mr. Emmanuel, in his usual slow way, announced my name. I was absolutely elated. Then I have no idea what happened. A lot of merry-making perhaps. Enough of jabber now, here is the piece:

WHAT IS A BOY ?

- Alan Beck

Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood we find a delightful creature called a boy. Boys come in assorted sizes, weights, and colors, but all boys have the same creed: to enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day and to protest with noise (their only weapon) when their last minute is finished and the adult males pack them off to bed at night.

Boys are found everywhere—on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around, or jumping to.

Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them, and Heaven protects them.

A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair, and the Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket. When you are busy, a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise. When you want him to make a good impression, his brain turns to jelly or else he becomes a savage, sadistic, jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it.

A boy is a composite—he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword-swallower, the energy of a pocket-sized atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Paul Bunyan, the shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a firecracker, and when he makes something, he has five thumbs on each hand. He likes ice cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street, woods, water (in its natural habitat), large animals, Dad, trains, Saturday mornings, and fire engines.

He is not much for Sunday School, company, schools, books without pictures, music lessons, neckties, barbers, girls, overcoats, adults, or bedtime. Nobody else is so early to rise, or so late to supper. Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs, and breezes. Nobody else can cram into one pocket a rusty knife, a half-eaten apple, three feet of string, an empty Bull Durham sack, two gum drops, six cents, a slingshot, a chunk of unknown substance, and a genuine supersonic code ring with a secret compartment.

A boy is a magical creature—you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can’t lock him out of your heart. You can get him out of your study, but you can’t get him out of your mind. Might as well give up—he is your captor, your jailer, your boss, and your master—a freckled-faced, pint-sized, cat-chasing, bundle of noise. But when you come home at night with only shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams, he can mend them like new with two magic words, "Hi Dad!"

A Long Break

I know I had promised stories of my Mumbai extravaganza but I guess I am still powerless against my lazy self. Maintaining a blog takes much more effort than I had imagined. That story, along with many others, is lying there in my draft box waiting to be completed. I guess they will all have their day. For now I shall continue with my rants. 

Life has once again been paced at a fast-forward mode. College. Quizzing. The Attic. Placement Committee. TIME. and much more almost always keeps me pretty much busy. Of late, I have been been listening to some real good music. What a wonderful world, Soundtrack of Five Hundred Days of Summer and a number of other songs. Needless to say, primary credit goes to my music specialist, Miss Shruti Bhati :) . However, the last four days have been a complete waste. I realized that these exams not only kill your time during the period for which they are scheduled, but have an after effect too. Post exams I have resisted all work and have either slept, read or loitered around at facebook. I feel sleepy and out of words. 

For now I'll leave with this one:

Mumbai Diaries - 1

Yet again, I have to start with the same rant of not being too regular with the blog. Chuck it. Optimism is the order of the day. So let us bury the past behind us, and focus on what lies ahead - MOOD INDIGO :)  (IIT Bombay's Cultural Fest).

Though I am far too full with work ( and I have done next to nothing in these holidays so far), I still don't feel like  missing it. It's been almost three years in College and I haven't had a proper all friends trip yet (incredible, it seems). Besides, the Quiz Club people are pretty nice to hang out with. This post is just a precursor to lots that are soon to follow.  Of course, I would've been a much happier man if Shruti would've tagged along. Decisions in life are made either by compulsion or by choice. It's harder when there is an overlap between the two. Don't worry you there, be confident of the latter, and I assure there are better times to follow. We'll miss you.

The bag is 'almost' packed and the remainder is what that bothers me. It's almost morning and I need to sleep before my father wakes up (ah yes, I'm still scared of him. Perhaps, will always be). All excited for the trip - something to get into the Mumbai Groove :)

There are Reasons to Believe in a Better World.

Yes, yes I admit I am one hell of a lazy blogger. Yes, yes I am a total kaamchor too. 

Might be I can blame the Mid-Sems for this yet again, but for how many things and to what extent.

No matter if I do appear like a compulsive complainer, but one thing is certain - these exams do screw our life. There is so much in the world to do and they cage all our worldly desires, our happiness, our feelings and force us to  undergo an unfair, unjust and oppressive evaluation of yourselves. Believe me, they are not just worth it. Here something to feel happy about. I don't know how Coca Cola does it, every single time ! Kudos :)

                                 

The Last Lecture

One of the best videos I've come across in recent times, Randy Pausch, (1960-2008) , a professor at CMU, Computer Science and Human Computer Interaction, while his days are numbered (pancreatic cancer), in his Last lecture tells us about the importance of realizing your childhood dreams and leading a happy life. Very touching and inspirational.

Version 1 : At the Oprah Winfrey Show - The Last Lecture Reprise.

Version 2 : The Full Lecture

When Apples Were Two and We were Three, She Smiled And Said That She Didn't Like Apples.

Here I share with you an image and subsequent text that I came across at Facebook.  Beautiful and moving indeed.

Below is a mother protecting her child, found by the rescue operations officials after the Japanese Tsunami. Both had Died.

This is a true story of Mother’s Sacrifice during the China Earthquake.

After the Earthquake had subsided, when the rescuers reached the ruins of a young woman’s house, they saw her dead body through the cracks. But her pose was somehow strange that she knelt on her knees like a person was worshiping; her body was leaning forward, and her two hands were supporting by an object. The collapsed house had crashed her back and her head.

With so many difficulties, the leader of the rescuer team put his hand through a narrow gap on the wall to reach the woman’s body. He was hoping that this woman could be still alive. However, the cold and stiff body told him that she had passed away for sure.

He and the rest of the team left this house and were going to search the next collapsed building. For some reasons, the team leader was driven by a compelling force to go back to the ruin house of the dead woman. Again, he knelt down and used his had through the narrow cracks to search the little space under the dead body. Suddenly, he screamed with excitement,” A child! There is a child! “

The whole team worked together; carefully they removed the piles of ruined objects around the dead woman. There was a 3 months old little boy wrapped in a flowery blanket under his mother’s dead body. Obviously, the woman had made an ultimate sacrifice for saving her son. When her house was falling, she used her body to make a cover to protect her son. The little boy was still sleeping peacefully when the team leader picked him up.

The medical doctor came quickly to exam the little boy. After he opened the blanket, he saw a cell phone inside the blanket. There was a text message on the screen. It said,” If you can survive, you must remember that I love you.” This cell phone was passing around from one hand to another. Every body that read the message wept. ” If you can survive, you must remember that I love you.” Such is the mother’s love for her child!!