Bad Bad Fervour...

Act 1, Scene 1. Setting: A class of thirty students.

Amit: Mere ek-sau-tees friends ho gaye orkut mein
Nishant: Bas! mera to 287 pahunch gaya! dhikchik dhikchik!
Rajiv: Ha! tum to pata nahi kis-kis ko add kar lete ho apne list mein.
Nishant: Tu to bol hi mat. Abhi bhi saala tees pe atka hai.
Amit: Abbey maine ek IIT-Roorkee waale ka profile dekha kal. Fodu banda hai yaar. Uske communities dekhke paagal ho gaya yaar! Quantum Cryptography aur pata nahi kya kya.
Sheetal: Arre suno sab log, mera community join karo "I love chocolate ice-cream"
Amit: Pehle tum mera testi likho aur mujhe teen heart do.
Sheetal: Rehne do. Rajiv join karega. Tum sab gande bachche ho.
Rajiv: Arre yaar, koi to mera fan bano.
Nishant: Cold drink pila, raat tak ban jaaoonga.
Shilpa: Chhee! bechaara! mein tumhaari fan ban jaaoongi, theeke.
Nishant: Aahaannn. Koi kisi ka fan banne jaa rahe hai. Lage raho beta.
Sheetal: Tum logon ne "I love my mother" community dekha kya? Itne cute-se messages thhe unme. Itne pyaare.
Sahil: Sheetal, tumhe mera Happy Friendship Day message mila? Nahi! Sorry yaar, belated wishes bhej deta hoon.
Amit: Hey Shilpa, photo mein tum bahut sweet lag rahi ho.
Rajiv: Haan yaar, bahut pyaara photo hai.
Shilpa: Thanks, kal hi upload kiya thha.
Nishant(whispering to Shilpa): hata do usko

This is what the standard of conversations has come to post www.orkut.com-familiarisation. A novel concept of community- and network-building introduced in its Beta version by Google has been reduced to a forum of nearly jobless students whose chests swell when they get more friends on their list than others do. I must admit that at first, I too had fallen victim to orkut.com’s allure. Though most people do extract a tad of its potential, it is negligible when compared to the inordinate amount of time spent in adding hostel mates to buddy lists, scribbling Independence Day and Friendship Day greetings in the scrapbooks of friends living two rooms away, writing hypocritical testimonials, and indiscriminately joining communities.

When I asked my friend why he invited me to join his friend list, he said it would help us keep in touch in future. This, at a time when Yahoo Messenger has comprehensively pervaded the student community, is an implausible explanation. It is undeniable that people check their emails much more frequently than their orkut scrapbooks. As far as chancing on old friends is concerned, orkut helps in obtaining their email ids or phone numbers. Period. In fact, most people, including I, hardly follow up on our old friends’ messages or bother relaying more communication than the initial "Hey….long time no see….howz life….me in itbhu….where r u? keep in tch. Cya" Old friends with whom we are very keen to keep contact are added, as if by default, onto Messenger lists or mobile phone memories. And by the way, the number of friends in your buddy-list depends on the number friends you have and not vice versa.

"Friend karma" allows you to rate your friends as cool, trustworthy, and attractive. You can also become their fan. A friend will continue to call you a fool if he is in the practice of calling you one, even if you have 40 fans and have exhausted your quota of smileys, ice cubes, and hearts. Strangers too, hardly get influenced by these ratings, because the practice of bribing-for-rating is prevalent in all places.(Of course, the only difference being samosas might be replaced by subways and Pepsis by beers)

Another feature that attracts most people to orkut is the testimonial section. My classmates, who I have been living with since July 2003, and whose interpretations of my nature are evident by their attitude towards me, write a 1024-character opinion about me, generally hypocritical. Some of the following lines can be found in an alarming number of testimonials:
Ø He/She is very supporting, caring and helpful.
Ø He/She is very determined.
Ø All the best for ur future.
Ø I hope we always remain friends.

Perhaps the clinching yet most misused feature of orkut is the Communities section- clinching because people form study forums, word-game communities, old-boys associations, etc. and most misused because of communities like "Pink Floyd fans", "I hate Ekta Kapoor", "I love my mother", etc. Most communities are just fads and activity in them lasts a lifetime (of a housefly). I created pointless communities like "I Hate Veer-Zaara" and "Scrabble" and found people flocking to it in the first week, and then scarcely remembering its name. It’s not their memory but the futility of the community that deserves blame. An idle mind is orkut's workshop.

I’ve wasted a number of hours adding friends, inviting them, hunting for old buddies, scribbling scraps and messages, joining communities, and writing testimonials; and have seen a number of friends do the same. But the worst thing about wasting time is that when time is being wasted, you think it is the best way to spend that time.You thus always realise that time had been wasted and never that time is being wasted. Orkut’s popularity though, like the Stock Exchange, will experience a downward correction sooner or later, because students and their priorities come of age.

Moral of the story: An idle mind is orkut's workshop.

OF BROTHERS & SISTERS, RAKSHABANDHAN, AND PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS

According to custom, Rakshabandhan is a festival where girls tie a fancy thread around their brothers' wrists and pray for their welfare. Brothers on the other hand, promise to guard them forever. Ironically, the promise of eternal protection needs an annual renewal. It is a festival which gives:
1. students a holiday
2. students a holiday
3. students a holiday
4. girls the chance to curb a boy's infatuation
5. boys another road to bankruptcy

Today being Rakshabandhan, it'd be worthwile to check on the status of the definitions of brother, sister, and brother-sister relationships.
The misuse of titles is rampant among students. Students don't twitch a neuron before purporting some classmates to be their brothers or sisters. Once while in school, I teased my friend for spending entire days with a girl from my class, and he snapped, a flash of coerced anger in his eyes, "She is my sister." During schooldays, we called Rakhis licences to flirt and this was amply corroborated by the couples' regular trips to Cafe Coffee Day, Pizza Hut, and other hang-outs. The most notorious casanovas would have the most number of Rakhis on their arms. Whenever we teased these guys (I generally refrain from teasing girls) they would take refuge in the folds of the damn Rakhi and talk at length about the sanctity of sibling love. Their philosophy confounded me then, and still does. From what they said, I inferred that when a girl ties you a thread, you love her like you love your sister, and hence she becomes your sister. So the difference between going out with your girlfriend and going out with your Rakhi-sister is that you are not supposed to be teased with your sister while you can tolerate people teasing you with your girlfriend.
I find this rationale so foggy that I need to clear the air with forthright analysis of the definition of sister.
A sister is a female offspring born to your parents. Period. The brother-sister link is a relationship genetics thrusts upon us and which tradition identifies as platonic. I sometimes think brother-sister relationships are platonic not because they are supposed to be, but because they just are. Sisters, as a result of living with you under the same roof for a couple of decades, become good friends and confidantes. Very little separate sisters then, from friends. In fact, I have a sister who I consider to be among my best friends. I call her Akka simply because that's what my parents taught me to call her and that's what she was asked to reply to. We give each other no special sibling-privilege or sibling-love. There are some people I consider as dear to me as my sister, and as trustworthy. But that doesn't mean I will start calling them brothers. If I do, it tantamounts to undermining the scope of the definition of friendship. It's well known that siblings can grow up disliking each other. This adduces credibility to my claim that 'sister' can't be blindly substituted for 'caring, loving, and helping girl.'
So if a boy considers girl 1 a sister and girl 2 a friend, the only difference is that he does not/does not want to/is not allowed to look lecherously at the former. I'm sure a number of brothers will thirst for my blood on reading this, but this a sacrosanct fact. How else can you justify separate titles for two girls who you treat with commensurate care and fuss?

Disclaimer: All statements made in this article are a product of the author's general opinions on the subject. Resemblance of any situation mentioned with anyone's personal experience is purely coincidental.

THE ART OF MAKING A HIT HINDI FILM- Success Guaranteed

1.Star Power
Your hero must be Amitabh Bachchan, Shahrukh Khan, Aamir Khan, a terrific dancer or an oooh-drawer. The last asset your actor needs is acting talent. Look at Fardeen, Shahid, and Hritik. If you cannot afford Shahrukh Khan, you should atleast have his picture hanging on the wall.
If your heroine is not Rani or Preity, she must show plenty of skin. Skin obviously excludes skin of the face, arms, feet, and other things men can do without. It'd be easy on your producer if she can do the customary item number and sizzling scene without demanding a body-double. Rate all available heroines on the Droolability Scale and make the topper your automatic choice.

2.Music
AR Rahman is too busy.
Anu Malik should be your next choice. He copies good songs.

If it's a Shahrukh Khan film: A Sudanese folk song will suffice. Once you have one catchy song, you can fill your tapes with Jatin-Lalit's balderdash.If you do not want to plagiarize, you can have a muted song with Shahrukh Khan putting on and removing his Raybans 5 times in a minute or running his fingers passionately through his hair, throwing his head back, and looking beseechingly at the sky.

Finally, you can use Juggy D and his band of rappers who blabber some indistinguishable gibberish. They succeed in making an ultra-small piece of attractive music (ranging from a few microseconds to three seconds) and then replay it for the entire length of the song.

3.Script
Your story should be built around scenes and not vice versa. Get Paresh Rawal to speak a couple of witty lines in a Marwari or Gujarati accent. If he's too busy, Johnny Lever is always available for his meaningless tantrums.
If you want to make a youthful film about college romance, don't work overtime trying to make your protagonists look young.
Get a couple of overaged, long-haired, goggle-donning, gum-chewing brawny jerks; a few mini-skirt clad culture-conscious girls who wear a "Come on, take me on" and "Mein ek Hindustani ladki hoon" facade at the same time; a bespectacled curly-haired, gullible nerd; and some hassled and really dumb teachers. When your heroine or hero walk in a group, make sure their dress is brighter, they walk in the centre of the group, and the cronies laugh at anything they say.
You must have either an arm-wrestling duel (with the hero as underdog, of course) or a bike race (with the hero triumphing inspite of the villain's sidekicks' efforts to scupper his race) or an audacious challenge which basically ensures that the next scene is in Kashmir with the lead pair singing songs of love and commitment (O mere yaar, mujhe hai tumse pyaar, jaane bahaar, tere bina jeevan mein hai andhkaar... and all that blah).
Again, keep in mind that it is individual scenes and not the net product that determines a film's longevity.

If it's a Shahrukh Khan film: Anything from the Recycle Bin will do. I'm sure you've heard the adage 'Originality and Speed Kill'.
In SRK's films, a script is, after all, (nonde)script.

Intersperse the regular bullshit with some tears, an attempted rape, abusive language, and some hysterical dialogues.This is indispensable. Your hero must deliver a 10-minute performance, near the climax, of insanity or plain hysteria bellowing some powerful statements against the system or the society.(Yaar!acting kya fodu thi! (Man! what a spectacular performance))

MANGAL PANDEY- THE RISING- A review

Mangal Pandey- The Rising
Starring: Aamir Khan, Toby Stephens, Amisha Patel, Rani Mukerji, Kirron Kher
Music: AR Rahman
Director: Ketan Mehta (of Maya Memsaab, Aar Ya Paar, O Darling! Yeh Hai India
fame)

It’s finally here. It’s playing at a theatre near you. It’s cassettes are all over the place. Enter any Hindi Music buff’s house and you’ll hear Mangala Mangala echoing from every brick. MSN is spinning money thanks to Aamir Khan’s blog. Titan caught Aamir before the star cut his hair. Kitty-parties and gossip circles chatter excitedly in anticipation. Every mortal with a semblance of interest in Hindi Cinema wants to watch it.
But the suspense is now out and the critics’ first question reads, “Was it worth the wait?”
For me, it’s a clear no. The USP of The Rising was Aamir Khan’s first appearance since Dil Chahta Hai. But what’s the mileage star power can give to a film? Generally, star power is all you need to make a hit film. Sadly, the star here had little power and had to share precious screen time with Toby Stephens (who essayed the role of Capt.William Gordon quite brilliantly) and the two heroines- Amisha Patel and Rani Mukerji.
Ketan Mehta, who hitherto made films with simple plots, ordinary cinematography, and modest budgets, was expected to transcend the divide between mediocre and classy cinema. But the story lacked substance and the storytelling lacked novelty.

Mangal Pandey assumes a lower standing in the Indian independence struggle than Mahatma Gandhi, Bhagat Singh, Lala Lajpat Rai, etc. Mangal Pandey, to most people, was just the instigator of the Revolt of 1857 who refused to use cartridges greased with the fat of cows and pigs. He did not enjoy the following that Bose, Gandhi, and Bhagat Singh got for their courage and initiative. He is known more for the repercussions his death caused than the patriotism his actions during his lifetime instilled. Also, little is known about Mangal’s childhood and personal life. Lack of availability such information reiterates his relative unimportance in India’s freedom struggle. Unlike the fiery and sagacious Bhagat Singh, this youth was more a hot-headed rebel than a revolutionary. I might be grossly undermining his contribution to India’s independence, but this is precisely where Ketan Mehta fails- he fails to elevate the image NCERT textbooks created of Mangal Pandey.

Flaws in the foundation of the plot notwithstanding, the film could’ve soared if Ketan Mehta had compromised on a couple of irritating songs and employed a better dialogue-writer. Though the cinematography was excellent, the dialogues lacked much-needed power and intensity. Also, Ketan Mehta tried to gain an impractiably high viewership and make it a come-one-come-all film. The titillating scenes and songs at regular intervals killed the pace of the film and dissipated the tension in the air. One feels a documentary on Mangal Pandey would fetch more laurels than this awry attempt at commercial success. I consider Rajkumar Santoshi’s The Legend of Bhagat Singh an exemplary film all patriotic-film makers must strive to emulate. The Indian audience is lenient enough to excuse the absence of the contrivances doled out generously by Hindi movies these days.

The music was uncharacteristic of the period and of AR Rahman. The Mujra and the Holi song were particularly shocking. Aamir Khan had few memorable scenes; Toby Stephens was excellent in his portrayal of a supporter of the rebellion. Rani Mukerji and Kirron Kher did their bit with élan. Amisha Patel was pathetic and a major liability of the film. Om Puri’s narration was nothing to write home about. The direction and dialogue-writing were lacklustre.

Generation of an overpowering sense of pride is a sine qua non of patriotic films. Failure on this count, and on several others, will see Mangal Pandey draw more flak than it would’ve bargained for. Aamir Khan might take this film to a respectable distance but it’s unlikely that the producer will break-even.

WHM II- Veer-Zaara

MERE ZAAYA

Name of the movie: Veer-Zaara
Starring: Sharhrukh Khan, Preity Zinta, Amitabh Bahchan, Hema Malini, Rani Mukerji, Boman Irani, Kirron Kher, Divya Dutta
Rating: -5/5

After Karan Johar’s Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham- It’s all about loving your parents, here’s presenting Yash Chopra’s Veer-Zaara– It’s all about shoving your parents.
Yash Chopra had said during an interview that he liked making meaningful films. It’s sad that he never manages to do what he likes.
If Yash Chopra reckoned a story of 2 saccharine lovers sacrificing their worlds (and incidentally, countries) for each other could pass for an India-Pakistan relations-booster, either he is a fool or he should be executed for thinking us fools.
The film begins with Rani Mukerji (or Mukerjee or Mukherji or Kmukerjee or Mmukkerrjiii) trying to elicit the truth from ShahRukh Khan- a detained Indian AirForce officer in a Pakistan jail. The flashback follows:
Zaara (Preity or Preety or Priety) wakes up from sleep and avers in a 5-minute ordeal (read song) that she will never change. Her doting servant/caretaker/friend (Divya Dutta) seems to find the whole thing very cute (I unleash my first yawn). Zaara’s grandmother is about to die and wants her ashes submerged in the Ganges (Yash Chopra can exhale. The India-Pak link is forged.). Yash Chopra doesn’t take long to finish her off.

The sanskaari granddaughter, deciding to do the honours, travels to India, where she is rescued from a predicament by You Know Who. Veer, who is initially pretty peeved about Zaara’s obduracy (to know why Zaara was obdurate, you must watch the film), is mollified by her apology. He gives her some lassi and offers to put her up in his house. Move over Britannica. ShahRukh Khan can give you a 4-minute synopsis of India. The first line of the song when translated reads “Golden Earth, Blue Skies, Colourful Seasons- this is my country”. That’s equivalent to “two eyes, one nose, two ears” uniquely defining a person. But why listen to the lyrics? The song gives time for restless men to have a puff or relieve themselves.

She enters his Punjabi household. His parents are delighted to have such a convivial little mynah in their house, who despite being a Pakistani, behaves like a normal human being. Eureka! While most directors provide food for thought, Yash Chopra has his thought as food (and thus looks malnourished*). She gels with his community like Sprite with Vodka, convinces Amithabh to open a school for girls, sings a song with Veer, Amitabh, and Hema, and becomes the cynosure of all eyes in the village. Then in an expected turn of events, she falls in love with Veer. He tells her that he would die for her with alacrity. Yash Chopra loses plenty of hair in trying to show how hospitable Indians can be.

When she goes back to Pakistan, her father (Boman Irani) informs her that she would be marrying some man he’d chosen. Zaara asks her mother if the groom in question, or even her father, would die for her. When she’s about to chide her, Zaara says she knew an Indian who would give his life for her (fall in line, suicide squads). Boman rubbishes her betrothal to Veer and fixes the nuptial dates. Divya Dutta asks ShahRukh to rush to the venue. He reaches in time. (Another song starts. I get disgusted and walk out, preferring the mosquitoes’ drone to Late Madan Mohan’s music. I enter 5 minutes after the song ends and miss a couple of scenes.)

Veer is escorted to prison by Zaara’s fiancé (Manoj Bajpai) and is asked to stay there under a false identity if he wants Zaara to stay happy. Veer, realising that Zaara’s happiness is more important than his parents’ survival, assents, and becomes known as Qaidi no.786. Thus Veer, leaving his aging parents for the vultures, resigns to his custom-made fate. But how could Veer-Zaara be a Wholesome Family Entertainer if Zaara showed Veer the finger and decided to live with Manoj? She moves to India, to Veer’s village, takes care of his parents, becomes haggard, and learns some Punjabi.

Back to the present, Rani, the lawyer, hearing this poignant tale, vows to give Qaidi no.786 back his identity (and thus show that benevolence is not patented by India). Fighting the best lawyer around wasn’t much of a problem for her. She brought Zaara to the court and virtually closed the case. But before the judge used his mallet, he granted them 5 minutes for a reunion song and another 5 for Veer’s parting speech (the dialogue sequence he needs to justify the awards he gets). After the speech, the audience and the judge stand-up and applaud. The grey-haired Veer goes back home with the haggard-and-Punjabised Zaara and live happily ever after.
(My friend shakes me up and tells me it’s finally over. I sigh, relieved. I walk out of the theatre, wiser- never watch a movie without getting reviews from like-minded sources.)

The saving grace of the movie was Rani Mukerji, who looked gorgeous. But she, along with Amitabh, Boman Irani, Kirron Kher, and Anupam Kher, is wasted in a nugatory role. Shahrukh does in Veer-Zaara what he’s been doing since time immemorial. Preity wasn’t challenged either. If I was asked to name one person who did his job well, I would
I would name the make-up man. Old people did look old (unlike Kkekta Kkkapoor’s serials, where old age means spectacles, a streak of white paint at the sideburns, and the odd cough).

How Veer-Zaara is different from other films of its genre?
Yash Chopra claimed Veer-Zaara would be different from other love stories. It actually was. The flashback started from 22 years behind instead of the customary ‘aaj se bees saal pehle’.

*These views are strictly personal. Please do not come to my room shouting anti-Akshay slogans.

Screw-ups- Part II

These are three of my personal favourites. Hope you like them.

BATHING DOES MATTER - RENTWALIKA


Nose closed, no matter how far,
Could’ve emptied a shopping mart,
Forever smelling in the class,
And bathing does matter.

Never repelled myself this way,
The smell is yours but it comes our way,
Your odour makes our heads sway,
So bathing does matter.

Yuck you reek & look awful too,
Dust is stuck to you like glue,
No one will say your shirt is new
Yes bathing does matter.

Never spared the teachers too,
Never saw their wrinkled brow,
“Don’t come now……”


Now closed, behind jail’s bars,
For leaning on the P.M.’s car
When the driver went in the lunch hour
So bathing does matter.

“Now I know I’ve been a goose,
Stinking pig left on the loose…
Now I know…….”

Never thought of himself this way,
Full of remorse, in jail he lay,
“I’ll use Cinthol and Camay,
Coz bathing does matter .

What I seek is solitude,
Unless you guys are merciful,
If not all, then a trusted few,
Oh bathing does matter…………


Now I will bathe everyday,
Even if it snows all day,
Never care for a cold flu,
I’ll do this coz I know,
But might be slow….yeah hey

Now roams in a blue car,
Entertaining women every hour,
Jealous friends say the grapes are sour,
See bathing does matter.



EVERYTHING I DO I DO IT FOR BOOZE – BRAIN FATHOMS

Look into my eyes, you will see,
They look like cherries.
I just snort, when I’m told, that if I don’t stop now, my liver’ll be sore,
Don’t tell me it’s not worth spending for,
Don’t tell me the chance of dying is more,
You know me too,
Everything I do, I do it for booze.

Look at other guys, you will find,
They too drink but they hide.
Taste it with some ham, taste with sprite,
If you don’t get zapped, I shall sacrifice.
Now don’t tell me it’s not worth trying for,
I will help you, to cure a hangover.
You’ll say it too,
“Everything I do, I’ll do it for booze.”


There’s no mug,
Like a beer mug,
And no starter,
Can beat Fosters,
I won’t allay,
Even if dad’s there,
A shot of lime,
And the stink’s at bay.

Don’t tell me my salary is too poor
I can’t leave it; I’d rather be no more,
Yeah I’ll swipe for booze,
I’ll cry for booze,
Walk on fire for booze,
Yeah I’ll bribe for booze.
You know it’s true,
Everything I do, I do it for booze.



AIRWAYS TO SIWAN– LETS ZIPPITIN
(Siwan is a town in Bihar)

There’s a lady who’s sure
If all the cattle is sold
She’ll be building an airport in Siwan.

To the press then she goes
For the cameras she posed
With a third of her party she entered.
OOOoooo.....And she's bringing the airways to Siwan.
There’s a smile in the hall,
When she said this would cure
All the deaths that were caused by foot-boarding.
During tea she said “look, there’s space for spitting,
It’ll have all of its windows wide open.

There’s a feeling I get,
That we will beat the rest
Coz we’ll stop by for anyone waving;

And during droughts there will be special flights to the fields
And for dhobis a clothes-line for hanging.

And then by next June, we'll round up all the goons
Without tickets, coz there’s just one entrance;
And a new day will dawn for farmers who wait long
Coz the harvests will travel much faster.

If you’re an SC, then wipe your brow, your rates are low,
It’s just a half fee till 18.
If there are 2 paths we can fly by, we’ll take one
Where it is tough to ply the carts on.”

The crowd was buzzing and it didn’t go coz it didn’t know,
Which airline agreed to join in.
“Dear Rudy can’t you see the crowd glow, you should know
Our airways’ll ensure that we will win.”

And as the fuel tank got over,
His prayers reached ground control
There talks a lady who doesn’t know,
It can’t take cows and buffaloes
(Pilot): “How can its milk be used as fuel?”
And when he pleaded very hard,
(Lady): “Diesel and oil will be the past
When all is done give me a call”
(Pilot):“At 8’o clock you’ll know the toll”

......And they’re bringing the corpses to Siwan.

A LIBERTARIAN'S THOUGHTS ON FRIENDSHIP

For a start, let me amend the popular adage "A friend in need is a friend indeed" to "A friend in need is a human being". In most cases, it isn't friendship that makes a passerby take an injured man to a hospital; it's humanity, a quality which is 1 part compassion and 4 parts greed to do a good deed. Who doesn't like to boast, "Everybody just crowded around him but I took him on my bike to the hospital." Nothing can be as gratifying as a feel-good feeling. It's this human tenet that goads people, friends included, into such acts of benevolence. So, if you ever ram against a tree and a complete stranger uses his handkerchief to stem the flow from your split forehead, don't think you've found a new friend. The stranger, after ingesting all praises with gracious glee, will swear for having to buy a new kerchief.

Barring a few, most people we call friends are non-enemies. There’s a subtle difference between liking somebody’s company and not minding it. Let’s consider two people A and B; to avoid complications, let’s assume both to be of the same sex. If A and B don’t mind each others company, they are acquaintances; if both enjoy each other’s company, they are friends; and if A enjoys B’s company and B doesn’t mind A’s, it’s an apparent friendship- A laughs and B forces his lips up.

I would crudely define a friend as a person you know well, like spending time with, and behind whose back you never bitch. Never. Friendship is the assurance that your friend will not ask you too many questions if you don’t want him to, it is the assurance that your friend will return the money they borrowed without being prodded, it is the comfort with which you can break into their room, sleep on their bed and ask them to stop snoring, and it is the confidence with which you can tell them a secret without asking them to keep mum.

To maintain that fantastic equation with your buddies it’s important that you don’t breach the space that each individual craves for and deserves by being possessive or motherly. There’s a fine line between being caring and overdoing it. Good friends stay on the former side. A good friend, apart from lending advice, knows when it is not necessary to advise. They know that even if they are shouted at, it has no long-term implications, and above all, good friends are never insecure about their friends or friendships.

It is important to realize that friends are never altruistic. Friends being competitors will never share without inhibition. Thus good friends never ask you for a thing which they know you might hesitate to give. They will never look at you askance if you refuse them something.
Do not get icky with your friendship. Friends are never permanent. As we pass different milestones (this holds particularly for students), we will pick up a few good friends and leave some behind. Though the ones we leave are very dear to us, they fade against the newly founded friendships. This is true, though it sounds outrageous.

Screw-ups

During class hours, apart from not paying attention to the lectures, I enjoy spoofing some of my favourite English songs. From Guns 'n Roses to Metallica, Bryan Adams to Led Zeppelin, Dire Straits to Eagles, here are some of my works. The name of the bands and the songs have been distorted to suit the spirit of the new lyrics. Try to guess who's who and what's what.

I. FAT AUNT OF MINE – SONS ‘N SPOUSES


She’s got thighs like it seems to me,
Reminds me of dreadful calories,
And everything from creamy to anything fried.
Now and then, when she ties her lace,
She shakes away other people’s gaze,
Who stare all 'long, to watch her bend down and tie,
O… fat aunt of mine.

She draws sighs of great surprise, when she enters a lane,
I’d hate to become on of those guys who rub their feet in pain.
Her chair reminds me of the once gay place where all of us would lie,
I pray to the slender to be safe, or one sneeze and they will fly,
O…fat aunt of mine


II. BEST HOTEL IN PURNIA - SEAGULLS
(Purnia is a town in Bihar)
WARNING: Indecent Lyrics. Parental Guidance NOT Allowed.

On a system in i-way
Lusty thoughts in my head,
Warm memories of last night,
That I had in the bed.
Right ahead after sign-in
I opened the hotel’s site,
The fee was heavy and my wallet thin,
I had to ask her at night.
There she stood in the doorway,
And I thought I should tell,
But when the gown slipped of her thighs I thought,
Money can go to hell.
Then I sold off my sandals and my mother’s tray,
I called up Sheraton again and I heard him say,


Welcome to the best hotel in Purnia,
Such a lovely place,
Such a homely place,
Even liked by gays.
Plenty of couples in the best hotel in Purnia,
Any time of the year,
Any time of the year,
You can find them here…..


My mind was knotted and twisted,
Nothing was making sense,
They have a lot of ugly little cars,
Which they call Zens,
What they write in the brochure,
Will make Eliot sweat,
Some lines to remember,
No lines to forget.
So I called up the station,
Please let me bring wine,
They said There’ll be no problem as long as you label it brine.
And so we booked the tickets and chugged away,
She woke me up in the middle of the night just to hear me swear that,


We will have a rollicking time in Purnia,
Will be a lovely place
Will be a homely place
We’ll get plenty of space,
We will sleep in the best hotel in Purnia,
All through the night,
All through the day,
What else can I say………..


Big holes in the ceiling
Paan stains on all sides,
We were all just prisoners here,
Outnumbered by mice.
And in the master’s chamber,
I shouted at the chief,
Tried to use my steely voice but I couldn’t even shake a leaf.
Last thing I remember I was looking for the board,
I had to find the real name but stopped when he drew the sword.
Relax; said the big man, we are programmed to deceive,
You can shout as much as you like but you can never shriek.