Back! Some old pals (students) reminded me that I had something in the name of a blog. So I thought of making it a playground to record the
bullshit interesting bits all around.
On that warning/thinly veiled threat, we start with the following exemplary tales of “devotion”.
- Union minister M Venkaiah Naidu’s herculean effort in taking servile sycophancy to a new level
- Fixed for flattery! How IAS officers sacrificed a T20 match at the altar of UP CM Akhilesh Yadav
I know that flattery will get you far. Apparently, India’s bureaucrats and politicians are also aware of this lesson from a top management school. So let me go flatter my woman now.
EDIT: FirstPost staff and authors need not think that I’m flattering them by linking to their posts.
2011 is a prime number. It is 305th prime. That’s the only good part of this year.
Happy new year.
There! I said it. Now get back to your work.
If I communicated verbally in this whole new year wishes situation, the communication would have gone something like what follows.
You [all jolly and hopeful]: Happy new year, AG!
AG [disgruntled and frowned]: Happy new year. There! I said it. Now go fuck yourself!
Some people are not worth communicating with. I’m one of them.
Why am I so worked up? Well, I had to change a lot, due to situations that were not in my hand most of the time. I could have walked out of those situations, but I did not change in that aspect: I could not walk out of a bad situation before making an effort to try rectifying it.
- I had to use Microsoft Windows for a couple of days. That was when I bought my new laptop and the Lenovo assholes denied shipping it without an OS pre-installed. Their OS of choice: Microsoft Windows 7 “Professional”. Take my word, there’s nothing “professional” about Windows 7 Professional.
- There were no tutors/TAs in the courses I instructed. I had to correct all the Algorithms II and Data Structures and Algorithms (Algorithms – I) answer sheets on my own. For all their exams! 480 answer sheets in total. I hate working! I abhore it. Seriously. I had to change and actually had to work. The lessons learnt:
- Make computers do that in future by designing MCQ type of exams.
- Moreover, never give them projects. Students are never serious about submitting the projects within deadlines. I know that part, because I never was. So the last minute work is out of proportions if compared to the human capacity of working.
- If you ask for projects/term papers/homeworks, ditch the usual inside the room kind of exams.
- Following does not count for a change, so let me just strike it out.
Due to the “difficulty level” of the exam papers or any other reason, the students think that their instructor is evil, which even I think of me at times.
- People bother me! I hate interactions. I had to interact with at least 50,000 people this year. Okay, that count is exaggerated. Still, it was close to 47,000.
- I hate telephonic conversations. I hate long telephonic conversations or conversations that start with: “aur kyaa haal hai?” (Hey, what’s up?). Why are people so worried about what I’m doing with my life? I may just go and screw myself for all they care. By the way, that’s what I’m doing right now. Screwing my life. Big time!
I changed when 2006 ended. I thought that that change would be pleasant. It was. That time, I started liking interacting with my friends on a more regular basis. Probably the time was when I needed their support. So there! I’m selfish too. I hate changing back to old me, “the disgruntled, despicable me”. But I have to for I’m again going insane, and I better not bother my friends with my whims and insanities.
A guy comes to hell and devils take him on a tour. It is a large warm place, where many relaxed folks play cards, guzzle beer and watch soccer. And then they hear terrible, blood-curdling voices from behind a door.
“What is behind the door?” asks the guy.
The devils open the door, and sure enough, behind all fumes of burning sulphur, was a huge pan full of hot oil and unfortunate folks being fried in.
“You know, the Catholics,” mumbles the devil sheepishly. “We really tried to talk them out of it, but they insisted!”
As an Indian, I have to be honest! Some of the American jokes just completely ruin it for me. I mean, what the fuck happened on the ninth of November anyway? 😉
One of my friends has a big problem with both Jesse Randhawa and Ayesha Takia. She thinks Randhawa girl doesn’t have breasts and Takia girl has got more than her share, “humongous giant” ones. Every time she utters those two adjectives in conjunction and the word “breasts” in the same sentence, I go into a laughter frenzy, ending up with either tears in my eyes, or rolling on the floor laughing; sometimes I even laugh my ass off. May be it is simply funny or it is the spontaneity with which she expresses her opinion on such matters.
Frankly, I’ve not seen Ms. (Mrs.?) Randhawa, and I don’t have a very good understanding of women’s breast sizes, apart from ogling at them sometimes, but I do understand breast jokes. So, here it is, the best “breast song” ever:
The same friend of mine has offered me her exclusive lessons on sarcasm and “picking loose threads in a conversation to make it more entertaining,” at very affordable rates. She is charging that measly sum of money because she’ll design the course according to individual needs — how imbecile her pupil is. Mr. Chandler Bing (of F.R.I.E.N.D.S) offers his lessons, or at least the one that follows, for free.
Heh! Could you be any more gullible? 😉
[Disclaimer: This post is an effort in praise of that special breed of participants — in the IIT Kanpur annual “cultural festival”, about which there are only a handful things cultural — whose only talent is to take part in fashion events just because they can sport a trans-gender (read “gay“) look confidently. And of course, Atif Aslam.]
Let me start with “I salute their confidence!”
October-November every year is that time of the year when one can count on the vicissitude of the season. Every IIT[K]ian or his/her visiting guest, barring the studious girls, admires the outside participation: the girls in their skimpiest possible outfits, and the way they get amused watching their bodyguards (dudes, in transsexual outfits) act around them.
This year’s dude-participation was, as expected, overwhelming. One was a fucking moron. The majority of the rest were the personified versions of the following photograph:
Everybody else, who is left out of the count above, won a lot of accolades and prizes for his sheer (real) talents. Kudos and heartiest congratulations to them. I particularly enjoyed listening to the participants of the competitions organized by English Literary Society and watching India Haat.
Why the hell do I mention only this match, conveniently choosing to skip the rest of the Wimbledon? Because, one, Nadal-Soberling match was probably the longest match in Wimbledon history; it was not over for some days. Second, the match itself was good. This year, there has not been (yet) as evenly matched encounter thus far in the men’s draw as this was. Third, I like this guy Soberling, or let me admit that I’ve started liking him after this match. For his game? NO WAY! For this:
Soderling, the Swede who trailed last year’s Wimbledon runner-up by two sets, started mocking his opponent, yanking at the rump of his shorts just as Nadal famously does throughout his matches.
I hate Nadal’s attitude and the way he shows his emotions in his games. I hate pumping fists and making noises, no matter whether one is winning or losing. Soberling, as he mentioned, was mocking Nadal for fun, but I’d like to see people moking Nadal to frustrate him.