Examination Time!!

An Exam (abrev), short or Examination, can be defined as a "set of questions or exercises evaluating skill or knowledge administered to students at the end of a course of training." Alternatively, it can also be defined as a "royal pain in the a**." Over the course of the evolution of education, academia has always found ways to penalize those incessant few, who year after year, keep coming back to face the challenges of local education systems across the world. Whether it be by the means of the imposition of having to balance 3.79 kg textbooks on ones knuckles or by the means of journals and journals of entires, diagrams, graphs and charts to derive equations, hypothesis and formulae that mathamaticians, scientists, economists and the like have conquered centuries ago. Yes, the true formula to success - examinations.

As much as we students try to hide from, delay, avoid or run away from these Draconian systems of academic evaluation, exams are a big part of all our lives. Whether it be in the form of pop-quizzes, papers, assignments, class assessment, semester examinations or then the ever famous final University examinations. Exams are not only a large part of every student's life, but also the lives of his family.

The reason for this:? As the years go by, news statistics show that an alarmingly high number of students take to committing suicide during periods of exams. Often, the paramounting academic pressure that students go through is emmense. Along with the same, the physical and mental stress that students undergo as a result of contorted sleep patterns, inconsistent dietry habits and overall unhealthy lifestyles only ads to the mess. Peer pressure and competitive rivalry are only catalysts to the fatal combination. The stress levels often encourage these students to commit acts they otherwise wouldn't. Dunking, cheating and copying and the like have become occurances of the dozen. What is frightening, is the escapist measures that students resort to as a means of self-denial.

And hence, the saga drives itself into the families of the candidates as well. Parents, siblings, often even grandparents involving themselves in the examination process. Some, taking leave from work. Others, showing their support in less obvious ways such as preparing favourite foods and deserts! Each one has the constant need to extend their arms and their two bits of advice in an attempt to pre-facilitate the the examination process.

Why are exams so important in this day and age? The big 'R' seems to be hitting the world around us. Job stability is a biblical myth. Jobs itself, are sparse to come by. And what is it that we all are looking for tomorrow? That's right; Jobs. Not Steve Jobs, just jobs - generally. If we haven't reached the stage in our lives where we are preparing ourselves for the corporate world, we seek further education. And what is the single barrier that prohibits the actualization of either of these dreams of ours? 55 million other kids, just like us, dreaming the same dream.
The population of our beloved, today, has overtaken the crow droppings on my nrigh our's 1917 vintage Cadillac. Competition today, is merely a factor of this population. The more the number of kids, the slimmer the chances. It's simple math! Probability.

And hence the saga of competition arrives. Survival of the fittest. Standing out in the crowd. Who doesn't want an IIM sweatshirt in their closet? Who doesn't want to start out at PWC? Who wants to be sitting home, jobless, writing blogs like me?

Like every other circle in life, the circle of examinations too, completes itself from where it started. You want the job? Let's see your cards. You want admission? Put the cards on the table. And if you don't have any, please don't bother wasting your time.

Whatever the routine, whatever the process, exams are here and so is the stress. So pretending to study to the wee hours of the morning doesn't get you that IIM. Nor does suicide. It's just plain geekyness, effort and dedication that gets you there, that helps you slog, mug and vomit. For that's what exams are today. That's what exams need today! You don't need to think? There's a reason India is the most populated country in the world today. All we know how to do is reproduce. So let's kick it this summer, so we can see ourselves in favouable positions in the days to come.

(Overheard in class: Welcome to the EPL. The Exam Premier League. 2 teams. 6 matches. 16 days. 1 venue. BMS Knight Readers versus the Mumbai University Indians. Catch the action live from April 20th! No highlights - hopefully).

The End of an Era

3 years
30 subjects
300 presentations
3,000 submissions
30,000 lectures
3,00,000 rupees!

A normal human being can’t do it. The rest, well they’re BMS Graduates.

The Fresher’s day was just an excuse that BMS cooked up to ‘induct’ the new bakras that enrolled into this prestigious course; HRBMS. With our dear seniors welcoming our batch lovingly, serenading us with songs and dance, not realizing that they made way bigger fools of themselves than of us.

All the same, an entry into HRBMS. The land of projects and presentations, of 7 am lectures, of attendance and detention, of never-before-seen teachers (and their meticulously chosen flowery language), of politics, of war and controversy and of course, of an equal dosage of heart-burn and of fun.

With over 3000 students flocking the oh-so-beautiful Art Walk that BRAND HR boasts of in flip-flops and shorts only on the days of exams, it was just our pompous lot of BMS kids that dressed up (in pants and shoes, note) and woke up at 7 am (with perfectly gelled, spiked hair – in some cases hidden by a white, not to mention dirty cap) to gallantly strut our stuff for a particular Mr. Sohum’s class on a Sunday Morning. Yes. The life of a BMS kid. 75% attendance. 28 projects a year! 7 working days a week with god only knows how many sleepless nights. Sacrifices in the form of night-outs, games and sports, sleep… Life? More like death.

But of course, Marketing has taught that for anything to sell, it must be sugar coated. Death included. BMS too, had its sugar coating. Guess that’s what contributed to the mass average weight gain of 18.6 kgs per person over the last three years (thanks, Gautam A for that meticulous mathematical calculation that was a derivative function of the composite amalgamation of residual numerators). But in all seriousness, BMS had its lighter moments as well. Right from brown face paint at Lakshya to the free air tickets (to any destination in the world!!) that went begging. From the khujli of the beggar under the Phoenix flyover to the shrill shriek of 93(!) at the end of every class. The delicious aroma of Raju’s garlic chicken that drew each one away from poor Akhilesh’s class to flock onto the sturdy red NeelKamal furniture that decorated our ‘canteen’. From the countless nights spent at Leo’s after winning every single college fest that these losers threw at us to dancing with the trophy the next day. From our glorious IV’s to the teachers that brightened our every day. Thank god BMS has a sweet tooth.

The 5th floor of HR College is supposed to stink very badly. Stink of attitude. It’s surprising though, that it was hard to ever find any BMS kid on the 5th floor since they were always chasing Abhishek and Mihir who discretely stole a paneer role from someone’s plate on the terrace. But however messy our class was because of the amount we ate through the year, our college associates never seemed to have a problem with it. In fact, on the other hand, they were rather grateful that our class had nominated a jhadu wala who considered it his moral responsibility to sweep the floors with his baggy pants that hung from the bottom of his rear end.

As children, often on Saturday afternoons, we ran down for an after-lunch treat of chocolate ice-cream at a popular local hangout called Snowmans. As time passed and hopefully, so will we, nature took its course and Snowmans shut down for good. But we at HRBMS, have nothing to fear, for we have our very own in-house snowmen. These three works of art are not only white, but are also round and more importantly, cold.

Gandhiji was certainly successful in buying whatever he wanted in BMS. Check out his new engagement suit! Too bad a sense of humour was too expensive. Bollywood too, expectedly, was a major influence on the life of the average BMS kid. Talli longed for a drag on a rather passive Jai’s Benson while they both swayed to Billo’s latest item number. Of course, sports were not far behind. The He-man, the cow and Mr. Sweat battled it out for the supremacy of the EPL as Dhadda played shadow cricked through the night. What was surprising though, was how the imaginary bat and ball always managed to brake so many lamps.

A new Gucci bag often complimented the newest pair of gold Aldo sandals, but were conveniently outdone by the weekly upgrade of the pseudo international accent ‘Yeah, yeah, 69.’ Our class reps in their own right, all did ‘wonderful’ jobs. That’s why they’re all best friends today. My my, soaring popularity! Minali’s obsessive compulsive habit to document every single moment of every single person’s life on film, has finally paid off for all you losers who didn’t submit a picture of yourselves for this year book!

With our superlative assembly of exceedingly practiced and endowed teachers at the helm of ship, BMS students had nothing to fear but their colourful language and prize-winning quotes and remarks. “The Ambanis, you see, well, enough said.” “I want Brrrrands! Don’t give ma gas! Don’t fart!” “Is it not??” “Eh, you want me to squeeze your b*lls or what you pisspot?” My, what an education it has been! Won’t we miss this enviable collective of management Gurus?

As we walk out today, through the same beautiful Art Walk that BRAND HR still boasts about 3 years later, our hearts are heavy and our wallets, much lighter. As we look back on the days, the months and the years that went by, only one question comes to our minds; “When can we start again?”

Elections in India

The fateful Wednesday of the 26th of November, 2008. Mumbai - struck in awe and was brought down to shambles at the hands of an irresponsible lot of kid-terrorists who literally took the nation ransom and woke those sleepy politicians, police and national guard. The world sat in disbelief as their TV screens flickered with images of a burning Taj, flashing ambulance lights and the ring of bullets.

For three days the saga continued as each one of us was stuck to the stagnating pixels of our idiot boxes. Some lost, some wept, some tried, but we all cried. And then, the nation awoke. To righteousness, to valour, to courage and to unity. Every boy and every girl took to a candle to show their solidarity, to show their love, their passion - to show their patriotism. And did it stop right there? Of course not! Political movements, rallies, support groups, youth organizations, debates, deliberations. 26/11 got us talking. It got the youth talking. It got politicians talking. It got the media talking. It got Mumbai talking. It got India talking.

But as anticipated, a lot of the talk remained just talk. However passionate one was about actually making a change, the limitations we face are countless. But the outcry didn't go begging. If anything good came out of the conversation, it was our nation's realization that it's the people that make the nation. The people make the govrnment. Because the people have the right to. The people must vote.

And the saga began. Vote bak politics. Campaigning. Jaago Re India? Makes one wonder that 26/11 couldn't have been more perfectly timed, could it? I mean I'm sure the city lost. Lives, property, money, time; morale, too some say. But what about a vote leverage?

Media, newspapers, TV channels, debates, blogs, forums, campaigns, social networks all encourage us to take the fate of our nation into our own hands. So that we are not helpless at the mercy of such imbicles like Mr. Kasab. Election drives to sign up and register ourselves as voters, empowering us with the ability to not just sit in and breath India's sweet air, but to actually constitute this nation. And what was the outcome?

1000s flocked to the RTO to submit those scrappy little forms of registration. Flocking like cattle, as if the government was distributing free sweets! All in the spirit of patriotism. In the spirit of wanting to make a change. I too, was a part of this movement. This spark to make a change. It's been 5 months since. The elections are knocking on our doors. Barely just round the corner. But my name, still missing from the list. Like me, 1000s who were driven to be a part of this change. Who wanted to stand up, speak up and be heard. But are we really getting the chance to? Does our nation really want to let us? Does society really care? Does the government permit this?A simple process. A simple proceedure. Filling in one form. Then the next. Stapling them together. Pasting a passport sized picture onto the top right corner of each of the forms. Handing it to the fat clerk behind the desk. Sounds simple? Sounds familiar? Applying for a college ID, a hall ticket, a driving license, a concessional train pass. The right to vote? Lost amongst the heaps and stacks of documents that line the interiors of flea infested draws of desks from Gandhian times. Acknowledgement slips with rigstration numbers that exist only on the ticket stubbs of Kingfisher Airlines' newest flight. Electoral roles that were updated on Prince Harry's 16th birthday.

And they say our nation wants us to vote?

Morning Times...

When the morning rays of the sun, hit the morning sky so blue;
When the earth revolves around your fist and the mynah calls out to you.

With clouds so white and birds with song, telling a nomad's tale;
With paraquettes perched on branches wide, humming with joyful quail.

The flowers bloom with petals pink, spreading the scent of love;
The butterflies flutter their wings so chic, like a hand that fits a glove.

The suddenly you hear it cry, in the distance of the morn,
The stormy clouds of Nefertite that keel the morning dawn.

The rumble near - they rumble far, beckoning to the Tlaloc of Rain;
To come down on earth and free us all, wash out our sorrow and pain.

And then it fell, like ice on earth, cleansing the earth we walk;
Of matter and of substance, the evil that we talk.


The scrambled eggs of ham and cheese, and buttery salted toast;
Was quickly all of gobbled, by both the guest and host.

A new day had come to us, a new walk to begin;
With brisk strides and hearts so big, our faces lit to win.

Summer Evenings

The cool waves lapped the tripod encrusted beachy shores of grainy sand that was home to thousands of crabs and creatures that took shelter in its warmth, darkness and concrete comfort. The gulls swooped down onto the baked rocks that sat tirelessly on the chrome sands like buffalos basking in the waters to hide from the summer heat. The sun was just about the set as countless people strolled across the mortar, some with places to reach, others with people to meet. The hustle and bustle of young ones hurrying to catch the big, red 108, eagerly etching to get home for an early meal only added to the tamasha of the evening. Tea and coffee cups lined the railing of the side-walk as onlookers swallowed the beauty of the setting sun, tired, waiting to take its place at the bottom of the cool blue waters of the Arabian Sea. Not too far away, sat Kishore and Rachna. Just done with a hard day at work, Kishore was tired of his silver-haired, horn rimmed spectacled boss, Mr. Kumar who took sadistic pleasures in seeing Kishore struggle beneath the weight of this job. Mumbai had promised a lot more to Kishore that box files and eleven year old, flickering computer screens. Mumbai had promised Kishore a life. Mumbai had found Kishore Rachna.


The warmth of the evening didn't keep Kishore from passionately embracing Rachna as they reconnected on this moist Monday. He held her an arm's length away and his eyes drank in the heavenly image that stood before him, distinctly accentuated by the rays of the setting sun. Rachna wasn't tall, just over 5 feet. She had been seeing Kishore for sometime now, but between work and the strict deadlines her hostel warden laid down for her, the city left Rachna with little space and time for love.

Marine Drive is rightly called one of Mumbai's beauties. Not only does it allow Mumbaikars to enjoy nature in its true glory, but it also gave Rachna and Kishore a place where they could be themselves. The sunset only added to the moment as the two filled each other in with the day's happenings; playfully teasing and cuddling each other. As time passed by, the sun sank further into the waters and Rachna and Kishore moved on from just tea and a packet of chips, to a more mature place in their relationship. Whether it was the fat, pseudo health-conscious businessmen who paraded across the promenade with his new iPods and Nike's or the chikna eunach who insistantly made it a point to carress each one's rear end, Marine Drive's hopefull romantics found a place for themselves. Not only in the city, but more importantly, in each others' hearts.

The summer was here. And here to stay.

Wheel Bop!

Review: Hollywood

Film: The Fast and the Furious 4

Director: Justin Lin

Cast: Vin Diesel, Paul Walker and others.

It's surprising, that in a Vin Diesel movie, the cars never seem to run on diesel. While the naked observation of burn marks manufactured by Nitrous-meth can so easily be the key to correctly identifying the killer of his lover Letty, one scratches his head in wonder as to why Dom Toretto never considered vocation in the field of Private Detection, or better yet, with the Feds. His abilities and judgements many a time make The Monk and Nathan Petrelli look like mere ametures in the Super Hero Domain. However, Lin, strongly influenced by Hiro Nakamura's ability to time-travel, takes us back in time to platfrom 9 and 3/4 to explore the drug turf of masked villians in South-Central America. One wonders whether it was an overdose of Tequila or the strong Equitorial sun that inspired rabid drivers to crash through internationally bordering mountain ranges to penetrate, infiltrate and smuggle $60 mn worth of dope in the US in a span of 45 seconds.

The muscle cars seem to be getting as old as the neatly outlined crevices in Dom's brow as the sag in his double chin isn't the only thing that takes your attention from Brian's 'Fed' hair-do. This testosterone driven, logically challenged, wheely popping smug shocking, semi racist attempt at car humour makes Disney's Cars a delightful treat.

Lin tries his hand at humour as well as Dom tries to excruciatingly highlight the similarities between his machine and his ideal women. Ironic though, that the only thing going fast in F&F4 were the cars. With basic cinematography and predictable beginnings, Diesel and Walker have walked the line. Like every machine, its best that each one knows when to throw in the towel. Let's hope Diesel manages to Pacify himself with the passing of this flick and the Walker walks back into blue waters.