putQuad

What:

putQuad©: put-kowad (n. and v.) meaning: Grabbing a helpless soul, if possible, half asleep, catching him unawares and springing a surprise by dropping him from the first floor.

Where:

A putQuad is executed at The Quad, Annexe Hostel with the exact location decided to locate a safe drop and also to make it convenient for the many onlookers and paparazzi that throng to watch this phenomenon everytime.

When:

Introduced in the first week of July, putQuad is the latest member to join IIM Calcutta's illustrious and legendary family of put-(____)s.

Who:

Originally pioneered by Yours Truly and MukRags, this phenomenon is now registered and copyrighted and is the sole property of The Fight Club, IIM Calcutta.

Whom:

The first putQuadders were once again nocturnal kings, Moi and MukRags.

The first putQuadee was a half-asleep Putty.

This then was quickly followed by most of the Fight Club members: Gutri, Teju, Safu, DeeNag, Nair and on one of those evil days, Aara and Me too.

Note: Fight Club is currently making elaborate expansion plans and is diversifying into new markets.

• The Fachcha market was entered successfully with the putQuad of KaZee.


• Entry was made into the Alum Domain with the putQuad of 42nd Alum, Venus during his recent visit to The Quad.


• The group is also considering tapping the female market segment with Polo, DeepRed and ArchBal being considered for the initial launch.

How:

Why:

'coz Fight Club Rocks.

like.no.other

Appendix:

A1: If you see a barrage of comments using the word CAMMMMM, and you are not from IIM C, then maybe you should know that it means Can't Agree More with the number of Ms trailing indicating the intensity of agreement.

A2: comments from a victim (name withheld):"It was 7:35 i think in the morning and i was woken up by a rude jolt on the door.... hastily i put on my shirt to see if something had gone wrong....little was i to know of things to come (sobs)....three big men dressed in various colours including a bald guy just picked me up and started running towards the ledge...still not able to understand what was happening, i tried to fight my way through it, but by then i was already out of the ledge and staring 15 feet below....."it was a traumatic experience and the victim just broke down after that.... the rest of the description is graphic and cannot be detailed here....

The Prestige

For those who haven't already, I highly recommend watching Christopher Nolan's The Prestige - for the movie-buff's ultimate treat that the film is, for a better understanding of this post and for a thorough and complete understanding of why Scarlett Johannson is the World's Sexiest Woman Alive. Anyway...

Every love story consists of three acts. The first act is called 'The Pledge'. Two ordinary people meet under mostly ordinary circumstances in what looks like a seemingly ordinary coincidence...but of course, it probably isn't. For the two people in question, just as for everyone else around, the moment appears deceptively insignificant and in most cases one looks back at this moment fondly only when the end is reached. 'The Pledge' is usually a brief meeting, the people in question surely have other important things in their life, atleast for the time being, and therefore before long "all ends well...but all is not well". The only takeaway for the moment is that the meeting is pledged as a scathing streak of memory burnt at the back of the mind.

The second act is called 'The Turn'. The ordinary pledge turns into something extraordinary. Now, if you are looking for a secret something, a reason perhaps, a glimmer of a hint as to what has just transpired, you won't find any. But the turn has occured and things have mysteriously changed. For people who have actually been through the agony of being in love, these lines are but mere dangling threads as compared to the intricate weave of emotions experienced at this stage. Symptoms that I have personally observed at 'The Turn' include long walks, sorrowful alien cries, recurring acute coronary thrombosis, acquired and inflicted insomnia and fluid diets as the stomach turns every other second.

Another reason why I'd like to call this 'The Turn' is that different stories take different turns at this stage. Some are followed by an easy second meeting. Some others take eons. Some click into place instantly. Others take superhuman effort. 'The Turn' sometimes brings them closer, sometimes it take them farther away. Sometimes these turns are chosen on purpose by the people involved, to facilitate further contact while in others the people are but lost in the labyrinth and it is upto destiny to take the driver's seat. Timelines extend from a few hours to a decade, sometimes even more...

But the story does not end here. To complete the love story or for the incident to atleast qualify as one, there needs to be an ending. That's why there is another act.

The third act is called 'The Prestige'. This is the part with the twists and turns. Where everything hangs in the balance. By now, the lives of the two people have already been entwined irrevocably, the result sometimes looking like a badly tossed, messy spaghetti dish at a roadside pseudo-chinese bistro. But the time has now come for the final showdown. One final decisive meeting, 'The Prestige'. Feelings are expressed, truths revelaed, emotions let loose and the insanity confessed. The most complicated knots are disentagled and rewoven into a beautiful pattern as souls unite and the two people head out as one to a common utopian epilogue.

This is why, perhaps, love is often referred to as magical.

Or perhaps it is because, just like in a magic trick, things can go unpredictably and horribly wrong at the Prestige...

And then...

On the same night, I also...

Nine Tanks

I acted and directed music in a play staged by the Dramatics Cell, IIM Calcutta.

Saying anything else, I guess, would only undermine the above news.

Baaki Itihaas by Badal Sarkar

Of triggers, "Bunty aur Babli"

Just wanted to share my tiny moment of glory plus the trigger that made me return to blogging, and unadulterated blogging at that.

********** Persona- Writing competition 'Quiet' Results **********


The winners of the writing competition .. 'Quiet.. Let the words speak' are as follows:

Story section : Hemanth P. (414/13)
Poem section : Vipin Gupta (366/42)
Essay section: J S Tejaswi (417/13)

Congratulations to the Winners

Yayy!!!

And pleased to note that two of the three winners are KGPians.

Yayy!! Yay!!

And that the other is my thickest friend here, one of the thickest at KGP, an RKite and we were once better known as "Bunty aur Babli"

Yaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!


Thanks to Persona for bringing me back to blogging.

Of Canine Bondage

There once lived a dog, the name and place immaterial. For the longest time it was on the streets. It knew not whence it came from and had been on the streets for as long as it could remember. Everything about the dog was mostly wrong. Around the time this story started, it had evolved into an obnoxious street dog.

Into the locality that the dog lived, there came along one day, a fine looking gentleman. There was something about this person that the dog had never noticed in anyone else. There was a 'sense of peace that he seemed to generate' in the people around him. The strongest of the basic instincts kicked in as the dog followed the gentleman along. It had never done this before, it knew nothing of the person that walked ahead of him but nevertheless it tagged along.

It turned out that the gentleman had just settled in, in one of the nearby houses. At the doorstep, the gentleman looked back at the dog that had been following him. The dog on its part, shamelessly stuck to following him into his home. As the dog thrust itself upon the him, he had but no choice to let him in. The dog had a master at last.

The years that followed were some of the most joyful, influential and formative times for the dog. There was a sense of security and joy that liberated it. It was as though it had a rebirth. Every moment spent with the master was a new lesson learnt. And every moment of it was happiness. And then, there was faith. The master had welcomed it, had given it a place in his home and in his family. He had never questioned its presence ever. And so, there was faith. And gratitude.

A couple of years later, the master left home while the dog stayed back. While there was an initial sense of disorientation, the dog went ahead on its own way. As it reentered the old locality though it was a changed animal altogether. The master had left a huge and indelible mark on the dog. It was almost of a royal breeding now. Everywhere it went it was gifted with success. Even years later, whenever the dog encountered a conflict, a situation or a decision that it had to make, it would simply imagine itself back in those days with its master. What would the decision have been?? What would the master himself have done?? What would he have approved of?? Those were the guiding principles. The answers were always right.

And then one day a curse fell upon the dog. By a strange twist of fate, the powers above decided that the dog and the master had to be alienated. Angels of God appeared in the dog's dream and took away its memories of the master. Every living memory of that life had to be erased from its mind. When the dog woke up next day, it felt the blank space in its mind. 'The right thing to do' was based upon its past life and now it was gone. Logic and reason that were synonymous with those memories were gone too. A lack of purpose and of direction set in. Things turned a full circle, as the dog started slipping into its old ways. Once again, it became a vile street dog and a mad one too. But there was a difference.

This time, the dog didn't care...

Metamorphosis

As my time-table undergoes a sea change in the past few months, I am increasingly reminded of Dali's painting of Narcissus.

Of his metamorphosis by the pool side.

Of change to permanence and stillness and quiet.

Also, that, a picture is worth a thousand words.

And that on blogger, it takes one-thousandth of the time too.

Chiefly inspired by Yoko's blog and an acute shortage of time, I am hereby changing this into a photo blog. A final attempt to rekindle a dying romance.


Also reminded that Narcissus's metamorphosis was a curse in the first place.

A picture is indeed worth a thousand words. But it's the picture that chooses the words and not you.