Jha ji and moustache

Jha ji and moustacheJha ji is proud of his thick moustache. I don’t have one. I mean I shave it regularly. But that doesn’t mean that Jha Ji can insult me. Last Sunday evening, while having our evening tea he exclaimed:

“mard ki mooch na ho to wo namard hai tiru ji. Look at you tiruji he he he, i mean, you look like a chakka without your mush and with your long hairs he he he just joking tiru ji…don’t mind” 

The tea stopped in my mouth.

Asshole! What does he think? Do I look like a chakka to him?

And yes, I do have long hairs but that never means I have to grow a mush too. But this is not a time to react. Let me think. Surrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr….tch…I made the noise as I gulped the tea. I am a student of psychology and Jha ji takes my word on psychology anytime.

I retorted:
“Jha ji, let me today explain to you the psychology of mush growers. When a child is developing psychologically, it passes through three distinct phases in sex identity. The first is called gender identity. In this phase the child learns that the child is a male/female based on its sex organs and as the society tells it. Once this understanding is formed, the next stage is gender stability. In this stage, the child understands that it will remain a male/female all through its life. That is, the child understand that it is this way as it is. The last and most important stage is called gender consistency. In this stage it understands that irrespective of what the child does, the sex won’t change. Let me elaborate Jha ji. You may observe that children don't enjoy mixing with the other sex during some stage of growth. Like boys will not play with dolls. They will hate going out to play with girls, they would try to show off all male styles. Tell them to wear a skirt and they will take offence. This is because the third stage of understanding has not yet developed. They think that if they do sissy activities they would lose their male sex and will become female. Now, let me come to mush issue. There are some kids in whom the gender consistency development is not proper due to various psychological causes. They get fixated there. So after growing up they tend to show off outward symbols of machismo to defend their fear of sex conversion. This fear is subconscious. The biggest manifestation is through moustache. You see the people who have mush. They will touch and twist their mush again and again. Just checking whether their sex is still the same or not. Its like checking your sex organs again and again to see whether you are still of the same sex. The fear of not having developed gender consistency you know”

I saw Jha ji going pale. He smiled and didn’t say anything. I didn’t see him for next few days. I too am busy with my mains preparations. While coming to the net parlour now, I saw Jha ji. His mush is gone. For once, I have an odd feeling. Without mush, Jha ji indeed looks like a chakka.

(Maaf kijiyega jha ji…but I had to write that line. he he…don’t mind)

Tiru

The sunday massage messages

Massage on Sunday

After a week of hectic studies, i resemble a zombie on move. So, I take a small rest for the first half of Sunday. Just to recharge myself. What do i do? I read newspapers and for a change i get away from the deep and drab ‘The Hindu’ and move to some masala stuffs like Hindustan times or the Times of India.
There is a part of newspaper i am very interested in. No, not the editorials. It’s The classified. And no, not the matrimony part, i know no one would offer me a girl at this stage. I read the section called ‘Health and Physical Fitness’. What better to expect from an ex bodybuilder, huh? Hold on buddy...you have not seen nothing yet...let me explain.

Aug. 20, Hindustan times classified, under the section “Health and Fitness’, the first ad reads:
Silk Route, Top class massage by top class royal model Indian beauty, presentable and very pretty, Indian dream girl masseurs. Something different, some thing extra. Always at your service. Call Jennifer...tel no...(no i won’t mention it you dirty, find it for yourself from the paper)

Now you know why i go to that section so religiously, week after week. I love reading those ads. And yes, if you think that’s a nice massage parlor, think again. Read between the lines. Royal Indian beauty (beauty with a royal moustache?). Dream girl masseurs? What about that something extra? Something different. How different? Always at my service..gee anytime you know. You get the drift.

Ok, the next ad reads similar to the previous one but to emphasize they have added “2 reclaim your life”. that means, if your wife sucks, you can reclaim the lost joy here. The following ad beats it in standard, it clearly says “5 and 7 star only”. that means the masseurs will come (yes those female models) to only 5 or 7 star hotel. I have to be a dodo to believe that they would indeed come with a bottle of oil and will massage me and not read through lines. It appears that only the cops are not reading between those lines.

There are n number of such ads and all with horrible spelling and grammar but one can’t beat this in cryptic value:Unique beauties: Our gorgeous m/wr waiting 4 u, visualise ur perfect companion n u vil find them at 1-2-1-4 u. Call Sumit....tel. no....(mmm..i resist the temptation to call this number and ask the solution to the puzzle)

Ok, so some are bothered with diseases like HIV/AIDS too, so they clearly mention the word “hygienic beauties”. You know what i mean...clean, no diseases.

This one outsmarts others, Apart from other stuff it clearly says ‘Your choice and budget’ and ‘all age group’. i.e. you can choose the person to massage you and quote your price. This is not fair. They should call open tenders. What about age..will they send a golden oldie to massage a nana or sugar daddy.

OK there are also some cryptic styles which i could decipher after reading many classified over a period of time (and yes, every Sunday i visit this column). H/H means home/hotel supply only. M/F, ok i guess you know it very well..male/female. 24x7 means, anytime available. Hi-profile means costly. Male escort means people who service females (yes they really use that word ‘male escort’ in ads, and you know what service)..there are other words too which only professionals know i guess.

The female version of ads run thus:
Male escorts service body massage by young tall handsome kashmiri, Afgani masseurs. Service 24 hrs. H/H service. Call....i wonder if the males are also trafficked as females.
Now, i know it is not legal in India, but still homosexuals are out there. And to that extent, this advertisement space is very inclusive. Check this one:
Dashing male to male body massage by delhi’s best and selected youngesters (sic.) all as per ur choice....And if you are not satisfied check this one out,
Starzone, male 2 male gentle body massage by handsome edu. expert and selected boys.
The usp of this ad over the previous is that the guys are gentle and not dashing each other, they are educated, expert and selected (through competitive exams?). Wish i could witness the selection process.
OK, i can harp on and on about these ads. But i am not in this dingy cyber cafe (best in jia sarai though) to tell about the special massage Indians are getting.
Guys/Girls (yes, girls too should be there as males are also being exploited), let’s get open and clear on this. Either we should openly say that we love sex and legalize prostitution in India. Or else, we should abstain from such things. Why act? Why be a hypocrite? It is illegal in India to do such buisness and we do hear in papers where massage parlors gets busted every other day. Still these people dare to advertise in leading (yes the two papers viz. HT and TOI fought to claim that they are leader in Delhi in terms of circulation last year) newspapers.
And what’s the police doing? They just need to call up the given number, fix up a trap and catch them red handed. What’s the administration doing? I don’t think they are naive enough not to get the message or are they too getting massage from these guys/girls? It’s difficult to believe.
I stongly believe that the guys/girls up there in the ads are actually being exploited either for money or due to circumstances. Trafficked girls from bangladesh, nepal, bihar, all are there. And everyone acts as if nothing is happeneing. It’s happening right here in Delhi, the National Capital Territory. And our dear ‘with you, for you’ police force is turning a blind eye.
And yes, i am no great. I read the ads and enjoy them. Take vicareous pleasure. I am an ordinary reader. Why don’t you join me from next week. All you have to do is to head to your nearest newstand and grab a copy of HT or TOI.

Tiru

Cleared the Prelims

Cleared the Prelims

Yes, the preliminary exam results were announced today.
I entered my roll number 007396 and the message flashed on screen:
Congratulations! your roll no. 007396 figures in the list of successful candidates....
So...what does it mean...for novice, the scheme of civil service exam goes like this:
Stage I : Preliminary exam (in May):

around 200000 students appear for objective type exam(out of more than 300000 who acually fill the form)
Results of preliminary: announced in Aug (aug 10th this time): Around 6000-10000 qualify based on total number of seats available. I am here right now. I am in the qualified list (i.e. in that 6000-10000). This stage separates men from boys. So...UPSC says i am a man....
Stage 2: Mains exam:

The qualified students appear for a 9 paper wide subjective tests spanning over a month from oct to november.
Results of mains arrive in March (the following year). Around 2 times the total requirement is selected for next stage viz. interview. The number expected this time is around 1000 to 1200. Here big shots are separated from men.
Stage 3 : Interview.
Final Result: The final list comes out by first week of May (just before the preliminary of the following year takes place). Here babus are separated from big shots. The selected ones go into babuland....and never come out
So....a long way to go....
it was just the first step....

Wish me luck buddy...see you in babuland....

Tiru

Death of an UPSC aspirant

The death of 'tiru'

There’s something I now realize after writing so many pieces around. Anytime I write, blogpost, an email, or a page in diary, somewhere down under, I know that I am writing for someone to read it. When I write mails, at least I know whom am I writing to. Generally I try to confirm to the idea of ‘tiru’ that that person would have. I try to act in a way, rather write in a way which would perhaps please him/her, the reader. When I write blogs, I have an intended target which generally involves the friends or UPSC aspirants I kind of know. The general public who may read is involved but then I try to write in a way which would confirm to the idea of what I am to people who know and interact with me. The worst part is that even when I am writing a diary, I make sure that things are written in ways which make me look good if someone reads it, someday, sometime. There goes the very idea of maintaining a diary.
I really don’t know if this is the case with all but to be honest, that’s the case with me. I tried to analyze the reason. Writing is a great liberator. Only if one can be true. It can throw out all the subconscious fears and desires. The former condition inhibits it. If one is true enough to write what’s ‘really’ on the mind, I believe the person doesn’t have any hidden feelings or fears. And that’s why such persons may never undertake to write. The one who writes is someone who has something to be thrown out, a point to be proven, a pinky to be thrust up someone’s ass, some crazy idea to be shared, a thesis to be presented, an idea to be communicated or just for fun. I have serious doubts about the people who just write for fun. Fun of what, for whose fun? I too thought I write for fun. But I lately discovered that I am not writing for my own fun but for the praises I may get for writing. That is fun. Generally after writing a piece, I ensure through some means that others know that I have written something for fun. The actual fun is when my friends praise, better still if strangers do. I try to fine tune what I write in future based on the feedback I get. If they like something, I try to continue that style, if they don’t like something; I fine tune my style that generally suits them. Sounds crazy? Or is it familiar? It should be latter if you are not cheating.
Ok, let me elaborate the concept. Why do politicians take on popular causes? How do they arrive at these popular causes? It happens something like this. First the politician takes up some issue at random. If it arises sympathy and emotions among people (which is acknowledged by their cheers or through some other means such as voting behavior), then one continues to advocate for the cause, otherwise one drops and moves on to next idea. So, it’s what the people wish that the politicians utter. If someone thought politicians set the agenda for debate among people, let me clarify, it’s the other way round. If no one talks about ‘India Shining’ today, it is because the public didn’t cheer for it in the elections. Today we talk about ‘bharat nirman’. It may strengthen or kicked out tomorrow. Similar mechanism works in all of us.
There is a subconscious desire in everyone to be praised, the need for self esteem. The ‘ego’ always wants to grow. It can either derive energy from inside, that is from the ‘id’ (if you know, it is the subconscious part of our mind, the natural and innate desires of human, which are generally sexual and biological in nature) or from outside through the ‘ego’ of others. The id is difficult to express owing to the restrictions put up by the society. I may feel like having sex with every other nice female I see on road due to my ‘id’ impulses, but as that would lead to my destruction (no, not due to exhaustion but due to societal restrictions), I would refrain from obeying my ‘id’ feelings. Growing by fulfilling ‘id’ demands is animal, not human. But trust me, if a society allows ‘id’ feelings to manifest in its true form, that society is the most blessed one. The most free of them all. Perhaps, the ancient society of ‘Caligula’ era was close to it, but then did it have societal order? I am not sure. I am not a history student.
So, to satisfy myself, I would agree to live in societal restrictions and obey the rules (superego what they say). I would try to choose the latter way of ego building. Grow with the help of other’s egos. There are various ways to get praises and grow the ego. Some ways are like working one’s ass off in an office and take promotions, studying hard to top an examination, and working out in a gym to get big biceps, acting in a likeable manner to woo females etc. and then there’s writing.
So, that explains why I write the way I write, that explains why politicians do what they do, why you are working you ass off in that office, why you try to appreciate the shitty ideas your boss passes on to you and why one feels happy when others flatter them, even when it is false and one knows it. It is to satisfy the self. To make the ego grow.
Having explained why I write the way I write, let me actually get to the point I am trying to make. It’s about being true. I have been fighting for this for long time. Every time it eludes me. Whenever I am with someone, I try to gel with the other, at the cost of what I feel. To some extent, I can feel that my friends too compromise for me. Maybe, there are one or two of them around who do not actually do that to me, but then I have seen them doing it with others. They may be open with me due to closeness but with others, again the game of scratching begins. I scratch yours, you scratch mine is the motto. We both are feeding each other’s egos. How to get out of it? Can I be free? And yet not lose friends around. Can I be true without turning the relationship sour? Can I tell someone that his thoughts stink if they do. I have tried doing it and the results were unfavorable which made to get into that fine tuning mode and correct myself. Back to square one.
Lately I am staying alone (yes, the above ideas are the result of being alone) in a room with attached bathroom. I am not obliged to help someone’s ego to grow as my interactions are very restricted. For a talkative person like me, it was pure hell initially, my mind made funny noises. I realized that though physically alone, the brain is not allowing me to be alone. That’s when I started questioning the very basics of the activities I do. That’s when I realised that I am living down the image of ‘tiru’ that I have created in the society. That’s when I seriously doubted my goal. Am I really doing it for myself or to live down the image that ‘tiru’ is a person who can reach the goal? If I am just the image that is created by my very own brain, then what’s real me. Does it exist? If yes, how’s the real one to look at. How does it feel to be ‘real’ me?
I see that everyone is living down the image they have projected. The image is reinforced back by others. It’s the same ego scratching principle. If my friend says that he wants to grow rich, I appreciate him and say that he deserves it and he is bound to grow rich if he follows his plan properly. That perhaps boosts his self and he in turn tries harder to live down the image of a person who wants to grow rich. He may become really rich tomorrow and live down the image. But has he really lived ‘HIS’ life? Or was it the life of the image he had projected, the image that wanted to grow rich.
Everyone wants the approval of society. Someone wants to grow rich so that he can live a happy life, someone wants to get a degree, and someone is behind a new job. What is the ultimate motive of all the motions that are going on? Very difficult to analyze others but as far as I go, I now know that if I can really come out the ‘obligations’ of the ‘tiru’ image created by me, I am a free man. I am then, not answerable to anyone, not even to my own self. That’s because my current ‘self’ i.e. ‘tiru’ would be dead. I may then have the real raw ‘tiru-new’ or a 'tiruV2.0' if it exists and if not, I may experience something new. I keep my fingers crossed. Meanwhile, I don’t think I would write, as I see no more motives to write. I have passed the stage where my ‘ego’ needs any approval. I don’t see why I should have goals and chase them. Why should I be rich? I don’t see as to why I should do anything more than what’s required for basic survival. And there are very high chances that I would agree my ‘id’ impulses as and when they arise even at the cost of my destruction. Well, I feel I am on the verge of something very important, really important. And the best part is that I need to explain anything to anyone. I am no longer obliged to do that. It may come to me anytime, today, and tomorrow or fuck, who cares any longer. I am not even bothered. I am dead.

'tiru' IS DEAD........

Babu and the title

Standing with sumit with a cup of tea at an obscure corner of jia sarai and watching the girls pass by is a favorite pastime. Well, the time is always running short but then, one needs some break during the day and this is the best way. The girls too seem to enjoy it. Ok, let me bring out the complete picture. Zoom out a bit. There are many sumits and tirus who are holding on to their cup of tea and standing at various chowks and watching girls. One never knows whether the girls are looking at you or the next guy. Neway, it hardly matters as long as WE are (or shall I say…I am) looking at girls. And if some girl indeed looks at you, it is such a surprise that one actually turns around and looks at the guy behind just to make sure she is not looking at an the other guy. By the time, one turns back, either the girl is gone or she is really looking at someone else. India is a land of competition and this is no exception. The moment one loses concentration, the opportunity is gone. Forever…never to come back.
Couple of days ago, we were standing at one such corner and sumit spotted some known face (no, not a girl…he is as unresourceful as I am) and said hello. A short man accompanied by another medium sized man are walking towards us.
“Hi sumit, how are you?” – the short man
“Sab theek hai…how are you?” replies sumit
“Life as usual yaar” – Shorty retorts
“how’s the training going on?” – Sumit
“Absolutely fine, we booze every day and by the time the hangover is over, we are back to another booze session”
“By the way, meet my friend Tiru” Sumit introduces
“Hi, I am Sanjay IRS”.
The ‘IRS’ comes as if he has been saying it all his life. Like one says the initials. Tirumala KV. Varma GVDPK, Subramanian KK, Narasimha PVR, Rao CNR. What is not explained is that it is not the initials but the position he holds in the huge maze of government designations. IRS means Indian Revenue Services. He is under training in the Indian Revenue Services as a probationer.
So…whatever was associated with Sanjay makes way for IRS, the designation that speaks more and perhaps commands some price tag in dowry market. What with a simple mishra, puri, khan, chatterji etc. They would never match the might of ‘IRS’. The man is no longer a name, he is a designation, and he believes it. He lives it. He breathes it. I am XYZ IRS. Iam ABC IAS. I am KLM IPS.
That’s how it is in the corridors of power I guess.
We had Barons, knights, lords and various assholes to rule over us. Nothing has changed, only designations replaced and hierarchies shuffled. Now we have IAS, IPS, IRS etc…
The constitutions says that all Indian are equal and the supreme court quashed the use of awarded titles like Padma shri before or after the name as that showed inequality between citizens. The awards are not suffixes or prefixes and shouldn’t be used as such in invitation cards etc, the supreme court had ruled in 1996. What about designations, your honour? Can the court then change the way the officers introduce themselves? At least, can the academy, which trains them, tell the officers that the designations are not suffixes to their name?
“ Hello, I am Tirumala” I replied
“What are you preparing for?” IRS asked, as it's possible that at Jia Sarai you may be preparing for GATE or IES or some sundry exams.
“Civil services”
“O, achcha, choose your optionals carefully, first attempt right, then you have to work hard, blah blah blah……blah blah blah”
I sipped on my tea while the babu blabbered out all his unasked suggestions on preparation strategy and then started advising sumit on what strategy sumit should adopt (again without asking) for future preparations. Sumit nodded while he spoke approvingly and smiled at him continuously. He wished us best of luck and left.
“Asshole, he is an OBC and became an IRS by the virtue of quota, now he introduces himself as if he has hit the bulls eye all by himself” – Sumit blurted after he left.
I was not in a position to comment even though I didn’t exactly agree with his last statement. The IRS had sucked too much of energy out of me.
With the cup in hand, I walk back to room.
Some day, I might be a babu. I don’t want to hear myself saying,
“Hi, I am Tirumala…. IAS, or IRS or any shit between I and S”.
May God give me enough strength to retain my present sanity of mind.

Tiru

jha ji speaks

“Eureka”, I jumped out of my chair, leapt into the air and caught Jha ji. OK, Jha is his surname but I won’t tell you the name for the heck of it.
“What happened”, Jha ji asked
“I just discovered the biggest asshole of the world”, I said
“Who?”
“You”
Jha ji blinked. “Why do you say that Tiru ji?”
“yes, a person who invests in shares when it is at the peak and then complains about the price going down has to be an asshole, and you are the biggest one as you said you read in a magazine that the share is at the peak of the month and you still bought it”
“But the magazine recommended it as the peak” Jha ji was perplexed.
“Then the magazine too is written by assholes”
“No it is not tiru ji”
“Ok then Jha ji, tell me which magazine recommends to buy something which is at the peak of something. Don’t you know that in bullish market something at peak is always dangerous?”
“Tani rukiye tiru ji, abhi hum aapko dikhate hain, let me show you”
Jha ji produced the magazine in few moments. I face-palmed when I saw the page on which it was boldly written “Pick of the month”
These biharis smoothen out the hard syllables and ‘pick’ becomes ‘peak’
Jha ji speaks: Jha ji recently recommended me to join ‘Bajeeram’ coaching institute. ‘Bajee”? something to do with betting. No…..you have to think hard. It’s actually ‘Vajiram’.


tiru

UPSC fighter

The fighter in me

The hunger is back. The heat is on. The last lap of the race has begun. I am running. I have finished my optional subject thoroughly and revising it now. GS is not over, but then, what man can claim a victory over the syllabus of civil services general studies.

My mind reverberates with the dream. My heart beats to that rhythm. I live the dream. I am alive. I realize now that I was dead all these years in corporate world. That was not competition. It was plain ass licking and butt kicking. The fighter in me was hibernating. Now he is up. What a sight to see him in full battle gear.

Trust me to fight till the last breath. I always miss the dark middle ages of the world when fighting was the key to survival. When warriors were worshipped. When hands held swords and arms ruled the world. How I long to be there. How I long to fight without bother for my very existence which may cease after the fight.

I am born at the wrong place, wrong time. In modern times, I should have been born in Afghanistan at least. I would have joined those nomadic fighting troops. The joy of killing. Big time killing. Just for the pure fun of killing. Not for profit, not for money, but for the pure joy of the act.

I am unfortunately in a world where killing is sin. I search outlets for the fighter in me. The competitive exam is a place. Yes, it gives similar fun. The joy of Giant Killing. They say, civil service exam is the toughest of all. They say, engineering subject is not to be taken. They say, you can’t do it in short time. It takes years. They say, you should have it in you. That’s some challenge then.

Now, I say, let’s fight. Let’s see if I can win. Let’s see if the opponent is tougher than I am. Let’s see if I can kill this time. Trust a fighter to fight till the last breath. Trust me to be a honest fighter. This is the test of the fighter in me. The arms are ready, the swords are drawn, and the arrows are tipped. The battle is about to start.

I miss the battle cries. I generate it within. I can generate the cries whenever I close my eyes. Every neuron of the brain shouts aloud to my command. The heartbeat goes up frantically, the nerves stiffen, blood pumps up, the pupils converge and I am in the mid of full fledged battle.

A single minded dedication. Yes, it took months to come to this stage. Took guts to cut off all relationships. One mind. One thought. One fight at a time. I now understand what it means to be a Zen. I would give anything to be in this state for ever. Let the fight begin. I am ready.

Tiru

P.S: Next blog after the first battle of prelims. After may 14th

Newton's law applied to love

Newton's law and love

Well….How good was Newton? I mean, how good he was when he proclaimed that law of universal (mind the word universal) gravitation which basically says that between any two bodies in universe, there exists a force of attraction and this attraction is directly proportional to the product of masses  and inversely proportional to the square of the distance.
Now, as Newton included the term ‘universal’, and proclaimed the law as ‘Universal law of gravitation’ I guesstimated that it must hold for any ‘body’ anywhere in the universe. Agree? Well, you won’t after you read what happened with me. I applied the same law for attracting girls. Well, being 'universal' it should applicable right?
I found that this law simply doesn’t hold. That’s why I am writing this blog. So, at last, after around four hundred years of formation of this so called greatest law, at least there is one exception found (OK, I don’t know theory of relativity).
I was initially thin (less mass) when at school. I was in love with another frail young girl in my class (still lesser mass). She was never attracted to me (initial condition). I applied Newton’s law now. As I couldn’t do anything with our masses, I thought of decreasing the distance between us. I exchanged my place with another classmate who sat nearer to her. Still, nothing happened. No attraction. Now, only one thing remained. Increase the mass. Well, even without any attraction between, we used to speak to each other as we were in same class. So, I once told her to eat well at home (in fact, I wanted her to remain that way but for the sake of Newton I had to suggest her otherwise). She was mighty wild at me that day and pressed me hard to tell me why I said that to her. I didn’t give the reason for the fear that she might think I am a ‘crack’. She told me to get lost with my crazy idea. I was devastated. Now only one thing remained. Increase my mass. Oops….my heredity has some limitations here. Nevertheless, I joined a gym. Worked out solid and by the time I build some sensible mass on my 6 feet 2 inch tall skeleton, I was out of school and into the college. The girl was long gone defying Newton’s law of gravity with another guy who had a micro layer of skin on skeleton. Nothing in between.
In college too I continued the gym at the cost of all fun in the world. Every evening when others enjoyed their time, I was huffing and puffing in the gym, increasing my mass. It fetched me a gold medal in university level bodybuilding competition and a bronze in power lifting but never a girl. All the time Newton was taking a beating everywhere. I saw guys who couldn’t walk straight and without masses in front or back (their jeans would come down and one could put a bunch of roses in their rear cleavage) hanging out with girls with still lesser masses.
I still had faith in Newton and all those scientists who still vouch by that stupid law. In retrospect, I should have guessed that they had realised that it was a joke or in the Indian case, had arranged marriages.
I came out of college. I had a job now. I gave a last chance to Newton. I tried falling in love with girls having good mass. In office, in parks, restaurants, cinema, wherever I could find any girl with considerable mass, I would look at her (rather stare) with desperate eyes and a prayer for Newton in my heart. I would also go near to decrease the distance. Still it didn’t work.
I know it. This whole world played a joke on me. Saala, that Newton. The biggest joker among all.  He should not have used the term universal. He should have used ‘heavenly bodies’ or something like that. He has ruined my life and I don’t know what to do with the mass I have grown. I look like hulk now.
So bhailog, if you fellas think Newton’s law still holds, better get up. Better late than never. Get out of that slumber and understand the truth. NEWTON’S UNIVERSAL LAW OF GRAVITATION SUCKS when applied to non heavenly bodies.
Hold on, I just saw a girl with some mass moving into this cyber café. Let me try my luck. I am going closer to her. Will keep you posted.

Bye

Tiru - the Victim of Newton.

The mysterious entertaining chimney

the chimney

The best and worst part of staying at house no X Ist floor is this. There are girls occupying the second and third floor. Now these girls are reason for entertainment and headache. That's why i say best and worst part. Some of them are good looking but i never figured out where exactly they stay on top floors, always confused between their names and locations. Hesienberg's uncertainty principle of exact position and existence of particles (read good chicks) certainly holds here. All I know is that they appear from top and disappear into it. As if the top floors are black holes and these are particles at the horizon, now there, now not. OK let me add that there are some guys too on topmost floor and also on terrace but they look happy in their own world (or maybe lacking in hard balls like us). Never saw them interacting with the chicks. Now, for once, I empathize with them.

It so happens that there is one narrow vertical chimney type of stuff in the building to which the windows of ground, first, second and thrid floors open. This is the only source of Oxygen for survival for the house which doesn't have a decent ventilation or provision for sunlight. This chimney is the main cluprit. Anyone speaking in any of the mentioned floors can be easily (literally very easily) heard at all other floors if the window is open. If closed, you can still hear if you train your ears like mine. Anyway, as I keep the windows open as my roommate is a big time fart master (about his flatulence skills, in next blog), I never had any problem in listening to chicks above or the morons below.

Ground floor is occupied by some bihari/UP souls named Pandeyji, Misraji, and some other jis which i could figure out from their loud talks. One of them even sings at midnight. I have bought an earplug from Shekar's shop to avoid him. May God bless the inventor of ear plugs. The above floors which open into this chimney is occupied by the girls. These girls talk and talk and.....shall i write more...you can extrapolate it i guess. They talk everything under the sky but never about people under them (yours truly included). Now, we know what they like, what they don't. What songs are their favorite. How dumb or intelligent they are. (no relation with beauty through i guess). We also know the names from their mutual conversations. the only part of puzzle that remains is to indentify for sure as to whom the name belongs. At the rate they talk, it won't take much time.

So, i will update whatever happens in chimney front in next blogs. We are four in room now. Me, my two roomies and the chimney. The chimney is the only entertainment all the way. Otherwise, it's only books, books and more books.

Hats off the the builder who made the chimney. If i meet him i will kick him first for the bad acoustics and wrong design of building and kiss him (on cheeks...ahem...) for making the chimney.

Any of you from jia sarai...if you go for house no. X and if the girls still occupy it, be assured that you will have a good time...at their cost...via the chimeny...

P.S: One can enter other floors with a bit of effort through the chimney...never tried...let me see.

PPS: Removed the house number and placed an X after someone complained to me on email about it

Tiru

Holy day deliberations of UPSC aspirant

Holi - day

OK....it was holi today. The festival of colors. Jia sarai celebrated holi with full josh. Early morning the villagers came out with dhol and started playing the only tune they know. That started the celebrations. Well....this tune starts all the celebrations in jia sarai i guess. I see the same set of guys with the same drums and the same tune. dhank chak chak chak dhank chak chak......I need to get a frequency analyzer to know whether they play any other tune on that. It sounds monotonous. And irritating too if one is sleeping after a night out of studies. I was asleep when they started playing. I wondered if they play the same tune when someone dies here.

Anyway, that's not important. The holi gets as colorful as it can. People chase each other and pour colors. All colorful smiling faces. My roomi Sumit too went out. He came back completely colored. Neeraj, the other roomi went home today. well...here's something funny. His train was at 2 PM in the afternoon and anticipating nuisance if he leaves at 12 or 1 PM, he started at 7 AM itself!!!! Now, that's called color phobia i believe. I could imagine him sitting at the platform at 8 AM waiting for the train to arrive at 2 PM....don't want to be in his shoes.

What did I do? I got up a bit late, as i was up last night to finish off a major portion on theory of machines. As i don't know anyone out here except Sumit, i didn't risk venturing out. I just had some side glances when i went out briefly and got milk. Listened to Guns and Roses and Metallica after a long time. That calmed me down a bit. Sumit was yet to come. Thought of masturbating, then didn't feel like. I am trying to increase my will power. I have promised myself that I won't mastrubate till prelims gets over. As one or the other roomie is always in, that's not a problem. The problem arises when both are out. That's real test. If Gandhiji can control himself, why can't I. One day, I too shall have towering will-power like Gandhiji's. Boy....I am in awe of Gandhiji.

Sumit was supposed to come at around 2 to 3 PM after having lunch at his didi's place. I cooked some rice for me. Some curd was there. Sumit came in at around 2.30. I had my lunch then. Curd rice with pickles.

Yes, i forgot something. The girl from top floor passed on some pakoras and kheer like stuff through the chimney (see previous blog to understand about chimney). Yum...that made our day at last. The onion and aloo pakoras were hot and spicey. After a looooong time i had such nice pakoras. It all happened because of my roomi Sumit. He went up and colored that girl and asked her if she had something to eat. As she didn't have anything rightaway, she prepared i guess. I was dozing off when she yelled, "Chintooooooo" and as sumit (yes, he is chintoo....) was in bathroom, decolorifying himself, i shouted back, "Wo bathroom mein hai (He is in the bathroom)"....and added "naha raha hai (taking bath)" to make sure she doesn't misunderstand. "Koi aur hai to khirkee pe aao (Can someone else come to the window??)", she replied back on which i went to the chimney and promptly saw a polythene hanging in front of our oxygen supply hole. I took it in. It came with a long thread too. I opened the boxes inside. Wow!!! the smell, and the 'bondas'. They were delicious. I told sumit to thank her from my side too. As he has not introduced her to me (he once introduced some girl to my other roomie, Neeraj and afterwards the girl started calling Neeraj and stopped talking to sumit, he learnt his lesson fast!!) , that's the only way i could thank her i guess.

Didn't feel like studying after that. So typed out this blog. Chintooooo is out again with her didi to his bhaiya's place. Neeraj is in train after missing colours and pakodas and a chance to befriend the girl upstairs. I am alone at home. Now.....If you are rightly guessing what's on my mind, let me tell you.....I am still in awe of Ghandhiji.

Tiru

jia sarai days 1

A civil services aspirant arrives at Jia Sarai, Delhi for preparations of civil services exam. This is the qualifying exam in India for getting into coveted administrative services A week by week account of his stay. The exam is one of the most bitterly contested exams over the world. Total candidates applying for the exam exceeds 300000 every year. No of selected candidates less than 300. Jia sarai is a small place near IIT Delhi gate, South Delhi, where 1000s of aspirants prepare for this coveted exam. Here's the first installment.

New Delhi. The capital of India. At last, I am here. 10.00 PM, 2nd of november, 2005. The city is peaceful. It seems to me. Can’t believe there were bomb explosions few days back. The roads are empty. The auto chugs along. The driver hums a 'bhojpuri' song. I guess it reminds him of his home. This being the season of diwali and ‘chhatt’ (a festival of Bihar and UP), the longing becomes painful. The song gets louder; perhaps, unknown to autowallah, his heart vents the pain through the song. Giving courage to him in a land so far from his home. The wind is mild with a tinge of cold, hinting the arrival of winter. Heard there was a snowfall in Shimla. It would take 2 days for the cold air to come down to Delhi. I feel the thermals inside the bag. Yes, it’s there. I am safe. The auto takes a left turn into a small lane. Bold letters on a cement platform proclaim: “Jia Sarai Village”. I can see numerous papers on the boundary walls on both sides of the lane, advertisements from coaching institutes. “IAS made easy”, “Bhawani Singh public administration”, “GS for IAS”, “GATE 2006”, “JEE Physics”, the papers shout at me. Perhaps, they are hiding “Don’t stick bills” underneath. The street lamps wage a constant war with the darkness, winning a battle each night. The steep slope drives the auto into first gear. The rising throttle gives out a cry as if it understands the pain and longing of autowallah’s heart. I finally get down. Paid and thanked him. The ‘thanks’ from me lights up his face. Simple words work magic on hearts. Learnt from a friend. Jia Sarai, my home for next one and half years. I give a call to one of the seniors whom I know. He comes, wishes and hugs me. The hug saying all that he couldn’t express in words. Hands me over the key of my room, shows the location and hurries away. He has cleared the preliminary of civil services exam and is appearing for mains. He can’t afford to waste his time. I understand. I can see something in his eyes. Yes, I have seen it before. Where? Perhaps, in the eyes of a hungry tiger on discovery channel. I know the hunger is real. The eyes are also desperate. Don’t know why. I learnt it later. It’s his last attempt on the exam. He has exhausted all his attempts. The future hangs on it. A candidate is allowed only four attempts. Now I understand the intensity in his eyes. The eyes have the hunger and the urge to kill. The survival depends on it. Inside the room, I search for a mirror. To see if my eyes too have the same killer instinct. Can’t find one. I mean, I can’t find a mirror. My roomi doesn’t have one I suppose. Bugger, how does he shave? Well doesn’t matter. Let him come back from home. He’s supposed to come back in next 2 days. The room was not looked after for past 15 days. I switch on the fan. It’s foggy inside. Wait, it’s not fog. It can’t be. It was clear outside. Omigod, this is dust. Bugger has kept the ventilators open. There is this dust all over the room. Switch off the fuckin fan. 20 minutes fly by. Everything in the room is covered in dust, including me. The tap in the attached bathroom works. Cold water. Flush is ok. The room is a small 8 by 8 feet box with an attached toilet. Two cots occupy the major part. A table with my roomi’s comp occupies remaining. There’s a folded table too. Thrown in by a friend who left after failing three attempts at the exam. The room is full with various cartons of different sizes. Newspapers, bags, wastes and a whole monster world under the cot, questioning my very existence in the room. I see a mattress too, thrown inside in a hurry. Looks like the table friend has dumped this too. The shape of mattress explains the reason of his failure. Ahem, maybe partially. Used and worn out. Looks like he spent the major part of his time on it. Sleeping, wriggling…perhaps, masturbating, who knows? I come down. It’s 11.30 PM. The narrow lanes of Jia Sarai look busy. The tea and cigarette stalls are open. Hundreds of them having tea. Chatting away. Some looks serious. Some tired. And some, with the same killer instinct in their eyes. I can see numbers, am an engineer at heart. Tried guesstimating the percentage. Around 10 percent have it in their eyes. Took a tea. Damn cheap at 3 bucks for a full tea. Surrchai. Lit a cigarette. The combo is pleasure. The smoke curls as it comes out of my mouth. The turbulence reminds me of my internal churning, not yet streamlined. Came back to room. No, hold it. No fan now. Removed the bedspread carefully and put mine on the cot. Converted my winter jacket into pillow. Freshened up and went to sleep. Tomorrow, the day begins. Have to buy a mirror first. Unemployed by choice, lying in an obscure corner of jia sarai in Delhi, listening to music of mosquitoes, trying to sleep, waiting for the dreams. IAS, the dream, I, the dreamer. Tiru