Career Crazy

Career Crazy
15th May 2001

It’s that time of year again. Third Year Degree College exams are starting. Bringing with them the end of college life. It’s a new beginning for all of us. What does the future hold in store for us?

It’s amazing that the road ahead can have so many kinks and curves. It isn’t quite the straight and narrow path that Gautam Buddha spoke of. And my path is so crooked that it’d put Capone to shame.

When I was a little boy, I used to read Commando comics. I used to dream about joining the armed forces and performing heroic deeds on the field of battle. I was very determined to become a pilot – and then, one day when I was in the second or third standard, I was gifted with the bane of my existence. A pair of spectacles.

My dreams of flying having been shattered, I moped along for a few years. In the eighth standard, I took up Journalism in school as part of Friday Activities. Every week, a bunch of us used to sit around in a classroom, discussing the latest news, and honing our skills. It was then assumed by one and all that I’d become a journalist or writer of some sort. At the time, I had been writing poetry for five years. The poems all seemed excellent then. Looking back, I realise how immature they were. Three stanzas of four lines each, a rhyme scheme of ‘a a b b’. These poems talked about living under the sea, flying to Mars and John McEnroe.

It is my belief that, if published, these poems would oust the likes of Enid Blyton and J. K. Rowling as authors of best-selling books for children. But, me being me, I refused to publish because I adore Blyton and Rowling.

What might have influenced my decision was the fact that no publishing house of any repute and sense would touch these poems with the other end of a long barge pole.

It was always assumed that I’d study commerce. One day after my SSC exams, I was sitting in my tuition teacher’s house glancing through an Accounts textbook. I fell asleep. That momentous happening made me take up Science. My focus was then turned to Engineering. Dad told me to study Electronics at the HSC level. It’s a basis for IT, he said. Mom’s fancy was Aeronautical Engineering.

I quickly realised that Chemistry remained shrouded in mystery; Physics took a very brutal physical toll on my grey cells and Electronics shocked me. The only practical things I learnt from Electronics were that a soldering iron can get very hot and never to thrust one into a 230 Volt AC power supply. As one unfortunate classmate of mine found out, the results of such experimentation were quite explosive.

I decided that Engineering was best left to others. In a flash of inspiration – that was roundly denounced at the time – I decided to do a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics. I assumed that I would take up a nice IT job – so I joined NIIT and planned to appear for the MCA exams.

Then one day I heard of the abbreviation ‘MBA’. Acting on the advice of well-meaning family friends, I enrolled for classes for various MBA entrance exams. I appeared for the CAT. I also appeared for the MCA test conducted by VJTI. In the midst of all this, I noticed an ad in the papers talking about Mass Communication. I gave that test as well.

Thereafter the story is clear. I cleared the admission procedures for SIMC with flying colours. I am now set to take up a career in Advertising after a few years.

Even that is uncertain. Mom and Dad still want me to do an MBA. However, after two years in Pune, I might emerge as a gourmet chef.

The moral of the story is something I keep hearing. Live for the moment, people tell me. That’s when I want to strangle them. When will they realise that I’m a practical Capricorn male? Who’s not happy unless he’s more or less charted out his course for the next five or ten years?

Actually the lesson to be learnt is that studying does not really pay. In the end, just do what you want to do.

So I’m going to be a taxi driver.

Image Ready

Image Ready

9th May 2001

I am a student of Mathematics. For a short while longer – after which I get into Mass Communication. Anyways – I’m currently doing Mathematics.

Regressive, aren’t I? All right. Consider this word. Image. What do you think of?

Considering my exams are eight days away, I think, “Rank-Nullity Theorem. Image of a function. Pre-image. 1-1. Onto. Surjections and bijections.”

And then I think of my own image.

I’ve always been thought of as this Mister Nice Guy. The sort of guy who appears to be a geek at first sight. The sort of guy who’s cool and fun to be with and it would be nice to have me around as a friend. It’s when things get beyond friendship that my name gets shunted off into a black hole and I am never thought of again. Until the time somebody needs a shoulder to cry on.

It probably stems from my looks. About five feet ten inches of skin and bone; a mass of wavy hair that looks civilised only when an inch long; a constant smirk and an equally constant supply of inane jokes and corny one liners; and a pair of big, round, thick, black spectacles – beer bottles? binoculars? – that are constantly slipping down from their comfortable perch on my nose.

Geek. Yup, that’s me. I’ve even been asked to audition for a TV ad because that look comes naturally to me. And wait till you see my baby photos – man, do I look cute!

So I’ve decided that it is time to let out the freak in me. The stud hiding underneath that thin layer of skin. The irresistible performer, who just cannot help but draw attention to himself. What I need is a complete image makeover.

Being just a student, with no income, I cannot afford to hire one of those image consultants who make their money in political arenas. Spin doctors who advise the Prime Minister about the latest in kurta fashions. Glorified speechwriters. You know what I’m talking about. So I have decided to trust in my closest friends and my own self-perceptions.

Let’s get a few things clear. There are two people whose opinions make a lot of difference in my life. One is my best friend – who’s a girl I’ve signed a marriage pact with, dated three years from now – and my college sweetheart. Between the two of them, they know me pretty much inside out.

What about the babe? She accepts me the way I am. It’s really cool, you know, to be on the verge of a relationship with someone like that.

So, after prolonged discussions with the best pal and the sweetheart – no, we didn’t confer, the discussion has lasted the length of our friendship and has been intermittent and amazingly rewarding – I’ve decided to go in for the following measures.

 The first step is to get rid of these glasses. It’s because of them that I’m not too photogenic – cameras shy away from me, and there’s this awful light where my eyes would be in any of my photographs. It has been decided by family and ophthalmologist to perform Laser In-Situ Keratomy (LASIK – laser surgery, dolt!) upon my eyes during my Diwali vacations. This will be followed by a spectacle-crunching ceremony in front of friends and family. I will then be able to wear sunglasses for the first time in my life.
 The thin look is in, so I’m naturally hot. I shall, however, proceed to build up my muscles with some strenuous workouts, keeping in mind my lean, mean fighting machine look. Sensei, my fitness trainer and karate instructor, has been showering richly deserved abuse on me for a year, ever since I stopped my workouts because of my inherent laziness and the existence of only 24 hours in the day. I shall resume these activities in Pune as soon as I arrive there.
 The wardrobe is okay. However, I need to improve my hair. I shall be beginning a manhunt, to find me the perfect hairstylist. One who can make this jungle of follicles look good. Hey, nothing’s impossible.
 I shall begin to take time out to actually make myself look good. I like to think I’m hot anyways – look at all the girls I know – but it never hurts to look better.

After this exhaustive procedure, that will probably last twenty years, I will truly be me. A magnet, to which all women who wear underwired bras will be attracted. Like moths to a flame. And then, due to corrupted genes, I will develop hypermetropia in the forties, and will require glasses again.

I’ve just realised that life isn’t fair. It just might be worth climbing onto a water tower and committing suicide. Main aa raha hoon and all that jazz. However, due to a fear of heights, the closest thing I will come to jumping off is my foot-high bed.

Anyways, I can at least enjoy the next twenty years as a knockout. Ladies – look out!

Love's Labour Lost

I'm starting off with the earliest FeetITM. Once I've gone through these, I'll upload the current season. Enjoy...

Love’s Labour Lost
3rd May 2001

Something’s happened. Something that has just changed my life – for better or worse, I know not – something that still has me stunned.

It all started when I met her. Long legs, cute smile and an attitude to match. Total chemistry. And then, on the 19th of April, at about 1.15 AM, after a conversation I later realised was aimed at pulling me out of a confused shell, I had my first kiss.

I really am amazed at her bravado. Most girls are quite terrified at the idea of engaging in lip-lock with yours truly.

Anyway, I am not going to blather on about how I was manipulated, or how great it felt, or how far we have gone. That is really none of your business.

A few nights later, on what has now become part and parcel of my routine, we decided to enjoy our newfound passion at Worli. To be more specific, Worli Sea Face. We landed up there around 12.30 AM, and had just begun to relax, when our friendly neighbourhood Pandu havaldar showed up.

Not in any mood to understand that I was being trained at the hands – or should I say lips? – of a master, he irritably waved us off. Shades of Navalkar and Swaraj? We didn’t bother to find out, but sped back to the locale of our first experience together – Nariman Point.

We’ve just realised how lucky we were that night. For the only person who could have spiked our wheels was a sleepy watchman, who we later figured was enjoying a show. He must have gotten bored later – we did get monotonous to watch. I must add here that we did have a lovely time – the babe’ll probably kick me if I suggest otherwise.

The other night, we proceeded on our nightly jaunt. Drove into Nariman Point quite confidently, only to find it blockaded. By a fleet of taxicabs. Gun-runners and lovers, beware! Overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers, we beat an honourable retreat, to kiss another night.

But two young people with active hormones are not to be denied. We then decided to explore Colaba, and damn near got lost around Navy Nagar. No secluded khopcha here either. We then proceeded to get lost somewhere around Mantralaya, where we were able to spend a few precious moments together. Ably guarded by the watchfully lusty eyes of a couple of cabbies and a watchman.

And we have no idea where to go the next time around. What with the idea that public displays of affection are contrary to Indian culture, couples around town have nowhere to go when feeling even slightly amorous. So, in the best interest of love – and me and the babe – I compile a list of a few possible late night hangouts around South Mumbai.

• The little lane near the National Centre for the Performing Arts (NCPA), outside Ashoka Hall. The dogs put a spanner in the works – I think they expect to be allowed to go at it in total privacy.
  
• The bylanes around Mantralaya. With watchmen and cabbies always hanging around to give budding exhibitionists an extra thrill.
  
• The area near Hanging Gardens and Café Naaz, provided there ain’t too much traffic coming through. A lovely view, hopefully no cops.
  

Chowpatty beach, at Rs. 15 an hour. However, one – two – cannot go too far. Get more adventurous than a hug and you are promptly warned. The heat could also be detrimental to romantic interests and stripping to stay cool may lead to temporary internship in a city gaol.

I haven’t been in this relationship long enough to explore the underbelly of our oh-so-liberal city completely. If you know a few spots around South Mumbai where one – two – can canoodle in peace, please be kind enough to let us know. The babe and I will be extremely grateful.

Which leaves me with one stray thought. Navalkar and the ilk hate kissing in public. Wonder if he’d allow us to use his guest bedroom…