THE NITIE TYPES

STEREOTYPING is so much fun especially when you are the one doing it. So here I am stereotyping each and every single person I (met, ogled at, stalked, fake smiled at, stared, dreamt of having kids with like Dhoom Ali, or cursed with my voodoo spells) in my first month at NITIE. You could be a perfect match to any of these stereotypes. Even I might too. But you know what, I got the idea of writing about it first, so I call dibs on it coz as Rachel from the Dark-Knight says, it’s always ‘finders keepers’.  

And if you are offended, I give a rat’s posterior about it. Its high-time we Indians, stop getting offended by silly things. Like umbrage taken on sharapova’s ignorance about a cricketer. Come on that chick’s hot and she deserves to get away even with murder!!

If you are still offended and want to emulate what political parties or sangh parivars generally do, I suggest you start doing something I have 25 years of experience doing – growing up.

So here we go then, fasten your seat belts and prepared to get offended

1. The Johny Bravo wannabe – If you are one of those peculiar homosapiens that go to the RAMADA nearby not to fill your body with calories but to burn them instead, then you are indeed the deluded, narcissistic pain in the asset I expected you to be.

It’s not a compliment dumb-wit.

To you every-day is Look-I-Wear-Playboy undies day. Wearing five or six ‘Livestrong’ wrist bands don’t show you support for the fight against cancer, it shows you consider cancer a prop to show off. Would you like a testicular tumor with that protein-shake?

And one sincere request, please replace your ‘Being Human’ gym t-shirt (which you fold it up to your shoulders) to a ‘Becoming Animal’ one, if that is expensive at-least wash em once a week. Not Pheromones but slimy puke gets emanated from our body when you jostle ahead of us.

2. Mein Barbie doll banna chahti hoo - As the name indicates, you are made of plastic. Yeah especially recycled ones!!. Market research suggests that your face contains up to 100,000 variations of chemical compounds and can turn pristine monsoon drops to acid rain. Thanks to this menace the ISEM course was started here.

Sitcom accents, stiletto sashays and Botched up Botox jobs characterize your pinkish universe. Conversing in a vocabulary peppered with Muahuahhs and aaawwwws, and maintaining a chip over your shoulder which would never stoop to send a FB friend request to us innocent guys(IIT brothers and Say Cheese guys are exceptions) are few of the many rules you adhere to become the perfect ‘mannequin on the move’. If not for the Supply-Demand imbalance in the gender ratio over here, you would have met the same fate as that of a forgotten heroine’s second cousin in some Bhojpuri film.

3. Hostel 5 is my home- You are one of the most talented human beings to have stepped in the campus. Completely shameless, without an iota of ego, you are ready to bend over if any senior (be 10 years younger to you) even clears his throat in front of you. Don’t forget to include ass-kissing in your CV (which I guess you had got reviewed by all the 240 seniors) A winning (read ‘annoyingly permanent’) smile, flattery and downright pet-like grovelling are key-characteristics of this ‘person’.

There are high chances that you don’t belong to this group, because you would only read this if I were your senior or if reading this gets you into a committee. But then there’s a good chance your budwiser is a guy with exquisite taste and would have shared this write up on his wall. So yeah moron, I made you read my blog about you!! :P

Quite how you maintain any semblance of dignity when you’re licking dirt off the ground and liking, retweeting every one of your seniors social networking shares is beyond me.

4. The Flipkart Fetish’er’ – That rare class of people whose instinct answers Bansal when a sentence ends with Sachin. Those magical alchemists who can turn any topic even ‘Neymar’s Injury’ into a supply chain concept and attribute it to Forecasting error.  Operations oracles who have a spare copy of Heizer in the loo just to productively utilize their bowel movement breaks.

You don’t even have time to realize that the hot chick from your office broke up with you, when you were busy making love to Chopra Mendel and Tony Arnold.

When sane people point out in a GD that Amazon might even stand for a south American river, you guys convolute your face to a constipated look and start spewing a jargon rain at them. Yes I do envy the fat paying job that you would land, but be rest assured that your idea of small talk about ABCs of supply chain is going to put you in a sausage fest for life.  

5. The Hollow men - Please don’t be flattered by the uber-cool name I gave you. It was charity and part of my CSR CV point.

You are those who walk among us unnoticed. You are those who might only be a few inches away, but are a complete blank in our memory. Remember those who are names on attendance list, but missing faces in our minds, yes I am referring to them.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present The Hollow man. Unseen and unheard, they are mere whispers in the crowd of screaming human beings. They are generally excluded from Amrut gatherings, assignments or even birthdays. You know you’re a Hollow man when people react to your name with the question – “Who?”. They are mostly males since the law of supply-demand, amendment 2014 – Gender ratio NITIE ACT suggests ‘THOU SHALL LOVE ALL GIRLS, IRRESPECTIVE OF SHAPE SIZE AGE BODY ODOR etc.

To be continued (Provided – this series isn't banned).  Stereotypes coming up – ‘BFFs within a month’, The AMRUTanjans and loads more

The Highways call me aloud

Sometimes a palanquin journey to carry the angel of our dreams, sometimes an excuse to vent our frustration on the innocent pedestrian through our swearword screams, but almost all the time, at least for me, the late night bike ride home, is a frustrated guy’s only chance to shed some tears, to race against commitment fears and most importantly a chance to breath that fragrant waft of fresh air called ‘Freedom’

A mystic midnight, a half waning moon; the empty highway extends a soothing embrace

A flickering headlight, a fast fading shadow; images of a chimeric pillion’s angelic face

A sweltering sandstorm, a dust spangled forehead; parched -look the cloudless skies,

A dollop of a drizzle, wetting me a trifle; frosty past melts from my foggy eyes

And then,

I rub the rear view mirror off its melancholic stain

Prickly pages erased from life’s panorama of pain

A reckless kick-start, a paralyzing pang; bulging bruises fail me to choke

A jarring engine, an out of tune melody; cacophonic lullaby usurps the nocturnal folk 

A soaring speedo, a face-slapping wind; the airy mistress unbuttons my silken shirt

A tire’s sensuous smooch, a moaning virgin road; rubber proves to be the ultimate flirt

And there,

I throw my bags to belch out a relaxed breath 

The haunting ghosts of commitment die a silent death   

A muddy stretch of road, a screechy disk brake, temporary skid in my eternal race

A confusing crossroad, a betel stained signboard; weeds of doubt itch my hesitant face

A thirsty fuel tank, a flattening front tire; time for the road warrior to rise from the ashes 

A tilt of the bike, a thud of the engine, a life with a new lease fortunately flashes,

And thus,

I mirthfully meandered through the less travelled road

Adventure was indeed this vagrant’s real abode 

And now,

As the blooming bougainvillea’s early morning dew

Bids a moist adieu,

I never turn back,

The ceasing engine keeps on chugging,

Hacking horizons, spitting smoke,

Fuelling dreams running amok,

For its final vroom,

Towards a much needed reincarnation