Since you are here...

...Care for some weird, subtle humour?
Sample some here, here and here

Keep some table salt handy...you might need to take a pinch of it while discovering some more here...

'P' is for...

Patience...always...
...and some observations:-

‘Probability’ is an amazing word. It is as effective a way to escape uncertainty as silence is to escape speaking lies. It adds such a positive ring to things. All the uncertainties in life are probabilities now! See, such a nice word.

Don’t discuss placements with parents’ esp. mother. After explaining for thirty minutes the placement process...my mom advises me to pick and drop companies as if I am an A+ IIM-A grad. Maybe it’s the right time for my parents to know my grades and come to terms with the fact that their off-spring is not exactly brilliant.

To know exactly what one wants and get it is superb...and rare. To know exactly what one wants and not get it is commonplace...and unfortunate. To not know what one wants...well doesn’t matter whether one gets it or not...one (and that will be me) will never know.

So, these days, when at every lunch or dinner table, people are discussing profiles or packages or some such things...my desire to become invisible has reached an all-time high. It touches zenith when someone asks me, “What profile are you looking for?” When they don’t get any response, they proceed, “Oh! Not to worry...Many finance companies coming...You are a finance major, right?” That is the point when my brain automatically goes on a stand-by.

One of my other favourite most-dreaded questions during interviews is, “What are your plans five years from now?” I have never been able to see the logic behind that question.

Talking of packages, how much money does one really need? To survive? To lead a comfortable existence? To be able to buy everything one wants? I don’t know...I have never been employed before. The only time I got money that I could call mine was my meager summer stipend. My imagination bought the world with that amount and my money could not buy my imagination (ok..ok..I will stop being philosophical). Well...the point is that some things will never be on sale. Majority of them, thankfully, can be bought with our CTC-inclusive pay-checks.

Meanwhile, the list of party-plans and we-will-do-this-after-placements is increasing at an alarming rate. Seriously, we were all sincerely studying throughout MBA and were waiting to get placed to finally have a party, no? Hmmm....every party need not need a reason but this reason is any day good enough to celebrate.

So, P is for........ Placement, patience, package, plans, party, parents, probability, philosophy, profile....am I missing something? Hmmm...let me think. Ya, did I mention seldom bouts of Pessimism that can strike even a die-hard optimist like me? No? Then let me tell you, a full chocolate bar consumed within a ten minute span is an effective fool-proof remedy.
After all, companies do not have upper weight limits as one of their selection criteria (really, what a horrendous idea!)

A watchman who steals wallets...hmmm...pretty interesting

There are a number of ways to start recounting an experience – let’s see...
I can begin with a fairy tale style – “Once upon a time in District Park...” or a blunt detective -style – mystery – inducing – “ A red fake-leather wallet got stolen...” or a clichéd, oft-used – “ Let’s begin at the beginning..”
I like that. Without much ado really, let’s begin at the beginning...

First the cast of characters –

CG, DK, MC, SW, me, SC (he had told me that he hates when I initialize people. But then, SC, when the actions have spoken loud enough and courage graph has been so high, names can afford to be abbreviated...can’t they?)

Scene 1:

District Park (located in Hauz Khas Village) is a beautiful place...ruins and water and yellow and green...a page torn from a history book...a place SW so very wanted us to see that we didn’t think twice before going there. We were climbing up and down those narrow staircases when suddenly we encounter a lot of bees. Now I have had my share of hysterical moments with dogs and confined places and so on...but I guess bees were on the list too. I shriek because bees were born with a sole purpose of stinging me and want to put on my sweatshirt and other protective gear. Handing over my wallet to DK, I come out of the ruins. I have had my share of adventure (or that’s what I thought). But people with me were no timidy-bums. They braved the bees, climbed up the ruins, and clicked snaps...only my poor wallet was accidentally left behind.

Scene 2:

We realize that the left- behind wallet has been stolen. There was a person hovering around for quite some time and he clearly was the suspect. And he still was standing there. Let’s question him, we say. Two of us run after him but he does a momentary vanishing act, reappears and runs away in front of our eyes. Meanwhile SW kept calling on my number while SC went upstairs to investigate.

Scene 3:

Ever heard a wall ringing? SC did. And because cell phones were not prevalent during the times of Mughals, he was quite curious. What does one do when a random wall starts emitting cell phone sounds? One tries to feel the wall gently, with the help of ears and hands. Then one discovers a spot from where the sound was coming, removes a rock or two, shifts some grass...and voila! My phone is nestled there nicely, under the rubble. The wallet is missing though (and it is imperative for the wallet to be found because people like me have their every available identification proof plus their driving license plus their debit card in their wallet and carry it everywhere). We search for the thief but in vain. Then some people tell us that he was a watchman. A watchman who steals wallets...hmmm...pretty interesting.

Scene 4:

Imagine a six feet by 3 feet man. He has full beard and curly long hair. His voice has a timbre. He sees us, senses the commotion, asks what’s going on, slams his ID into our faces and yells – “Well, it is me who is the watchman here. If you people are careless enough to leave your wallets unattended, not my problem.” Now, here, let me sum up the speaking abilities of SW and DK in a sentence -- When they speak, people listen. The six feet by three feet man was so over-powered by their voices that he wasted no time in shedding off his hey-I-am-the-boss attitude and took us to the park office.

Scene 5:

Since we had a wee suspicion that our thief could be...well...a watchman...we were shown a stack of passport size photos of the employees. After looking at a few, six fingers pointed out to one photo and six voices chimed in unison—“He is the one”. Had we been starring in Matrix, we would have received accolades. Anyways, I digress. So then, we got our thief’s name – Ratan Kumar. We wrote down the details along with a complaint letter, got it photocopied and were about to leave when guess who walks in the office – none other than Mr. Ratan himself – in flesh and blood ( and carrying milk packets).

Scene 6:

The joy of discovery is a superb feeling. History records that it has induced men to jump out of their bath tubs and run naked on streets shouting – Eureka, eureka! When we discovered or rather re-discovered Ratan... to just say that we all shouted will be an understatement. It was more of a 4356 words-canon salute to Ratan...and here let me take a moment to describe Ratan – he is a pitiable, meek looking fellow. A strong gust of wind could have blown him away...a tornado of words left him speechless. Before he could say anything, that six feet by three feet watchman comes and starts abusing him with choicest abuses(ask SW the abuse details)....and wham! He gets a very audible, almost thundering slap. He, though, is made of stronger metal. He does not confess. So, they take him to the office and beat him up. They fire him and ask us to file a police complaint.

Scene 7:

Ok. Police station. I am quite skeptical...what if Ratan is innocent...and when five people give me are-we-fools-that-we-have-been-pursuing-this-for-two-hours glare...I shut up (and thank God I did!). As we start leaving for police station, three different people approach us.

1. Woman who is Ratan’s wife – “Oh! He is like this only...crazy...wallet must be in the house...I will definitely find it and return it.” We ignore her.
2. Man who is a lawyer – “Oh! Ratan must be innocent. Once I had lost my bag full of notes in the park. He returned it.” We ignore him. To quote SC – “If the man is stupid enough to carry a bag full of notes to a park...then they both deserve each other.”
3. Another man...who is well...Ratan himself – “I know the people who have stolen the wallet.”(Excuse me! Let me guess...ya ...wasn’t that you?). He continues, “Yes, there were two people who were there too, I know them...Come with me...but only Bauji (SC) should come....” Bauji is very interested...but the girls are not quite in sending him alone. What is this alone business...huh! But we let SC go...with DK’s ultimatum that if Bauji didn’t return within fifteen minutes....then straight to police station we go!

Bauji did return...and returned from hell...so to speak.

Scene 8:

But then, they say that heaven and hell is a matter of perspective. Colours of most things in life depend upon the tint of shades you put on. Ratan took SC to some slums where the following things were available for a price – booze, drugs and women. Call it heaven or hell...your choice but what was missing was any sign of wallet. Still, Ratan had the audacity to ask SC – “Do you do these things?” SC said no...Thank you! Wallet...please... Ratan says – “Ok...Meet me here at 11 in the night...alone...or 5 in the morning near IIT flyover...alone.”
Now, now Ratan, we don’t like doing anything alone. We are MBA students...and we are made to work in groups till we learn to adjust or free ride...and therefore off to the police station we went...together.

Scene 9:

Police station was well a police station (All right! Stop scrutinizing the merit of this sentence and forming opinions...This is a very long post and in case you are still reading...I want to let you know that at present, I am kicking myself for not inviting SC to write this...for he is quite good at storytelling). Anyways, you are stuck with me. And where was I? Yes, as we were about to file a complaint, Ratan calls up SC... And tells him he has found the wallet. We are eager to go...and a cop wants to accompany us (we had earlier asked for a plain clothed policeman but our request was rejected mainly on the grounds that we are not...well...Angelina Jolie). So SC went on cop’s bike...and we girls hired an auto.

Scene 10:

When we reach to District Park...we see Ratan waiving the wallet at us. I grab the wallet from his hands...check my stuff...and well feel quite happy. We hand over Ratan to police...and head back to hostel. When we reach hostel...we tell our heroic tale to a lot of people. LM tells me that I was the one who was craving for some adventure in life. Well...it might not have been as adventurous as getting lost in a forest ( and then getting found too so that I can write a really long blog post)...but still, I will be a little more careful for what I wish for...Because sometimes, someone up there hasn’t got his cosmic I-pod on and is actually listening.

There are also many ways to end a story. Let’s see –
I can end with a fairy-tale style – “Lady Luck smiled on them...” or a blunt detective -style – mystery – ending – “A red fake-leather wallet Found. The end...” or a clichéd, oft-used – “All’s well that ends well.”
I don’t like that.
I will just say that there were five people that day who stood with me for four hours searching for something which they had not lost. And that is what that mattered most.
Thank you.