A typical day... Shouvik style

Blatant copy paste from Shouvik. He is just so awesome.

Damn Obelix. Spare ribs, pork with cumin, pork roast, braised pork. Barrel of beer. You do the math, the man had it good. I’m not one to deny a good man his cholesterol, but when I’m armed with a catapult and a kitchen knife and the solo wild boar in the ISB campus doesn’t show up, my anger’s on boiling point. Pardon the pun, but at this juncture, I’m pretty darned ‘bored’ to death. So I make a few calls to the few good women on campus. Friday night and everyone’s busy looking pretty. Cucumbers, mud packs, almond paste on their faces, so I’m perfunctorily brushed off.
That’s a long fall, brother. From intrepid boar-hunter to feeling like a fly. Optionless, I optimize the situation, dial the digits of a few close buddies. Half an hour and we’re all tuneless Mohd. Rafis, bawling our larynxes off, with bottles of Old Monk and Teachers losing their colour as the minutes roll.

Monday morning and I’m feeling blue. Not the pale ‘ISB logo’ blue but hardcore deep, deep blue. Armed with nicotine, caffeine and common sense, I enter the class. Everyone looks fresh. I wonder how. Figures and facts roll by, the Mensa club wannabes stretch their arms to dislocation point for a fraction of class participation credit. No love lost there, but some points leave me a severe sense of déjà vu. Didn’t the teacher just mention that point, or am I dozing off, again? Never mind. Evening, and it’s time for some club meets, some study group meets (Lehar Kurkure, Thums Up, Haldirams, cashew nuts, and the course pack), a spot of football, where I dodder like a rheumatic rascal. But the point is I try.

These days, I’ve been planning an arm-wrestling and beer-guzzling gig, not to mention posters for Kargil Diwas. Hands and tiny brain packed to capacity, I am bothered with a nagging suspicion that I’ll miss this place sorely. Now for some rumination on that as I head towards Goel’s greasy gruel on a perfect Sunday noon. Shalom.