hELLbEndER's hELLhOLE

To B or not to B

2011-04-03T20:27:00.005+05:30

It has been an eventful year. A year back, I was overjoyed at the prospect of being here. And now, the feeling is entirely different. Is it the same for most of us? Do most of us enroll into a B-school only to realize that it is too stressful for us lazy bums?

The answer has often been yes, for most people around me. It is a battlefield out here every day. The Industrial Disputes Act of 1947 and all other related woeful acts made me realize that even with a ninety nine point something in Verbal Ability, my comprehension of a sentence packed with ‘notwithstanding’ and ‘part thereof’, was substandard at best. Post a 3-month stint with Accounting for Managers, I could hardly tell bonds from debentures. And come third term, I was at the mercy of what a member of the faculty himself referred to as the ‘Holy Trinity’ – which was not averse to packing three ‘D+’s into my grade sheet in one go, that would leave me with a sunk cost of 5 lakhs here and an opportunity cost of 7.5 lakhs in HSBC. Of the luckier ones who haven’t had to face the fact that even costs were classified into such jargon, I am immensely jealous!

But probably the three days of my life that made me feel most incompetent, were the three days of the summer internship process before Merciful Mercer decided to give me a shot. It was hard to believe that one ‘carrying forward your point’ a zillion times and another sitting silent through an entire so-called group discussion were both considered able candidates by the same freaking panel! It was even more difficult to digest that most companies openly discriminated against people with any kind of work experience – the more the worse!

For people who are still contemplating whether to make the same set of mistakes that I made, I would strictly advise against it, if you are even remotely satisfied with your pay – which I hear, can be monetary or relational – the monetary includes base pay, allowances, benefits while the blah blah… God! There I go again!! But coming back to the point, it is my conviction as of now, that paying up 10 ( or more) lakhs for being made to feel mediocre for two years is hardly justified by the painfully inflated and grossly misrepresented seven digit pay packages.

The 'Loved' Letter

2010-04-27T03:45:00.007+05:30

2009 was a tough year for many of us. The Brothers I had dreamt of working for some day, were gone. Half of Hyderabad was wearing masks that scared the shit out of me (my sub-conscious believed a masked gentleman was more likely to infect me than an unmasked one). The voice which sang the first few words I recollect hearing in English, was silenced, leaving millions of children stranded loveless on the streets.

Speaking of smaller things, my work sucked, and I sucked at my work. Not surprisingly, I had been charging lesser client-hours a day than I spent smoking. Not surprisingly either, the hike in my house-rent had comprehensively beaten the hike in my net take-home. I had stopped progressing at my already ordinary guitar-play, as I struggled with the likes of C-minor-additional-9th. And dreaded December had trapped me again, in the CAT-TIME continuum.

The first ray of hope came with the world’s local bank wanting me to analyze home-loans half-way across the globe, for a living. That was when I wrote my first ‘loved’ letter. Oh dear, didn’t I love every word of it! The imaginary m|m that the recipient showed me, and the equally imaginary \m/ I showed myself. With it came the hope of a future, however illusory, but desirable nonetheless.

The second time I wrote the ‘loved’ letter, I was basking in the blissful moments of undeserved triumph. XLRI Jamshedpur – which someone somewhere has recently described as more of an institution, than just an institute. The recipient of the letter patted me on the back this time. Had I been working for a competitor today, this could have been my citi moment of success ;-)

Jharkhand – I can feel it already – the land where grass stubbornly refuses to grow, the water that robbed me of half my hair and the heat that makes me wish I were never born. But then, there are promises… of the adventure of crawling into the campus half-stoned… of the re-incarnation of hELLbEndER on the counterstrike circuit… of sitting in the same classroom, albeit 27 years later, as the greatest orator I have met so far… and of coming face-to-face with the legendary XL ki kudiyan...

The Time Machine...

2009-03-29T03:47:00.007+05:30

Everyone’s retracing the string of memories to the point where it all started. BIT Mesra. The name that spells magic, flooding my heart with images so grand and nostalgia so intense, I wish I could turn back time. And even so, I decided (notwithstanding sincere efforts of some of the more loyal alumni of the institute to coax me) not to attend Convocation 2009. Now, with my Google Talk list proudly announcing the likes of “Back to BIT” and “Khalsa Calling”, I ask myself why. And I swear on everything I hold dear to me, I have no idea! Yeah, my gang is not dropping in at the good old canteen to say hello. The names on my not-so-miniscule list of crushes have no intention of showing up either. And the recession halfway across the globe painfully shows in my salary account. But I had made my decision at the back of my mind, long long back, so long back that I fear I’d offend someone if I bluntly blurt it out here. Five members of the infamous G9 will make their presence felt nevertheless, and I wish them all the very best of counterstrike, Kingfisher and chicken afghani.

My heart swells up with pride in belonging to an institute which is a household name in at least two states of our country – Jharkhand and Bihar. My eyes moisten to recollect the whiff of autumn on those roads laden with a million trees, peeing under which was the purest bliss of life. My ears yearn to feel the uninhibited excitement of “abey server chalu hai!” … the sincere simplicity of “sutta pila na”… the unnoticed rhyming of “saala bho****wala”.

But no, I’m not going there… not again… never again.

Hell Down Under? Really??

2009-03-21T04:24:00.014+05:30

It took scores of screening videos scattered about on my hostel LAN, and a hard-earned television bought when I was nearly penniless, to get me hooked to MTV Roadies. I am only one among millions who take to watching this show so casually, and then end up religiously watching its repeats, repeatedly!! The screening rounds were an absolute treat – the khool dudes andhawt gals portraying what they imagined could be a probable Roadie, while the bad bald twins so mercilessly peeled off every layer of pretence to expose what they really were. Imagine portraying yourself as someone else, on national television, while your friends back home watch you do the faking act. And then, all of a sudden, your true self lies obscenely exposed, and your friends laugh their asses off at you. It’s worse than being naked on TV!! And voyeurs of my kind absolutely love it! Next time I accompany mom to her favorite temple, I’ll sincerely pray for some known faces to show up in a Roadies interview sometime soon.

At the end of the interviews, while a couple of smart people did make the scene, most scraped through with little promise. And what started off as a search for entertainers for idle devils, the bald twins only had a bunch of idle devils in their hands. Not that they deserved any better! VJ Ranvijay (who incidentally, is a Roadie himself) kept chanting the mantra of ‘Hell Down Under’ while our Roadies travelled all over India collecting cow dung and imitating folk dances. And as these so-called tasks broke every little promise the interview rounds had made, one could only see a crotch-hitting championship and an assortment of verbal obscenities (which our dear country’s lingual diversity makes possible) as a desperate attempt to seek attention.

Well, some of them did make it to Australia, and survived a face-saving two minutes in a ring with firangi wrestlers. But what remains to be seen is whether Indian television can successfully live up to the hype it’s creating over reality shows of this genre. Or will the voyeurs of the nation go back to watching Fear Factor on AXN instead.

SPIRITually Speaking...

2008-09-15T14:44:00.005+05:30

It was nothing close to what guys want their first time to be like, and every bit of what the first time invariably turns out to be. No, no, not that first time! It was on an unassuming summer evening that I gulped down my first mug of Kingfisher Strong. The taste was far from pleasant. The smell didn’t bother me much, but I did freak out at the thought of it bothering people back home. So much so, that apart from double-brushing my teeth, I took extra effort to make sure it didn’t linger in the washroom after I was done peeing!

Three sober years later, I found myself sipping White Mischief at one of the seediest places around, subconsciously spoiling the ‘first times’ of two of my best buddies. Little did I know back then, that this place was in reality, the most amazing haven for all the blessed drinkers, smokers and dopers of BIT Mesra. Khalsa Dhaba… where, in celebration of the end of a hard week’s mid-sems , or in mourning of a beautiful relationship gone sour, beer flowed like water and entire cigarette packets vanished in minutes… where the food was far better than the Novotels and the Marriotts put together… where bathroom singers and the worst of dancers united to create some of the most wonderful moments of my life.

The charm of Bacardi white rum lasted a while, the way it sends a momentary tingle of warmth down the chest with every sip. So did the sheer smoothness of McDowells Signature whiskey. The raw heat of Old Monk red rum proved life-saving in sub-zero Shimla. And vodka, together with some good music, was always a hot favorite. But the way beer slowly poisons the brain, progressively beautifying every thought and every bit of conversation, no wonder its magic has clung on to never let go.

And now, the first time, however significant it might have appeared in anticipation, only remains a vague memory and what really, really matters is how special it’s going to be this time, like most of my (literally) intoxicating Friday nights.

Plug n Play!!

2008-08-06T15:02:00.008+05:30

With little to do and a lot to anticipate for two weeks at a stretch, it was not an unwelcome change starting off with the new hire training. We began playing around with Visual Basic for Applications, dwelt on SAS (Statistical Analysis Systems came as a formidable expansion for an innocent looking three letter acronym), pondered inquisitively upon Accounting jargon, learnt a few neat tricks in Audit Command Language while JEDAR turned out to be too hot to handle.

And that’s where we stand now, till the point I am summing up what has been one of the most enjoyable learning experiences of my life. Moody old professors and their Flip Flops and Schmidt Triggers have given way to good-humored twenty-somethings talking of Assets, Liabilities and Balance Sheets. The technicalities apart, the cab-rides to the E Block at Gachibowli for the initial two weeks of training sessions, with the music systems blaring out incomprehensible cacophony in the morning, and us weaving melodious notes together in the evenings, brought me one step closer to the college days that still haunt me with recurring nostalgia.

A two-day break from unscrupulous orkutting was the Ascend Campus-to-Corporate programme at Novotel. While the workshop received a mixed response, the grand Cocktail Dinner was an instant hit with the freshers. Loads of beer, music, karaoke and some crazy hours on the dance floor… our very first taste of the grand parties Deloitte so lavishly throws now and then.

Meanwhile, our first salary has given us a million more reasons to smile. Everyone’s having a ball, shopping and partying like never before. And it sure feels good to be part of this insanity!

The Green Dot

2008-07-03T23:37:00.014+05:30

We landed at the beautiful (and windy) Rajiv Gandhi International Airport in Hyderabad, took a 700-bucks cab :( and arrived at the nice and cosy Deloitte guest house at Hitech City. Perfect location, nice food, and wifi connectivity (more specifically, Google Earth!) did us some real good for the first two days; gettin used to the new place was as smooth as could be. So out we went, the Three Musketeers on an unprecedented house hunt, renting an enviable 2BHK close by, though we had to cough up a grand or two more for the place. For, at the end of a day's work, the setting here is just perfect for a relaxing hangout with friends, Pizza Hut, Baskin n Robbins, Dominos, and lots of other eateries just across the street.

The first Deloitte experience was at this hotel called Novotel, one of the grand locations in Hitech City, which was host to our New Hire Orientation programme for two days. A number of inspiring orators took the stage one by one while the audience watched on in awe-stuck admiration. The young hires too (and here, I mean the guys) looked really smart in formals, while we BITians took immediate notice of the substantial number of cute-looking girls around, something we weren't really used to at the institute. By the end of the orientation programme, we'd signed on some 80 pages of documents, including the offer letter and the application forms for bank accounts; hogged like hell and as we Deloitte people put it, 'networked' amongst most of the new hires. The next day we hit the floor, all decked up and enthusiastic beyond the usual implication of the word. How friendly and informal all the people were is something I'll not try to desribe here. But it suffices to say, I fell in love with D Block 2nd floor, almost instinctively. The culture here is, one addresses people by their first names, be it a colleague or the CEO. The buddies we were assigned introduced us to most people in our service line. Darshan deserves special mention here, coz despite being assigned buddy to only two of us, he had almost all the new hires crowding around him in no time. In a few minutes, I felt totally at home. Once our laptops and cubes were assigned, we went around exploring the aesthetic interiors of the building.

The inside seemed as terrific as the outside promised. My personal favourite?? The breakout area where everyone loves to be for a quick capuccino or latte, and the cafeteria that lures relentlessly till you finally give in to the seduction. Adding to the attraction are catchy names like the Den and Deep Purple for the conference and training rooms. And to top it all, just stand anywhere inside the Deloitte campus for a couple of minutes and you see a dozen pretty faces pass by!! A series of lectures by people in our service area, plus loads of diet coke and potato wafers kept us busy the second day. We lunched at Masti, with some of the senior management people in our service area. The next day was a Friday, when everyone arrived in casuals reinforcing the impression of a shopping mall that the Deloitte office invariably gives us. A short session on business mailing etiquettes later, we walked out brandishing our new i-cards, hypnotised in one week flat by the place where the best choose to be...

Airy Tales

2008-06-20T14:49:00.003+05:30

I look at my boarding pass and subconsciously sympathise with those who might take hours or even days longer to be back home. The glitzy interiors of the Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Airport and the all too familiar smell of Café Day Express make me dizzy. My luggage taken care of and my iPod blinking red, I find myself a cosy nook and wait for the security check. Checking my watch now and then, with rapidly thinning patience, I indulge myself in some short-lived reverie of what has been and what might be. Browse through some cruelly overpriced snacks and reading material. Pay a worthy visit to the clean washroom, a very very rare find in our country. Grab a drink and go back to find my cosy nook taken. Finding myself another seat, I discover I’m running short of ideas to spend the remaining half hour. So I finally give in to the most generic public pastime of the Republic of India… people-gazing. The endless stream of humanity flowing in and out of the huge waiting lounge, makes it look pitiably ordinary and cramped up. An oversized couple struggles with their equally oversized baggage at the check-in counter. A toddler digs at his nostrils with earnest enthusiasm. Casually readjusting his hairdo, a ‘cool dude’ elbows his way through the crowd. An attractive twenty-something pretends to be oblivious to the superlative degree of attention she’s receiving.

An uneventful security check and fifteen more minutes of boredom later, I board IC-205 for probably the last time. Peace-deprived for the past couple of hours, I fall asleep soon after. What follows deboarding is another annoying wait for the luggage to arrive before I finally head home, cursing the painful five-hour timekilling for a one-hour flight. My boarding pass mocks me as I wish I were on one of those trains rushing through plain, hill and valley instead, taking hours or even days longer to be back home.

All Play n No Work....

2008-06-03T10:31:00.005+05:30

“Spectacular achievement is always preceded by unspectacular preparation.”

- Robert H. Schuller

Everyone dreams big. But there’s so much disparity in the level of effort people put in to achieve them. I asked one of my acquaintances sometime back, why some people tend to be more hard-working than others. The answer was simple and profound at the same time. Hardships teach us lessons in responsibility. And responsibility is what fuels hard-work. I am still trying to figure out the implications of this fact, and whether I’d always be my blasé self until I encounter hardships.

Notwithstanding the gravity of the discussion, I was reminded at that point, of an amusing classification of students in the college:

lame-ass: hardworking underachiever
mama’s boy: dedicated note-maker
bond: laid back and smart
true BITian: play hard; party harder.

During my own bitter-sweet four years of electronics engineering, I’ve met all four kinds and have known them closely, befriended them, admired them, envied them, detested them for their specific idiosyncrasies. People always grumble about unfulfilled dreams…. the ever-seductive IIT, the mysterious CGPA, the treacherous CAT… and all the while, the great virtue of hard-work comes so naturally to a privileged few and remains so elusive for the unfortunate many.

A Lot like Love

2008-04-16T15:06:00.004+05:30

People have scorned me, abused me, ridiculed me and even abandoned me for this. That I fall for a girl too often and then distance myself soon after, remorseless all the while. It’s not a topic of debate among female friends; they unanimously hate me for it. But among guys, I have a healthy strength of supporters. The reason being, most guys, at one point of time, realise the futility of the concept of ‘true love’. The a**hole simply doesn’t exist.

I remember this old friend of mine who refused to sleep with an inviting girlfriend, in manifestation of his ‘true’ love for her. The idiot never got to see her again. Another one of these Shakespearean lovers I came across spoke of starry skies and summer rains to his lady love. Before long, he heard stories of sweaty nights from someone better informed. Lovers have come, lovers have gone; but true love has been the eternal apparition.

In high school, I had a crush on this pretty girl in a junior class. As I watched time go by, crush became ‘true’ love, and we were going around. Plenty of secret meetings and late-night phone calls followed. Everything looked gorgeous and everyone saintly. I never refused to sleep with her, as I never got that lucky anyway. I did talk of starry skies and summer rains, though. But the next thing I know, she is seen kissing this drifter of sorts, in a dark alley. My disillusionment wasn’t quick and painless. But I learnt my lesson well.

Since then I’ve respected love in no other than its filial form. Life has been beautiful and the concerned gods generous. I’ve had my fair share of beauteous company. But no; the starry skies and summer rains have never bothered me again.

The Last Lines....

2008-04-14T02:16:00.004+05:30

Oh, wish some happy thought were mine
To fill my heart with gladness
So parting, I may leave behind
The trace of every sadness.

Now every sight of tender eyes,
Of playful breeze and leaves auburn
And every pretty smile reminds
Of purest joys that’ll never return.

No gentle pat shall drown again
The pain of lonesome pondering,
Nor solitude amidst a crowd
Be ever again bewildering.

A moment’s mine; and may I pause
To cherish a dream so sweet?
What if another moment comes
To end my self-deceit!

Welcome to the Jungle!!

2008-04-13T12:41:00.003+05:30

Time to introduce the notorious G-9, a group of nine eccentric individuals who’ve made its membership a matter of neighbour’s envy, owner’s pride. All that follows is at the reader’s discretion and I feel no regret whatsoever for being totally honest and unambiguous.

Vijay Bhaskar a.k.a. GURU: The evil genius. Conspirator of the highest class. Has spent most of his engineering life with a bottle of beer at Khalsa, and has created several irreversible addicts out of unassuming individuals. His “instant plans” have taken us places.... from being nearly shot at the CRPF firing range to skiing our asses off in snow-laden Manali. With unmatched comic timing and ingenious one-liners at the tip of his tongue, he commands great respect from his friends and fear from his enemies.

Chandan a.k.a C.H.: This guy’s one hell of a story-teller. Makes the dullest of incidents interesting, murdering most facts in the process. The undisputed King of AK-47 is either on a frag-hunt on BIT’s counterstrike servers, or a fag-hunt in the smoky nooks of the hostel. With a gifted voice and an ear for music, he has made many an evening unforgettable for all of us.

Abhishek Roy a.k.a. ROY: The cute, plump sweetheart of G-9 is probably the laziest individual to have walked planet Earth. He effortlessly bunks classes even when he’s running short of attendance, can arrive half an hour late for a project presentation and refuse to attend a Lab for a game of DOTA in the cosiness of his hostel room. Well known for his everlasting stock of duty-free exotic cigarettes, he can be an absolute entertainer on his day.

Gaurav a.k.a. DUKHI: The man of principles who has vowed to do no wrong. Has a 7.8 CGPA, a penchant for hard work and is an articulate speaker. In short, an unlikely member of G-9. But when he’s free of inhibitions (and that’s way too often) his wackiness can make you laugh till you can’t bear that pain in your belly any more. Is enthusiastic about anything and everything, but unfailingly helps keep the drunk and doped from going haywire.

Rahul a.k.a. NEPA: Allegedly hailing from one of the great aristocratic families of Nepal, this ever-smiling ‘laughing buddha’ consistently agrees with everyone under the sun. While he’s blessed with enviable good looks and a heart of gold, he can also be the silent assassin fuelling the worst of fights, while he sits back and watches in blissful innocence.

Rohit a.k.a. GABBAR: He’s the man in black. From his Levis Strauss t-shirt to his Gary Cooper (??) pullover, it’s all a nasty shade of black. Compensates for his terrible analogies with his Kyle-like analytical abilities, and is (unfortunately) the only one in G-9 who dutifully makes notes in class. Lacks wits to counter the cruelties of G-9, but his sporting spirit and endless enthusiasm make him real fun to be with.

Praveen a.k.a. TP: All that’s old is not gold. This guy has reflexes slower than a sloth’s earning him the title of buddha (oldie). An artist when it comes to taking people’s case or making side-splitting tri-syllabic replies, he is at his best when he’s drunk and abusive. His membership of G-9 is under serious reconsideration owing to his prolonged abstinence from fag and booze. But in my personal opinion, this guy’s an indispensable entertainer and awesome company.

Vijay Hansda a.k.a. MASEEHA: Ready to pay for anything we might desire anytime, he’s the unofficial sponsor for G-9’s unplanned indulgences. Blessed with natural style and chic, he makes everything he does look classy, be it dancing, skiing or magging (now that’s from counterstrike, again!). An extremely patient listener and everyone’s trusted secret-keeper. The only one who could withstand crazy night-outs in winter, without gulping down a single glass of booze.

Anindya a.k.a. DIO: Ahem... That's me. I'll keep this for someone else :)

What's in a Name??

2008-04-11T09:45:00.003+05:30

Dear Readers,
I guess I owe you people an explanation as to why I strangely christened my blog hELLbEndER’s hELLhOLE, instead of something poetic (read cliché). For those who haven’t set foot on BIT’s counterstrike circuit, I’ve played and loved this game for two semesters now, under the pseudonym hELLbEndER. And hELLhOLE was the name of my server, the one-stop destination where the likes of LEITO, BlAcK FaCtioN and K->2 battled for honour.
Among so many other things, I’ll miss this game; the passion, the sledging, the madness. And as a reminder of the greatest addiction that ever gripped Hostel 5A, I name this blog after my CS server.
With guns down,
hELLbEndER

The Beginning of the End...

2008-04-06T15:39:00.004+05:30

After eighteen warm and cosy years of being at home, it was an oddly uneasy feeling landing up in Ranchi. Birla Institute of Technology, Mesra. Formidable name. Formidable stature. Great Expectations. But once here, it all grew clearer what lay beneath the gloss and glam. The deans were an unimpressive lot. The labs were “museumical”, the hostel buildings ancient, the hostel rooms so small they'd choke you if you decided to relax for a couple of hours at a stretch. What was boldly advertised as a shopping complex (lolzz) turned out to be a couple of shops selling stationery and snacks.

The classroom made one even more uncomfortable. The abundance of over-age guys and the absence of pretty-looking girls was far too conspicuous. The celluloid dream of hunks and babes in and around a buzzing canteen was at once shattered.

And one after another, the semesters went by. First and Second sems; acclimatising and adjusting way too often. Third sem; finding your type, making new friends. Fourth sem; hanging out (finally) in places better than the campus had to offer. A new crush after a set of pretty-looking girls enrolled. Fifth sem; falling in love, the department and its brutalities becoming more and more bearable. Sixth sem; the terror of microprocessor programming and its feared professor. Seventh sem; the placements.... the glory and the dejection, the celebrations and the brooding. And then came counterstrike, the biggest addiction i've ever witnessed and experienced.

And now comes the final semester. Its the beginning of the end. The time we realise how much we adore the place we once detested.

It's been an incredible journey this far. Being religiously late to class. Making up for the previous night’s sleep deprivation. Cell phones screaming aloud the latest Bollywood hit. Revelation of the month-long secret of where your attendance stands. Finishing off the latest Dan Brown bestseller under the professor’s nose. Staring endlessly at the only cute girl in class. Sketching hilarious caricatures of the old man boring you to death. Wildly celebrating a period off, in unison.

Holding her hand, walking down the OC road. She pulling her hand away and giving you that there-are-people-around smile. Sharing your other earphone as you’re not listening to the song anyway. Bunking classes for a clandestine breakfast. The coffee, the breeze, the fallen leaves, the rain… Eyes welling up to think you’d soon part.

A quick fag at the downs, beside the river. Running off to Khalsa to grab a beer. That amazing trip to Shimla-Manali. Playin counterstrike till your eyes water. Abusing the dean for a power failure. Finally waking up too late for classes. Composing that cool ringtone and forwarding it to friends. Playing sweet melodies on a mistuned guitar. Studying for a paper under the streetlight. Jeering, mocking, booing and hooting… A hesitant sorry for the last day’s rudeness. The great dread of a GPA card. An evening at the roof, sharing old secrets.

It’s time to say goodbye to everything we ever loved or hated about this place. It’s time to step forward, boldly or timidly, into the big, bad world outside. And we bid adieu, treasuring memories of a lifetime.

***hELLbEndER's hELLhOLE***