It's official now, I don't have AIDS!!!

As usual, before I come to the topic, I would like to express some weird emotion. Today it is surprise. Surprise at how much I have become a blogger, and how addicted I have become to this new-found hobby. It so brilliant now, there suddenly seems so much to write about. I have begun to live from a blogging point of view. No no, its not like I need to be before the monitor screes 24x7, actually its just hr opposite.

Basically there are two noticeable changes. Every time something happens that's even remotely funny, out of the ordinary or just plain unusual, something devilish awakens inside. I hunch back my shoulders, lick my lips, stare desirously and rub my hands with glee(I don't actually do it, its just a picture I like to paint for myself), thinking about how I'd blog about it and how challenging it would be to present this bland incident into something really worthwhile.

The second is everytime an opportunity to do something different presents itself, I grab it without a second's thought(or a second thought... whatever appeals to you) hoping that whatever happens, whether I fail or succeed(in the above mentioned differentiating opportunity) I will most definitelt blog about it, and feel good.

Most surprisingly, I don't have to go around looking for topics, things just happen, as they always did. I am just more observant. Try it, I'm sure you'd feel the same.

Waise, today's topic belongs to the first category of incidents, and my next post, "Conversation with a pimp" belongs to the second.

Though I'm sure a lot of you would like me to post the second one first, I'm not going to. Why? Just to show that I blog for myself, and don't care whether I am read or red(hehe, I meant to type read or not, but the typo was too silly to backspace). To prove that I am unaffected by my reader count(though I visit it everyday, :) when it rises and :( when it falls)

Here goes. Some of you may know, and some may not, some on hearing it would smile and be happy for me, while others would dart my face mentally with choicest fleeting expletives(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fleeting_expletive for non GRE-ites), going !@#$%^. But I am going to Singapore and there isn't a darn thing you can do. HEHE, lite lo, just kidding.

As part of my VISA application, I was required to undergo a few tests, and guess what the Ministry of Manpower requires people seeking an employment pass to undergo a chest x-ray and an HIV blood test. When I first read it, first I re-read it, and then told everybody about it. Though it's nothing extraordinary, it just... I don't know.. it felt like something different.

As it was too late I had to get it done here in Goa, so the day after I arrived I went to the family doctor. I took my mom along, as she knew him and hopefully that would help us jump the queue(don't you bloody make that face, we all do it, I am just admitting it).

Now this trick worked, and I went in ahead of half a dozen people of all possible, shapes, sizes, colours, ages, dental conditions, clothing tastes, even genders(hehe, just made up the last one). A post could be written on the 5 minutes that I waited in line, but not even my enemies deserve this brutal a punishment, so I'll let that pass.

I explained to the doctor, what needed to be done. He scribbled HIV and chest X-ray on two slips. Which slip said what, I couldn't figure, but I'm not a pharmacist right(I guess they'd need to have a course on handwriting recognition in pharmacy colleges from what I have seen them reading from) I remember once, when a doctor apparently spit on my prescription(given that he used a red pen, that's the closest simile I could think of) but the pharmacist had no problem at all getting my the right stuff.

Coming back... where were we? Oh yes, there was a pathology lab on the ground floor of the building with the doctor's clinic(aren't there always.. and yes, you guessed it, a pharmacy too). It looked more like a bar than a lab.. but then again, this is Goa we're talkig about. Who knows what happens there at night? :)

Now here comes the funny part. The person in charge, was a young nurse in cheap party wear(I swear that's what I thought when I first saw her) and when I entered my mom was with me :) . No, the situation wasn't awkward, it was just a stupid thing that needed to be done, but the nurse didn't know this.

When I showed her the slip, she looked at me and them at my mom, and gave an awkward smile. It struck me a little later, and it was hilarious. I'm sure she must've thought, "What a supportive mother!!" I couldn't stop giggling, but somehow composed myself. It got even better when she asked me questions like, How old are you? Where do you live? and Have you had this test before? I guess seeing my mom there, she's didn't probe further, else I'm sure she would have asked, When did it happen? Did you use a ...? And if it was a male nurse. Was it worth it? HEHEHE. And seeing my adventurous form lately, I'm sure I would have given some worthy answers.

The test took little over 5 minutes, and I was determined to get more out of the situation. Before she came out, I asked my mom to wait outside near the bike. When the nurse came out with the report in a sealed envelope, I feigned a worried look and for extra points tried to shiver my hands as though the envelope held the key to my future. Of course, she was smiling. I furst wore a worried look, but smiled only after her smile and made sure she noticed my awkward delayed smile turning into a full fledged joyous grin, on opening the envelope.

Nothing as eventful happenned with the chest X-ray. Just that I would have liked to face the camera when he took my pic. LOL... no guys I'm not drunk.

Later on the day, Katiyar calls me to ask about the HIV test result. What a bastard!!

My last post from Bhagirath

Nothing I say, or do, no joke that I crack, no speech I make, no sarcastic comment, no amount of distractions, no amount of alcohol... nothing can change what today is. Today is my last day at this abode of education, this dwelling that has given me the best days of my life,  the best, the very goodest place on earth, and nothing can change that. 

Forget summer of 69, these were the best days f my life. Everything changed that fateful night when I entered the gates of BITS-Pilani. Though we did not realize it, it set wheels in motion. People from all over India, who given any other permutation would never have met each other, began a journey that would change everything in their lives. That day I saw and met strange people, people so strange I hadn't even heard some of the places they had come from. From time to time I thought to myself, if I was an hour early, or had I arrived the next day, how different would things have been. I would've been in another hostel with different people. How different would I turn out? Would I have become a ghotu, maybe later to be part of Wi-Fi?(However ridiculous it may sound, it was a possibility) Or would I have become a hard core gamer, spending all day on DOTA or CS? I probably wouldn't have done a lot of things that I am grateful for, or would I?

Now 3 and a half years down the line, I think again, and you know what? I wouldn't have changed a thing. Not because I am happy for what I have become. But because, it wouldn't have changed things. You see, we are what we choose, consciously or sub-consciously. 

The course of our lives is not determined by our abilities, but by our choices. No matter where you are from or when you arrived, nothing would've changed. A few friends here and there maybe, but what you are now is a collective outcome of the choices you made, during the course of your time here, and I am happy for the choices that I made. 

Coming back to psenti-stuff. I admit it, I love BITS and have no qualms admitting that I am going to cry all the way to Delhi. No other place in the world could've given me what BITS has. The answer to who I am. My time has been a journey of self-discovery. Every person I met, every thing I did, every course that I studied, taught me something about myself, and for that I am ever grateful. 

Coming to the people, every place is defined my its people, and in India, where the most abundant resource is human resource, its difficult to get such quality in quantity, unless you're in a university such as BITS. 

Here, in 3 and half years, I have made friends and foes, people I will forever remember, people I wish I had never met, people that I want to be like, and people seeing whom I am thankful that God didn't make me like them, but most importantly I have met people who are special and have become important to me, and that includes each and every one here. My wingies, my PCr mates, my juniors, the chowkis, the mess workers, the Deans, the professors, the rediwallas, the C'not people, the worshop fellows, the rickshawallas, the guy selling sweet corn, IC workers, the guy in O-Lab, the fellow in Gym-G, the OASIS outstation participants, the alumni who visit.... each and every one of you is special, and I thank you for making me feel so very special. 

Airport Encounters

My reader count has shot ominously since the last few days, ever since I started writing about nothing at all, nothing in particular. So its true then, the butterfly chasing, the giving up and then the sitting of the butterfly on thy shoulder story, or maybe I am just that awesome, that very popular but people are realizing it just now.

A few of you might have noticed that, I have begun quite a few posts in a similar way. For those who have- its called blogging license, I can do and write anything I like so just shut up and keep your comments to yourself, and those who didn't-lite lo and read on.

So as the title says, I'm going to relate some of my encounters with the fair sex. But as I am all out of them, just as I was 15 years ago, I'd rather keep it normal and tell you about a couple of funny incidents at airports.

Up until BITS, I had never travelled by plane. Well, actually there was this once when my mom was pregnant with me, but I didn't have much chance to screw up then. Though my 2 year old elder brother more than made up for it, by dropping hot coffee all over the unsuspecting airhostess. 

The first time, was after first year when I travelled by Kingfisher to Goa. I know most of you are smiling, and yes I too was smiling as I boarded the plane. But at the Delhi airport, which was my first look at one, I got into the wrong line and misguided around a dozen people behind me.

I arrived quite early had plenty of time to use the loo. For those who are curious and 'achambit', the best way to see how much money was spent building in a public building is to have a look at the loo, more specifically the urinals. The answer will probably be wafting in the air even before you reach it.

So basically I realized at the last moment, when the guy ahead of me asked how long it would take to reach the Gateway of India after we landed. So I hurried off and was the last in line. We were on schedule, but once I entered I could feel all eyes on me, as though it was a bus that would have left earlier had I not been late. I could hear whispers "yeahi hai woh, saala, jisne late karwaya." The plane had a stopover at Mumbai, and I had half a mind to get down, but somehow managed not to screw up.

The second time, I was again at Delhi airport. This time I had humungous luggage, weighing as much as 3 Kingfisher airhostesses put together. One is allowed 20 kg luggage, excluding hand luggage. When I put my luggage on the machine, it showed 33 kg, and she asked me to pay 900.

900, that's half the cost of the frigging ticket. But she wouldn't budge. I tried a few bargaining tricks, "C'mon ma'm, I am a student. Am going home after a year and a half and besides I don't have any cash." The !@#$% didn't budge, so I had to go back, open up the scanned luggage, and change my main luggage bag to my handbag and vice versa, and get it scanned all over again. It was dreadful, I was in Delhi airport, pulling out pieces of shorts, undergarments, socks and what not, and stuffing them into my so called hand bag.

Now this final "hand bag", looked as though it contained a dead body and I looked like one of those workers at a construction site, carrying around bags of cement. The security guys were all staring at me. One even said, "Bhai sahab, yahaan sirf hand bags allowed hain". Huffing and puffing and out of breath, I dropped my bad with a thud replied, "Yeh mera hand bag hi hai, hand mein hi hai na". 

The fun doesn't stop here. After the half hour wait, when the announcement was of the plane's arrival. I got in line, and the lady security guard stops me, and why? The guy who metal-detects you, and tidies you up later, hadn't stamped my boarding pass. She asked me to repeat the whole fucking process.

I had quarter of a mind, to argue. But the Sherpa lady guard, with a huge bun and a mole under her nose, looked like one of those rakshashis in Ramanand Sagar's Ramayana. So I obediently returned, to behind the metal detector. When I went forward, they asked me to go back and deposit the mobile so it could go through the scanner. Unbelievable! It was as though the bloody X-Ray scanner would scan all contacts, find possible links to the underworld and remove any chances of it being a bomb. 

My worst fear was that, if I sped to anything over a casual walk, chugging along this dead body,  moving against the line, I'd be mistaken for a suicide bomber and shot. Jaane tu ke climax mein saalon ne dikahaya hoga, saale abhi karke dikhao, goli se uda denge.

Now again I was late to board, and again those meaningless stares, "Yehi hai woh, yehi hai". 

Mostly, when you reach your seat, the airhostess helps you put your luggage in the upper compartment. But looking at my luggage, the bag of cement, she didn't even bother. So I somehow pulled it to the top, punched it gently a few times, after all kidney wagairah bachani thi na bechne ke liye. Finally reached, safe, sound and bruised.