Who is your (sugar) Daddy?

Caveat Emptor: I drafted this post circa June,2009. Thanks to the hassles (or joy, depending on how you look at it) of putting in my resignation letter, I never got around to posting it, until now that is. Pliss be to excuse if the incident has gone from sweet to sour.

SCENE I: A shopping mall

Last weekend, my roomies and myself went over to purchase some clothes from the Big Bazaar in Mysore. As you may be aware, guys visit Malls to shop for clothes only when something catastrophic happens, such as a wardrobe burning down. Most other times, we make do with wearing clothes inside out or if the situation is out of hand, *Shudder* getting our Laundry done.

We were almost done with our purchases, when we heard an announcement informing us that for every 1000 bucks worth of stuff bought, they were giving away 5Kgs of sugar. Since sugar is the staple diet of Indians, we decided to up our purchases to 2000 bucks, thereby netting us a cool 10Kgs of sugar. Once the bills were settled, we went up and claimed our 10Kgs of sugar. Which was when we realized how much 10Kgs of sugar really is. It may not sound like a lot, but believe me, it weighs a lot, probably even more than 15Kgs of sugar. Considering that we had already gotten it for free, we lugged the 10Kgs of sugar back home and made up this elaborate story on the way :
We enter shopping Mall. See 'buy one get one free' offer applicable to 5Kg sugar packs. Brains get boggled at the Potential Savings. Purchase a 5Kg sugar pack. Gloat at how recession-wise we are.

SCENE II: Our House in Mysore.

Like the spoils won from a fierce battle, we cradled the sugar in our arms. On opening the door, my roomie is surprised to see a huge packet of sugar paying him a visit. Lesser mortals would have gotten spooked, but not my roomie. No sir, he caught onto the fact that we were hiding behind the packet and offered to help with the heavy load. In one swift move, he took the bill out of the shopping bag without disturbing the sugar packet in my arms. We were depressed that our game was up, since the sugar, being free, would have never been billed.
Hearing my roomie go seething mad, slightly changed that opinion. He was absolutely horrified by the 10 Kgs of sugar printed on the bill, even more shocking was his discovery that apparently, we had paid for it. Although we were a little taken aback by this fact, we decided to play along. Needless to say, on explaining our recession beating idea to him, our roomie went ballistic. He began giving us a lecture on how much sugar an average Indian Family would use, how the average production of sugar in some states is less than 10 Kgs, yada yada yada. Needless to say, we burst out laughing on hearing this, which only added fuel to his flaming rage!
Much madness ensued, until our ears were sore from listening to all the choicest epithets, some, in languages that we were unfamiliar with. (What the hell is a *@%#*!@ anyway?)
Finally, good reason prevailed and we explained how we got it free. Now the problem changed from one of Cost Accounting to one of Inventory management. Apparently, we had no storage space for 10 Kgs of sugar. Which was when we hit upon the next bright idea of the day: Give away 5 Kgs of sugar to the Landlord. Although we didn't get the drastic reduction in our rent that we expected, we had saved the day and probably the whole district from an ant invasion. To this day, I can think of the Landlord paying his milkman, cable guy and other assorted folks in sugar. As for the 5 Kgs that we had with us? 2 packets of Gulab Jamun mix and we were almost half way through. Now excuse me while I get myself tested for Diabetes.

On Strict Educational Institutions

Last week, one of my roomies was hospitalized. Nothing serious, just a bout of diarrhea from which he has since recovered. Anyway, A friend and myself had gone over to the hospital to visit him.
On entering the foyer of the hospital, we notice a lot of visibly tensed people. A whole cacophony of languages is to be heard, with Malayalam and Kannada overpowering the others. My friend guesses that they must be students staying in some hostel. I agree, as I can find no other explanation for why such a large, pajama-wearing crowd should be assembled outside a hospital. Since we do not have time to inquire about the situation, we let it go and move directly to my roomies hospital room. A hale and hearty patient greets us, informing us that the doctors have given him a clean chit. Since we were not familiar with the formalities involved in getting a patient discharged, I go to the foyer to find someone who was aware of it. Which is when I overhear one of the students discussing that they are in need of AB+ blood. I butt into their conversation to inform them that my blood group is AB+ and that I was willing to donate it. They take me to the blood donation center and ask me to wait. Seeing that it would take a long time before my turn came up, I strike a conversation with another student who was also waiting to donate blood. He tells me what happened.
To cut a long story short, it seems that they were students at a reputed private college in Mysore, with a very famous figurehead. As is the case with a large number of reputed private colleges, this one was infamously strict. He told me that allegedly(this is how TOI put it) a member of their college administrative board went through the contents of a personal diary kept by a student. Allegedly, he also threatened her that the contents of the diary will be published on the college notice board. This prompted the student to take an extreme step: suicide. Fortunately, the attempt failed. However, she was in a coma and an urgent surgery was necessary to improve her chances. The surgery required eight bottles of blood and fate had willed that I should be there, at the hospital, to give my share.
I am sharing this incident because it would have faded into obscurity with a small note in the TOI being the only evidence that it occurred. The college will be back to normal, the member of the administrative board will continue his rein of terror on the students.
I have never understood the fascination for extreme discipline in private colleges. They believe that suffocating their students and stifling their voice will make them world movers. History tells us that this is rarely the case. Doing so might make them capable drones, but it would never produce original thinkers. I personally know of cases wherein once students escape from the strict confines of their academic institutions, they abuse their new found freedom. Teenage days and college days are very impressionable periods, and an important lesson that has to be picked up during this period is to learn from ones mistakes. Such educational institutions do not give students the freedom to fall, to make mistakes. They ignore the individuality of a student. They figure that every student can be replaced by a number against which violations can be marked, offenses can be fined and civil liberties can be conveniently neglected. One number to rule them all. However, they fail to realize that these numbers, when pushed and shoved for too far, too long, can behave unpredictably.
The destruction left behind in the wake of such behavior is devastating: A student's aspirations shattered, a family's dream destroyed and a section of the students body left emotionally scarred, perhaps for life.
This incident and the destruction it has sowed, is unlikely to shut down the college. I can only hope that this incident is a grim reminder of why 'we dont need no education', at least not of the strict kind.

UPDATE: I had written this post thinking that strict, nonsensical rules were a bane of the private educational sector. This post from Shishir tells me that these problems have started creeping into our premier educational institutes, including the IITs.

My Question to Jamal

Over the past few days, unless you have been living under a rock, you would have been bombarded with predictions and analysis of Slumdog Millionaire's chances at the Oscars. Since the Times of Twism is meant to reflect the err.. times, I would like to ask Jamal this question:

How many Vijayanagar IInd stage's are there in Karnataka?
A) None
B) One
C) As many as the pink chaddies received by the SRS
D) I quit, Mera paas Oscars hai!

This may sound like a trick question, the kind which Anil Kapoor should have have asked if he really wanted Jamal out of the show, but it really isn't one. If it isn't a trick question, then what is the deal with Vijayangar IInd stage in Karnataka?
Quite frankly, there are too many places named as such, spread over many cities. This is not an isolated occurrence. Hoysala, Hebbal are some of the other places which have a tendency to be repeated across cities. To make things worse, there is also a conspiracy to have the same names repeated within a city. A good example would be Mysore (where I currently reside), which has a place called K.D. Road and for confusion's sake, another place called K.D. Circle. The people who were involved in naming cities here were either sinfully lazy or had a limited repository of names to choose from. Like the sub prime crisis, this can lead to disastrous (and comical) consequences.
With that out of the way, you would be tempted to ask, Am I making a mountain out of a molehill? After all, one could argue, almost every city (in India) worth its salt has an M.G. Road. I intend to silence my skeptics with an incident that would have made Murphy (of Murphy's Law Fame) proud.
A couple of months back, I had received a call from one of those people who pester the salaried population between Jan and March. Contrary to what everyone might think, its wasn't the taxman but an investment adviser, (read as glorified policy salesman) who wanted me to invest in a tax saving mutual fund. Being in a particular tax savingsy mood (this was when the Sensex was in the heady 20,000s), I ask him to come over to the police station at Vijayanagar IInd stage, which is a prominent landmark close to my place. After an hour or so, he gives me a call and we have the following conversation:
Salesman: Hi, I am currently standing in front of the police station at Vijayanagar IInd stage.
Me: Are you sure that you are beside the police station at Vijayanagar IInd stage?
Salesman: Yes.
Me: In that case I should be able to see you. Can you wave your hands?
Salesman(frantically waving): Can you see me now?
Me: Nope. In fact I cant see anyone there. Can you checkup with someone there if you are at the right place?
Salesman: I am 100% sure. I had asked the chai walla across the police station and he had confirmed that this indeed is the police station at Vijayanagar IInd stage.
Me: What? There is no chai walla anywhere close to that place.
Salesman: What are you telling me sir, the chai walla is right across the police station. In fact, a B.M.T.C bus has stopped right in front of it.
Me: B.M.T.C bus? I thought those buses ran only in Bangalore. Since when did they start services to Mysore?
Salesman: Sir, B.M.T.C buses don't have any services to Mysore. Who is in Mysore?
Me: I am in Mysore.
Salesman: This is not fair sir, you had told me that you would meet me. Why did you go to Mysore?
Me: @Q#@%^#$@#$

Yes, sh*t happens to all of us, but it teaches us a lesson too. The mental picture of me trying to pick a guy waving his hands across a street, albeit geographically separated by some 100+ kilometers, taught me why it would be prudent that only a few place names (such as M.G.Road) should be repeated across cities.
By the way, if Jamal had pushed his luck to answer my question, we probably would have had the most anticlimactic ending ever for a movie, probably involving Computer Ji blowing a fuse trying to figure out the right answer.