The secret source of humour is not joy, but sorrow.
-Mark Twain

Humour and good taste are contradictions.
Like a chaste whore.
-George Bernard Shaw

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Friday, June 01, 2007

         Something was burning. I knew it. I sensed it. From, the second the Great Chimp's revered feet set itself upon Ahmedabad, the smell followed him everywhere. From the airport, in the taxi, into the campus right upto my room it faithfully sought after me like a trained circus elephant. Throughout the whole day. I was confused. As far my memory was able to fling itself and boomerang back, I know that I had a bath. But the smell existed. It did not seem to be a hallucination because if it was then I must very well be hallucinating the hallucination which made perfect sense to me.
         Lunch came and by now, it was quite a flustered and tired Chimp that trudged to the mess, mentally solving complex equations, eliminating possibilities and calculating various permutations and combinations trying to solve the mystery of the burning odour but all that I came up was a long, drawn out blank. I absently gobbled up the food, engrossed in my own mental machinations. I vaguely remembered somebody, with a lot of teeth telling me to meet up at the LKP (Louis Kahn Plaza - and it's light aeons away from a mall if anybody of you have been that dork enough to come to that conclusion.) that night and that I had nodded.
         Nine sharp I drew myself up and emptied a bottle of Denim cologne and a phenyl bottle to unsuccesfully drive the vapour away. The AXE effect proved as useless as a toothpick for a gladiator going to fight drunk lions. Having torn out most of the little hair that I had, I accepted defeat and strode purposefully to the LKP.
         At the LKP I found bunches of people who were assiduously loitering, scratching and grazing grass. I marched to one bunch and dawdled around for some time, nervously saying hellos to silent lifeforms, until I squished something soft and one of them got up and gave me a visual demonstration of the dental implants given to it by it's parents. I took to my heels and bumped into another gang which apparently at first sight seemed to be made of humans. Atleast the silhouettes did. I melted myself, inadvertently into the group, under the cover of darkness without a murmur and discovered successfully at second sight that they were homo sapiens indeed.
         We simply stood staring at each other, for quite a long time, smiling away like men who were told that their wives had suddenly been jailed for apparently no reason. Suddenly, all them were juggled out of their lip widening performances by a voice that would have easily put a banshee out of business. The voice continued it's Arnold Scwharznegger style articulation and asked each one to introduce ourselves. We did obediently. And that supposedly broke the proverbial ice. After some time we again hit boredom and slowly ambled towards the flood lights. There again, under the pugnacious request of the Voice and it's newly acquired partner- Karaoke, we introduced ourselves. Then we settled down to pleasant conversations and once again just before we split, introduced ourselves once again to ward off the Evil Eye and broke up for the night.
         I walked back to my dorm in abject dejection. Me, the only genius in the Universe ever to have invented Bed Cricket, the only warrior to have gotten both his cheeks finger-stamped by a record, sixteen members of the infamous fairer species of humankind; I, Chimp, was dumbfounded. I was irritated that I was not able to do anything about the dratted smell and in my furious temper, broke an imaginary vase and an imaginary table lamp. That irritated me even further. Anger clouded my usually crappy judgement and I stripped the jeans which I was wearing and threw it out of the balcony onto a male pigeon, unwittingly totally ruining it's mating plans for the night in the process.
         And then the smell miraculously vanished! It was too good to be true! As I sat down trying to take it in, it struck me with the effect of a 600-pound dog pound van crashing into the Kanchenjunga.
         The question was simple and so was the answer.
         What do you get when you cross a 45 degree celsius weather and a pair of Denim jeans?
        So began my life at IIMA.

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Posted at 01:52 am by sirpy

June 6, 2007   12:04 PM PDT
I think u missed something... 45 degrees n denim is normal... but 45 degrees and a denim dat hadnt seen water ever since it was bought is different... yuck. and do u think ur the only one who wud hav smelled it?! I wonder wat the first impression u made! ugh!! :)

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