(Disclaimer: This imaginary interview is not about ‘a small furry animal often kept as a pet’ but about the Common Admission Test. The blogger would be the first to shun any liability that threatens to arise as a consequence of taking things even in the slightest bit of seriousness.)
Q: How do I start studying for CAT?
Ans.: Create an aura of CAT around you. It is called CATosphere. CAT score is directly proportional to the number of people who know that you’re taking CAT. “CAT ki padhaai karni hai” is the success mantra. Give it to everybody – relatives, friends, the waiter who keeps delaying you service, people in a wedding queue and even to your faithful dog whose internal mechanism is not so faithful when you’re walking him after dinner.
Q: Really? Which section do I start from - English, Math or Data Interpretation?
Ans: English of course! If you don’t know English, how would you read the Math problems? Go through the word list. Throw insanely difficult words at innocent people. Two extremely simple examples to get you going:
To a love struck friend: “Pintu, has Pinky beguiled you? I vehemently advise you to be far-sighted. She has had diddled many an innocent soul in the imperfect past.”
To someone on the cricket ground, “Please yaar Chintu. Don’t get intrepid with Shera. Abstain from stirring up a hornets’ nest on the field. You don’t want to end up all lachrymal and lolloping before the next match.”
Q: Wow! Tell me how to deal with Math. I guess it is my weak section.
Ans: Guessing is a positive start. Most of it is all about guessing. Learn all the formulae. Even if you can’t learn them, the formulae sheets should be stuck up everywhere. Spoil all your walls. Don’t even spare the floors. If you still can’t learn them, get both your hands in a fake fracture cast and do the needful on the day of CAT.
Do calculations all the time. Adding numbers on number plates and calculating batsmen’s average is a child’s play. But if you can calculate the ratio of your average heart rate to the number of times that special someone smiles while talking to you as you keep one eye on the substitute future prospect in the background, you’ve mastered math!
You must have heard of that famous saying – I read and I forget. I do this and I do that. I don’t remember much of it but it ends with “I do and I understand.” Start doing the problems. I mean actually do them. Flip coins a million times to solve probability problems. Row up and down the river and travel to and fro between towns to solve speed, time and distance problems.
Q: Amazing. What if I won’t be able to get through? Should I take up an employment opportunity or stay back at home and study?
Ans: Extremely good question. Incidentally, this query has been answered in beautiful verses by an Eighth century poet – Billeshwar.
“Decided now to write the CAT, he thinks his career is gonna get rocking,
Won’t be long before dejection sets in and mock CATs do the mocking.
The road to doomsday is like a code with infinite loops nested,
The worrying wait for the next Sunday leaves this one wasted.
A fine November Sunday brings the CAT prowling,
A midnight in January gets a few dancing while most are howling.
Now that you’ve been had by the CAT’s vexed mauling,
Get shamelessly fat and let people know - you’re all set for CAT’s next calling.”
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Meri Teesri Kavita - Gone Crazy with the Waiting Wind
Every morning I wake up feeling anything but awesome,
The next thing I know is that I am brushing my teeth with cherry blossom.
Thinking about the wittiest of girls seems to be a time waste,
On some days I even brush my non existent hair with a toothbrush with a paste.
As I said, every girl seems uninteresting - from a Virgo to a Leo
On days I even wash the contact lenses on my eyes with my smelly deo.
I was waiting for it so anxiously that it has messed up the movement of my bowel,
I have begun to dry my body with a napkin and for my hands I use a towel.
In the garden, I stare at dancing fountains surrounded by oblique violets,
And then I emulate the pattern of fountains except when I am in public toilets.
Once a Bunty pehelwaan, now even the sight of stairs leaves me bed stricken,
Everything seems tasteless – be it barf ka gola, paani puri or Saoji’s chicken.
Every single minute I am occupied with just a single thought to think,
Even my work-out sessions have started to work in - causing my muscles to shrink.
Seems like I am leading a lonely life borrowed on a heavy lease,
Nothing gives a high – not even tormenting people whom I simply loved to tease.
Turbulent times these when thoughts appear like a murky poem and not in prose,
It’s wise to end it here before you freak out with my imagination’s overdose.
The next thing I know is that I am brushing my teeth with cherry blossom.
Thinking about the wittiest of girls seems to be a time waste,
On some days I even brush my non existent hair with a toothbrush with a paste.
As I said, every girl seems uninteresting - from a Virgo to a Leo
On days I even wash the contact lenses on my eyes with my smelly deo.
I was waiting for it so anxiously that it has messed up the movement of my bowel,
I have begun to dry my body with a napkin and for my hands I use a towel.
In the garden, I stare at dancing fountains surrounded by oblique violets,
And then I emulate the pattern of fountains except when I am in public toilets.
Once a Bunty pehelwaan, now even the sight of stairs leaves me bed stricken,
Everything seems tasteless – be it barf ka gola, paani puri or Saoji’s chicken.
Every single minute I am occupied with just a single thought to think,
Even my work-out sessions have started to work in - causing my muscles to shrink.
Seems like I am leading a lonely life borrowed on a heavy lease,
Nothing gives a high – not even tormenting people whom I simply loved to tease.
Turbulent times these when thoughts appear like a murky poem and not in prose,
It’s wise to end it here before you freak out with my imagination’s overdose.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Saoji
Welcome to Saoji Bhojanalayas - the innumerable places dotting Nagpur offering the spiciest varieties of non vegetarian food.
A typical Saoji Bhojnalaya is kind of spooky. It is dim. It is dark. It is not just an eatery. It is a cult. You have to feel about it from within.Enter and you’ll figure out that all rules – written, heard or experienced- of the food industry are tattered down to nothing. The first person you’d encounter in SB will be an accountant. He’ll have photos of all the major gods, stocks of cigarettes, tobacco/gutkha pudyaa (pouches). Nobody would ask you the obvious Gabbar like question asked elsewhere in the world – “Kitne aadmi hai?” You are supposed to be sane enough to find a place for yourself. You can even end up being the sixth person on a table of six already occupied by five. One of the only two waiters serving a crowd of about forty odd people will arrive next to you and expect you to order. He won’t give you a menu card. There won’t be a rate board either. Remember, if you are there, you are supposed to be wise. There isn’t much to choose from. You had the choice before entering the place. Not anymore. There are three to four varieties – chicken, mutton, keema, kaleji and two subvarieties – dry and rassa (gravely called gravy).
It is so dark that every dish coming out of that stained curtain appears to be for you. You order and – no you don’t have to wait – he brings it to you fataafat! He bangs them in front of a group and you hear them shout any of the following:
“Haaa… Isko bolte saoji!”
“Ek number re baawa!”
“Aisa!”
This is followed by hesitation and a courteous invitation to co-eaters – “Lo jamao”.
The series of pointless talking is taken over by shameless eating followed by endless sweating. The custom is as inexplicable as your presence in the place.
If you are a first timer – a sincere advice is to venture out alone.
If you hate yourself and want to explore feelings like remorse and shame then plead a group of experts to let you join them and they’ll be happy to oblige. In a group of experts, first timers are inevitably laughed at their lack of preparation. If you are without a handkerchief, you try to get over the dragon-like-fire in your mouth by doing everything humane. You shift in your seat, eat papad, eat only roti, squeeze lemon in your mouth, eat onion and drink lots of water. The water seems to be finishing every minute and you feel like tearing off your clothes and screaming. Through your teary ears, you see yourself running out of options and gaalis and you too feel like running out of the damned place. The teary eyes and sweaty body gives you the feeling of a sprinkler.
Amidst difficult to explain breathing routine (issssss haaa issssss haaaaaaaa), you join others in laughing at yourself – swearing within twice – first swearing at the food and your friends and then swearing never to come at that place ever again.
“Rassa?” the waiter arrives with a mug of absolutely free gravy and asks the group. The devilish round of laughter comes back and it’s your plate everyone wants that mug to be poured in.
“Isko do,” you hear one of them say amidst muffled laughter.
The last bit you ate 5 minutes ago was so spicy that you can’t manage to utter a no. So you put your hand over the plate to avoid the serving. And the waiter showcases his hidden courtesy.
“Lo na saab,” he teasingly orders and you think it is death that he is offering through that gravy.
“Nahi chaahiye bol diya na!” you spit fire and friends howl at you – “Khaana nahi hota to uspe kyu gussa nikaalta hai?”
Anyways, it is not as bad as I have made it to be.
I have heard that connoisseurs gulp down two plates of rassa for soup before starting main course. Saoji food seemingly has priceless medicinal worth. It improves your digestive system and gets rid of cold. But asking for vegetarian food at SB is like entering a Mercedes showroom and asking for a loose tyre for your child to run around with on the streets.
What is it that draws a Nagpurian to any of these places dotting the city? This is one of the many questions which are neither asked nor answered. Who is this Saoji? Who started this madness? Is it a brand? Is it a chain of restaurants? There are no answers.
But there is something about Saoji.
Make the leads of Ghajini (Hindi and Tamil) and Memento eat Saoji together and I guarantee that even with their "What is wrong with me/what did I just think?" mishap they will not forget the taste for the next two to three days. Also their superb muscles will be put to some fruitful use, especially in the mornings!
A typical Saoji Bhojnalaya is kind of spooky. It is dim. It is dark. It is not just an eatery. It is a cult. You have to feel about it from within.Enter and you’ll figure out that all rules – written, heard or experienced- of the food industry are tattered down to nothing. The first person you’d encounter in SB will be an accountant. He’ll have photos of all the major gods, stocks of cigarettes, tobacco/gutkha pudyaa (pouches). Nobody would ask you the obvious Gabbar like question asked elsewhere in the world – “Kitne aadmi hai?” You are supposed to be sane enough to find a place for yourself. You can even end up being the sixth person on a table of six already occupied by five. One of the only two waiters serving a crowd of about forty odd people will arrive next to you and expect you to order. He won’t give you a menu card. There won’t be a rate board either. Remember, if you are there, you are supposed to be wise. There isn’t much to choose from. You had the choice before entering the place. Not anymore. There are three to four varieties – chicken, mutton, keema, kaleji and two subvarieties – dry and rassa (gravely called gravy).
It is so dark that every dish coming out of that stained curtain appears to be for you. You order and – no you don’t have to wait – he brings it to you fataafat! He bangs them in front of a group and you hear them shout any of the following:
“Haaa… Isko bolte saoji!”
“Ek number re baawa!”
“Aisa!”
This is followed by hesitation and a courteous invitation to co-eaters – “Lo jamao”.
The series of pointless talking is taken over by shameless eating followed by endless sweating. The custom is as inexplicable as your presence in the place.
If you are a first timer – a sincere advice is to venture out alone.
If you hate yourself and want to explore feelings like remorse and shame then plead a group of experts to let you join them and they’ll be happy to oblige. In a group of experts, first timers are inevitably laughed at their lack of preparation. If you are without a handkerchief, you try to get over the dragon-like-fire in your mouth by doing everything humane. You shift in your seat, eat papad, eat only roti, squeeze lemon in your mouth, eat onion and drink lots of water. The water seems to be finishing every minute and you feel like tearing off your clothes and screaming. Through your teary ears, you see yourself running out of options and gaalis and you too feel like running out of the damned place. The teary eyes and sweaty body gives you the feeling of a sprinkler.
Amidst difficult to explain breathing routine (issssss haaa issssss haaaaaaaa), you join others in laughing at yourself – swearing within twice – first swearing at the food and your friends and then swearing never to come at that place ever again.
“Rassa?” the waiter arrives with a mug of absolutely free gravy and asks the group. The devilish round of laughter comes back and it’s your plate everyone wants that mug to be poured in.
“Isko do,” you hear one of them say amidst muffled laughter.
The last bit you ate 5 minutes ago was so spicy that you can’t manage to utter a no. So you put your hand over the plate to avoid the serving. And the waiter showcases his hidden courtesy.
“Lo na saab,” he teasingly orders and you think it is death that he is offering through that gravy.
“Nahi chaahiye bol diya na!” you spit fire and friends howl at you – “Khaana nahi hota to uspe kyu gussa nikaalta hai?”
Anyways, it is not as bad as I have made it to be.
I have heard that connoisseurs gulp down two plates of rassa for soup before starting main course. Saoji food seemingly has priceless medicinal worth. It improves your digestive system and gets rid of cold. But asking for vegetarian food at SB is like entering a Mercedes showroom and asking for a loose tyre for your child to run around with on the streets.
What is it that draws a Nagpurian to any of these places dotting the city? This is one of the many questions which are neither asked nor answered. Who is this Saoji? Who started this madness? Is it a brand? Is it a chain of restaurants? There are no answers.
But there is something about Saoji.
Make the leads of Ghajini (Hindi and Tamil) and Memento eat Saoji together and I guarantee that even with their "What is wrong with me/what did I just think?" mishap they will not forget the taste for the next two to three days. Also their superb muscles will be put to some fruitful use, especially in the mornings!
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