Life with Baba
A long time after my (rather well-remembered) antics in SEn, and my rather dismal effort to conjure up a novel, I have been looking pretty much all over the place for a source of inspiration. There even came a time when I stood on the shore of a water-body, just as they do in Bollywood movies, and hoped to soak up ideas or whatever else it is that these heroes soak up on the banks of a water body. After half an hour of standing in the filth, buzzing with flies and not ideas, with the breeze depositing dust in my hair rather than weaving gracefully through, I realized - the banks of the Mahi were not really the Bodhi tree of the west.
Back to DA, and I really had no clue what to write about. It is hard to write regularly and make the reader fall over with laughter every time. Even Wodehouse would have had times when he thought he had run out of ideas, or when he felt he simply wasn't funny anymore. To the man's credit, he did manage to pen down (or typewrite down) quite a few books before either his writing capacity or his sense of humor deserted him. But little did I know, inspiration was calling out to me, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck and slapping me across the face and yet, somehow, I wasn't noticing it. This fine morning, however, I have heeded the call of the wild, if I may, and looked over around my monitor to see a divine guidance in human form; I wonder why I did not see it before.
Here I must inform the reader, my roommate is not the same one as I had for the first two and a half years of my college. Wrath was a quiet lad (till he didn't turn up the volume on metal), rather sober (when there was no vodka in him), pretty studious (when not around AarJay) and more or less a non-violent person (unless someone was stupid enough to make fun of the Marathas in his presence). Those were peaceful days, unless you account for the rather loud jamming sessions and the in-room headbanging sessions.
When I hired Baba to be my new roommate, I had no idea what was in store for me. He had had a troubled history as a roommate. His first roommate got kicked out of college, his second went into probation, his third roommate went into depression and his fourth roommate saw his academic records tumble faster than a castle of cards in a hurricane. I was to to be Baba's fifth (and probably last) roommate in his college life and one with no previous experience of handling volatile beings.
Baba's looks are deceiving. A self proclaimed expert in Indian cultures would take at least a week to be able to nail Baba's linguistic identity. He dresses in immaculate young-gujju-hip-guy attire, walks in english and talks in english and even has a touch of Nepal in his veins. For a Bihari you see, is like no other and there is no other Bihari quite like Baba.
As we speak, he is bantering about on how he is sure that his Pulsar's engine RPM is more than the set norm. "How much was it?", asked Bhola innocently. For the ignorant reader, I'll state here that the Pulsar, among many other bikes, has an RPM meter on its dashboard. It is very prominent and really, you can't miss it unless you wear binoculars for glasses or were less than 2 feet or over 11 feet in height. Back to the conversation then, Bhola's demand to know the RPM of the bike was met by Baba's deft reply, "How do I know? It's not like I was sitting there and counting." And you wonder whether there are Pulsars (or for that matter, bikes) in Bihar.
There was a time when I thought Baba was really a neat guy. It wasn't his fault that he was born in Bihar - I shouldn't be stereotyping people. But little did I realize, he was merely an advanced version of a Bihari - Bihari 2.0 if I may. It may come in a stylish outer casing, but the clockwork inside is very much the same (Speaking of which, I wonder if Biharis know that clockwork has been invented).
For the first few days at least, he came across as sophisticated (if that's the word I am looking for). He worked on a squeaking-clean Dell laptop, wore a well trimmed goatee and a 'LIVESTRONG' band on his right wrist and even used the Western style commode (It took me a month to find out that he uses the western commode in an 'Indian' fashion).
Two months into my experience as Baba's roommate I know that the 'LIVESTRONG' band has been smuggled into the country through the forests of Nepal and the goatee is in place because he feels that he has an ugly chin and he can't grow a complete beard. I might also add here that he is an 'Authorized Dell Vendor'. No idea who authorized him. Whatever the case, it lends weight to the allegations that Biharis let go of no opportunity to earn that extra buck.
He takes an hour to brush and 'freshen up'. What he does in the washroom during that time is anybody's guess. He also has 'social contacts' outside campus. He is the sort of guy who runs into an acquaintance where you might think there is no scope for human habitation. His NIFT contacts and 'friends' who live near GH-O are restless leechers of our precious DC maal; The dallathat Baba is, I am sure he charges them for every MB that he transfers onto their harddisk.
I have plenty more to say, but my classes are calling. Signing off.
Cheers.
Back to DA, and I really had no clue what to write about. It is hard to write regularly and make the reader fall over with laughter every time. Even Wodehouse would have had times when he thought he had run out of ideas, or when he felt he simply wasn't funny anymore. To the man's credit, he did manage to pen down (or typewrite down) quite a few books before either his writing capacity or his sense of humor deserted him. But little did I know, inspiration was calling out to me, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck and slapping me across the face and yet, somehow, I wasn't noticing it. This fine morning, however, I have heeded the call of the wild, if I may, and looked over around my monitor to see a divine guidance in human form; I wonder why I did not see it before.
Here I must inform the reader, my roommate is not the same one as I had for the first two and a half years of my college. Wrath was a quiet lad (till he didn't turn up the volume on metal), rather sober (when there was no vodka in him), pretty studious (when not around AarJay) and more or less a non-violent person (unless someone was stupid enough to make fun of the Marathas in his presence). Those were peaceful days, unless you account for the rather loud jamming sessions and the in-room headbanging sessions.
When I hired Baba to be my new roommate, I had no idea what was in store for me. He had had a troubled history as a roommate. His first roommate got kicked out of college, his second went into probation, his third roommate went into depression and his fourth roommate saw his academic records tumble faster than a castle of cards in a hurricane. I was to to be Baba's fifth (and probably last) roommate in his college life and one with no previous experience of handling volatile beings.
Baba's looks are deceiving. A self proclaimed expert in Indian cultures would take at least a week to be able to nail Baba's linguistic identity. He dresses in immaculate young-gujju-hip-guy attire, walks in english and talks in english and even has a touch of Nepal in his veins. For a Bihari you see, is like no other and there is no other Bihari quite like Baba.
As we speak, he is bantering about on how he is sure that his Pulsar's engine RPM is more than the set norm. "How much was it?", asked Bhola innocently. For the ignorant reader, I'll state here that the Pulsar, among many other bikes, has an RPM meter on its dashboard. It is very prominent and really, you can't miss it unless you wear binoculars for glasses or were less than 2 feet or over 11 feet in height. Back to the conversation then, Bhola's demand to know the RPM of the bike was met by Baba's deft reply, "How do I know? It's not like I was sitting there and counting." And you wonder whether there are Pulsars (or for that matter, bikes) in Bihar.
There was a time when I thought Baba was really a neat guy. It wasn't his fault that he was born in Bihar - I shouldn't be stereotyping people. But little did I realize, he was merely an advanced version of a Bihari - Bihari 2.0 if I may. It may come in a stylish outer casing, but the clockwork inside is very much the same (Speaking of which, I wonder if Biharis know that clockwork has been invented).
For the first few days at least, he came across as sophisticated (if that's the word I am looking for). He worked on a squeaking-clean Dell laptop, wore a well trimmed goatee and a 'LIVESTRONG' band on his right wrist and even used the Western style commode (It took me a month to find out that he uses the western commode in an 'Indian' fashion).
Two months into my experience as Baba's roommate I know that the 'LIVESTRONG' band has been smuggled into the country through the forests of Nepal and the goatee is in place because he feels that he has an ugly chin and he can't grow a complete beard. I might also add here that he is an 'Authorized Dell Vendor'. No idea who authorized him. Whatever the case, it lends weight to the allegations that Biharis let go of no opportunity to earn that extra buck.
He takes an hour to brush and 'freshen up'. What he does in the washroom during that time is anybody's guess. He also has 'social contacts' outside campus. He is the sort of guy who runs into an acquaintance where you might think there is no scope for human habitation. His NIFT contacts and 'friends' who live near GH-O are restless leechers of our precious DC maal; The dallathat Baba is, I am sure he charges them for every MB that he transfers onto their harddisk.
I have plenty more to say, but my classes are calling. Signing off.
Cheers.
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