I’ve known this chap for two years now – not an indecently long amount of time, not by a long shot, but long enough. In the past two years, we’d met almost every day – and done absolutely nothing. That was the great part of the friendship – the capacity to sit every single day, and constantly bitch about not having anything to do, and still enjoy it enough to do it again the next day. And we had an absolute fucking blast doing it, too.
Looking at the two of us though, you really wouldn’t imagine that we’d be friends, let alone best friends – hell, almost brothers. We’re different from almost every perspective you might choose to look at it from – he’s 6’4”, I’m 5’6” (we made a strange pair walking down the road, I can tell you that, and there’s not one picture of us standing that has the both of us in it – unless it was taken from a good distance away). He’s the quintessential party boy – there’s nothing he enjoys more than a loud, writhing, gyrating scene with bucket loads of booze flowing everywhere – while I’m more of the sedate scene with a bunch of good friends chilling on someone’s terrace. He never bothers to think about what he does (hell, he’s never even heard of foresight, or for that matter, hindsight), while I usually wind up not doing a lot of stuff for the simple reason that I cripple myself thinking about it. He plays almost every sport imaginable, and he’s pretty good at most of them too – I guess having the reach of a mutated gorilla can help you out in these sort of scenarios. I, on the other hand, will pretend aloof disinterest in every sport, usually because I suck at them – or maybe that’s just more of my crippling thoughts. Interesting.
Anyway. We’re unlike as two peas from different pods, is my point. But something clicked.
In the past two years, we’ve drunk ridiculous amounts of alcohol (one of our favourite party games was to try and drink the other under the table, which usually resulted in everyone getting mad cause we’d finished all the booze), talked endless amounts of nonsense (there will never be another to match his brand of bullshit. Honestly. He once convinced a guy that we’d only played one hour of snooker, even though we’d been there for five hours). We’ve utterly destroyed the self-confidence of any number of fools who crossed our path; we’ve established a reputation in college as the root of all evil – anything that went wrong was automatically attributed to us. Even if it happened in the women’s loo, for god’s sake. We were once blamed for the electricity going, by an overexcited teacher.
We’ve been in four accidents, one of which reduced a three year old Ford Ikon to a pile of smoking, twisted metal. I think he still has the picture, too. Fun day, that one.
At college, we followed each other’s footsteps diligently, which usually meant that we wound up going in circles most of the time – and I don’t think there’s another pair of students who’ve been thrown out of class (especially macro) quite as much as we have.
What can I say?
Well, here goes.
(I know you’re not going to read this, you illiterate fuck, so it doesn’t really matter how much I insult you. And I get the feeling that you’d be a little disappointed if I didn’t describe you as a monkey with it’s arse on fire.)
This one’s for you, Bro.
I first met this chap some eight years ago at my cousin’s birthday – and trust me, it was hate at first sight – duly reciprocated, of course. When he was smaller – that is to say, about as tall as I am now, his face hadn’t quite grown a chin yet, so it seemed that his head bore this unfortunate resemblance to a cough lozenge. It used to piss him off quite a bit, having me yell, “Yo, the cough drop is here!” when he walked in. He, of course, with a dint of much thinking (he looks like he’s trying to pass a kidney stone when that happens), soon came up with an acceptable retort. Cough Drop and Shortarse were born that day.
The next time I met him was at college, ITM to be exact. Our reactions were pretty much identical – “What the fuck are YOU doing here?” pretty much summed it up. Unfortunately, since ITM is where you go when you don’t qualify for anywhere else, there were few intelligent people around – people like us, with the brains, but with no drive whatsoever, resulting in a lack of results. I wouldn’t quite say that we were forced to hang out with each other, but for some reason, we decided to – by the second morning, we were cheerfully bunking class, secure in the knowledge that no one would care, and regardless of what we did, it couldn’t be quite as bad as actually attending class.
One week later, the Group was born.
The group – as that is what we were known as – consisted of four people - me, him, and a pair of surds who were known as Paji, S’dar, Surdy Paji, or something equally ridiculous, depending on mood and weather conditions. Thus began two years of absolutely rocking fun – our reign had just begun.
There wasn’t one party, or a drinking session, or a card game, or a snooker game that we didn’t dominate right from the start. For starters, our sense of humor was in perfect tandem – one would set up the poor bastard we’d chosen for the day, and the other would land a blistering comment on him (There are about fifty odd desks in ITM that we decorated with marriage announcements between these two chaps that we particularly enjoyed heckling. ‘GK Weds Prasanna Jain’ is a particularly famous line, at ITM). Secondly, the both of us are extraordinarily cocky buggers – it’s a common sight to see us defending completely indefensible positions, and getting away with it just because we refuse to agree with the other people.
We’ve done so much in the past two years, that it just wouldn’t even do justice to it to try and list what we’ve achieved (or, alternatively, destroyed beyond repair).
I remember once he told me while we were driving around – dude, you suck at driving. Being the arrogant chap that I am, I immediately flared up, and an interesting discussion developed on whether or not his ancestry contained howler baboons from the African jungles, and whether or not I resembled a snapping turtle. At the end of it, though, I realized that compared to him, I DID suck at driving – and so began my education.
Did you know that the best way to take a turn at high speed is to start it tight, and drift into a wide turn? Or, for that matter, if you start a 1.6 litre Opel Astra in first, rev straight up to third, then down to second, then up to third, and stop at fourth, you’ll reach 110 km/h faster than a 2.0 litre Honda Accord? That, and a whole lot of other really, really twisted stuff. He’s an interesting chap when it comes to cars. Just don’t let him drive yours.
Dude, I’m rambling.
And there’s no point to this. I already remember all the good times – which was pretty much all the time.
I’ve never met a chap who’s as blessed as you, boy. I’ve seen it happen; luck rides on your shoulder. Nobody walks into a card game with 50 bucks and leaves with 2500. Consistently. Nobody routinely races a shitty little Santro against a Honda or a Toyota and expects to win. Nobody who looks as fucking uncoordinated as you should be able to play a 100 point break on the snooker table. And nobody should, after eating six McGrills, get up and say, “Dude, I’m hungry.”
Fucking Arsehole. Take care of yourself, fool.
Looking at the two of us though, you really wouldn’t imagine that we’d be friends, let alone best friends – hell, almost brothers. We’re different from almost every perspective you might choose to look at it from – he’s 6’4”, I’m 5’6” (we made a strange pair walking down the road, I can tell you that, and there’s not one picture of us standing that has the both of us in it – unless it was taken from a good distance away). He’s the quintessential party boy – there’s nothing he enjoys more than a loud, writhing, gyrating scene with bucket loads of booze flowing everywhere – while I’m more of the sedate scene with a bunch of good friends chilling on someone’s terrace. He never bothers to think about what he does (hell, he’s never even heard of foresight, or for that matter, hindsight), while I usually wind up not doing a lot of stuff for the simple reason that I cripple myself thinking about it. He plays almost every sport imaginable, and he’s pretty good at most of them too – I guess having the reach of a mutated gorilla can help you out in these sort of scenarios. I, on the other hand, will pretend aloof disinterest in every sport, usually because I suck at them – or maybe that’s just more of my crippling thoughts. Interesting.
Anyway. We’re unlike as two peas from different pods, is my point. But something clicked.
In the past two years, we’ve drunk ridiculous amounts of alcohol (one of our favourite party games was to try and drink the other under the table, which usually resulted in everyone getting mad cause we’d finished all the booze), talked endless amounts of nonsense (there will never be another to match his brand of bullshit. Honestly. He once convinced a guy that we’d only played one hour of snooker, even though we’d been there for five hours). We’ve utterly destroyed the self-confidence of any number of fools who crossed our path; we’ve established a reputation in college as the root of all evil – anything that went wrong was automatically attributed to us. Even if it happened in the women’s loo, for god’s sake. We were once blamed for the electricity going, by an overexcited teacher.
We’ve been in four accidents, one of which reduced a three year old Ford Ikon to a pile of smoking, twisted metal. I think he still has the picture, too. Fun day, that one.
At college, we followed each other’s footsteps diligently, which usually meant that we wound up going in circles most of the time – and I don’t think there’s another pair of students who’ve been thrown out of class (especially macro) quite as much as we have.
What can I say?
Well, here goes.
(I know you’re not going to read this, you illiterate fuck, so it doesn’t really matter how much I insult you. And I get the feeling that you’d be a little disappointed if I didn’t describe you as a monkey with it’s arse on fire.)
This one’s for you, Bro.
I first met this chap some eight years ago at my cousin’s birthday – and trust me, it was hate at first sight – duly reciprocated, of course. When he was smaller – that is to say, about as tall as I am now, his face hadn’t quite grown a chin yet, so it seemed that his head bore this unfortunate resemblance to a cough lozenge. It used to piss him off quite a bit, having me yell, “Yo, the cough drop is here!” when he walked in. He, of course, with a dint of much thinking (he looks like he’s trying to pass a kidney stone when that happens), soon came up with an acceptable retort. Cough Drop and Shortarse were born that day.
The next time I met him was at college, ITM to be exact. Our reactions were pretty much identical – “What the fuck are YOU doing here?” pretty much summed it up. Unfortunately, since ITM is where you go when you don’t qualify for anywhere else, there were few intelligent people around – people like us, with the brains, but with no drive whatsoever, resulting in a lack of results. I wouldn’t quite say that we were forced to hang out with each other, but for some reason, we decided to – by the second morning, we were cheerfully bunking class, secure in the knowledge that no one would care, and regardless of what we did, it couldn’t be quite as bad as actually attending class.
One week later, the Group was born.
The group – as that is what we were known as – consisted of four people - me, him, and a pair of surds who were known as Paji, S’dar, Surdy Paji, or something equally ridiculous, depending on mood and weather conditions. Thus began two years of absolutely rocking fun – our reign had just begun.
There wasn’t one party, or a drinking session, or a card game, or a snooker game that we didn’t dominate right from the start. For starters, our sense of humor was in perfect tandem – one would set up the poor bastard we’d chosen for the day, and the other would land a blistering comment on him (There are about fifty odd desks in ITM that we decorated with marriage announcements between these two chaps that we particularly enjoyed heckling. ‘GK Weds Prasanna Jain’ is a particularly famous line, at ITM). Secondly, the both of us are extraordinarily cocky buggers – it’s a common sight to see us defending completely indefensible positions, and getting away with it just because we refuse to agree with the other people.
We’ve done so much in the past two years, that it just wouldn’t even do justice to it to try and list what we’ve achieved (or, alternatively, destroyed beyond repair).
I remember once he told me while we were driving around – dude, you suck at driving. Being the arrogant chap that I am, I immediately flared up, and an interesting discussion developed on whether or not his ancestry contained howler baboons from the African jungles, and whether or not I resembled a snapping turtle. At the end of it, though, I realized that compared to him, I DID suck at driving – and so began my education.
Did you know that the best way to take a turn at high speed is to start it tight, and drift into a wide turn? Or, for that matter, if you start a 1.6 litre Opel Astra in first, rev straight up to third, then down to second, then up to third, and stop at fourth, you’ll reach 110 km/h faster than a 2.0 litre Honda Accord? That, and a whole lot of other really, really twisted stuff. He’s an interesting chap when it comes to cars. Just don’t let him drive yours.
Dude, I’m rambling.
And there’s no point to this. I already remember all the good times – which was pretty much all the time.
I’ve never met a chap who’s as blessed as you, boy. I’ve seen it happen; luck rides on your shoulder. Nobody walks into a card game with 50 bucks and leaves with 2500. Consistently. Nobody routinely races a shitty little Santro against a Honda or a Toyota and expects to win. Nobody who looks as fucking uncoordinated as you should be able to play a 100 point break on the snooker table. And nobody should, after eating six McGrills, get up and say, “Dude, I’m hungry.”
Fucking Arsehole. Take care of yourself, fool.
3 comments:
There are people who CHOSE to go to ITM even though they were accepted at several different places in India as well as the UK. So for you to imply that people at ITM aren't driven and have no ambition is going to make sure u have your ass kicked... by me!
And if nothing else you cud use ITM as an experience.... and learn how to make the best of something you clearly consider below yourself.
Put your smarts to some use.
Ouch.
Lady, you're unique. In fact, you're probably the uniquest person I've met, and you KNOW that. Please take that as a compliment, as there are already a number of people who want to kick my ass.
Unfortunately, most of the people at ITM ARE the way I described them. Either stupid, or just plain lazy. And I IS putting what smarts I have to some use. Why do you think I started this blog? Certainly not so I could insult a load of people with complete impunity - although, now that I think about it...heh.
No, seriously.
I know you're driven. You're driven as hell, which is why I have a lot of respect for you. The reason I describe ITM like that is because that's how I arrived there. Through sheer inertia. And I've met a bunch of people just like that here. Not to say that there aren't the good apples - all of T1, most years.
ITM has been an experience - and a good one, all told. It showed me where I'd end up if I didn't start moving my arse. And the course is fucking good. So I'll learn a lot, even if my degree is completely irrelevant. It's not below myself, not at all. It's exactly where I am.
Compliment taken. Appreciated.
But answer me this... how many people do you REALLY know at ITM that were there before you joined, other than your sister, rat & me.
None of them were anything like the people u are describing now.
If everybody were as inert and lazy as you seem to think they are none of them would have gotten past 1st year, which is by far the hardest year. Give them some credit.
It took me a while to figure out that it was your blog. The tone and style seemed familiar but you definitely weren't the first person who came to mind as the writer. Which brings me to your smarts... take the dedication you have for the blog and use it for what you really want to do... you might actually be good at it. Stop wasting your time doing something you don't like and will never be happy doing for real. Send some of your stuff out. Worst case it'll come back, but atleast you tried.
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