On the Rocky Road to ..Hosur

Been forever, eh? It's almost if that budding li'l writer in me ordered a self-abortion. (No, you will not tell me I never really could write). But every once a while - twice a year, in my case - one comes across situations that make one want to vent. Vent so bad that one decides to write on her long forgotten blog. Wait, don't scurry away just yet. My traditional rant will follow right after a mild banter about the life of a 5ft-er in an MBA institution.

This entire post would be a miserable sink-hole, if I loathed my college. Yes, I am hinting that I like this college. (You didn't see this one coming, did you?) I actually have had a wonderful time in my four months here. That, despite feeling like I was being run over by a truck - in painful slow motion - every single day. But that's just the way post graduation rolls, they say. To cover the last four months in a single post is quite the task. Since day one, I've felt like I've been dropped onto an ice-rink with roller skates on. I'm still figuring out how the system works but dare I say, I don't despise the process.

There's several things I need to work on. For one, desensitization hasn't really happened. I still am praying, from the purest part of every living cell of my body, that somebody somewhere is working on a commode for public bathrooms that can be used without having to make any kind of physical contact with the device. Not that this place is unclean, but my bathroom-OCD still requires me to carry my army-kit of Dettol, et al and sanitize the damned place every single time. Another issue that needs a miracle-solution is my sinusoidal mood. Every other day, I wake up feeling like I fell from the sun and half expect 'Bad to The Bone' to play in the background as I enter class. But then, I wake up a couple of hours later feeling like Felipe Massa does after being ordered by Ferrari to sacrifice his ice cream for Alonso.

Oh, about the sleeping. Courtesy my randomly generated 'name', I've never really had a nickname. But if I do land one here, it will definitely be on the lines of 'sleepyhead'. The lecturers, the friends, 'em parents, the janitors and even me - I'm convinced I have a sleep disorder. I sleep through most of the day..and ..most of the night. I've managed to sleep through blood donation drives, exams, functions, speeches and conversations too. I'm not saying I'm proud of it but given how I can't seem to control my need to sleep at random times, a part of me is extremely curious to find out for how long I'll keep my first job. And the numerous that will follow. But I've got a backup plan in place - I've begun brushing up on Geography, I could teach. Yes yes, you can send your kids to me for tuition, once they've passed my 'How much of a bother is this brat?' test.

Plentiful assignments and the itch to conduct a case study on my sleep pattern aside, there's the regular song-dance-act functions that happen and I can confidently state that I've never enjoyed functions like these so much before. This one time, my friends and I were to sing a German-Christmas carol along with a few exchange students from Italy. That we did alright, but what we also did was recreate the song - Hitler style. And since I've gladly let the world laugh at me ever since I set foot on the internet, here it is: 

The actual song: http://youtu.be/6guVKTsmmBs

..and a part of what we made of it: http://soundcloud.com/merinduh/voice-0014

(This is also my official request for Hitler-meme enthusiasts to get in touch with me.)

Oh, have I mentioned I sound like a guy now? Laryngitis, I've been told. Four months into sounding like a horse, I've given each of my friends a solid reason to remind me that being born a female was a mistake. As if this wasn't enough, my hair - which has always had a mind of its own - has had a falling out with my scalp and doesn't wish to stay on it anymore. I have a strong feeling the water here in E-City has a huge role to play in this scuffle, but there's little I can do that won't go against my laws of laziness. In order to make up for these losses, the women-folk here insisted I watched chick-flicks. The results have been so intense, I'm going to scar my blog by admitting publicly that I liked them.

Which brings me to people. Everything that's wonderful about this place stems from folks here - and this comes from me, someone who's been allergic to people for most of her life. There are the roommates who're destined to become chefs specializing in dishes made from Cerelac, there's the pseudo roommates and the Brit-accented twin, the neighbour in class who already knows me better than I do myself, the obnoxious chap who reminds me of QuizCorp with every word that comes out of his mouth, the Dudes who drop references to everything 42 in Eco papers - assuring me that we as a team can bring down the world economy even before the EU can and there's my ball of sunshine who will dance with me - while smelling like a tube of mosquito repellent - in dimly lit corridors, to Bohemian Rhapsody and Beiber's Baby at 4am, instead of studying for an exam that would eventually mutilate us 5 hours later. There's the poet, there's the nerd : there's the unbelievably brilliant class, extremely talented, uber fun people outside of it and a set of amazing lecturers - I am NOT making this up and no, there is no gun being held to my head. Sometimes, even I get lucky.

Right, that's as nice and thankful as I can get in one blog post - now, I simply need to vent.
The Indian GP. For the last few weeks, I've been steaming so bad over this race, that I might as well change my name to resemble that of some Icelandic volcano. Talk to me about the Indian GP. Go on, I dare you.

Do you know that feeling when your best friend grabs the last slice of pizza while you'd been eyeing it for the last 7 odd minutes? Or that feeling when you just discovered that the girl you had been heavily crushing on declared she was a Manchester United fan, while you'd waited months for the opportune moment to walk up to her and tell her "you'll never walk alone"? Do you know that feeling when your heart sinks so low down an abyss that (if you failed your biology) you'd almost worry about having to excrete it?  THAT is how I feel when you ask me why I'm not going to the race. No, actually, that is how I feel when you mock me about how you're going to the race while I'm stuck in a town that's a skip, a hop and a jump away from Hosur.

As someone who's been excited about this sport and hence, the race track in her own country ever since the inception of the plan, it's immensely annoying when a 'newbie' F1 fan goes gaga about getting to see Narain Karthikeyan. You might want to know how to expand 'F1' and name a driver or two, before you walk up to me and get hormonal about India finally having a racetrack. Every sportsperson, every tech person, every movie star, every twitter-pun-master - heck, every nobody now talks of the Indian GP, despite not really giving a shit about it. And of course, they simply have to mention those passes they will be using to get into the track and cringe while 'em powerful F1 engines roar past them.

Initially, I thought the wannabe-aunties were #1 on my hit-list. You know, the kind that asked me "Why can't you go to the race? You call yourself an F1 fan?", with that repulsively disapproving look that could perhaps convince even me that I am no fan of the sport. But then our government decided it couldn't bear to not feature on any hate-list, so it's been out there feeding egos of the Lord knows how many people who obtain ridiculous pleasure in proudly chanting "F1 is not a sport". I sometimes wish I could give them all a break. Like a neat break bang in the middle of their backbone.

So in conclusion, flaunt your F1 ticket in my face only if you're prepared to deal with the consequences. Just so you know, I've been reading up on Voodoo and gathering material too.

Ever since my 'win a lottery' plan fell flat on its face, it hurts to see any sort of update about the race. The MBA schedule combined with MBA-driven-poverty have ensured I won't see the face of my childhood hero in Noida this month. Like Himesh Reshmiya would perhaps put it, no race no race - only mba only mba.

I'd decided to block every source of Formula 1 information and hide under a shell until the race was over, but then I chanced upon this. The video has Vettel taking us around the Buddh track and what can I say? For whatever reason, it was overwhelming. Have a look -
   

                                     

I love it how it sounds and how it looks. Like Vettel says, I can't wait for race weekend. I'm all set to lose my voice in the hostel mess(where the TV is) and be the sport's ambassador to E-City.