If Mukund were Hitler, he would have blogged about the Jews and kept at it for so long that the poor Jews would have danced (voluntarily) into the gas chambers with smiles on their faces, after having boarded trains to Auschwitz (again voluntarily), the tickets for which they’d bought with their own money that they’d stashed away for when the tides turned in their favour, when the war was over or when Hitler was defeated (whichever occurred first) … and that’s an understatement!
This ‘testimonial’ is so long overdue, that I’m actually going to write it in parts, thus ensuring that it is longer overdue and I’m going to put it in the ‘other’ blogsite … because what could be a more fitting testimonial to the king of rant than a rant itself … so, here goes nothing … God, (if there is one) save my soul …
Disclaimer: This is to be considered a work of fiction for this is a compilation of a number of tales recounted by the man himself, often under the influence of alcohol or liver tonic or both. The author takes no responsibility for any contradicting statements the reader might come across, for the subject himself is a living contradiction.
Part I – Thus spake Darthustra …
… And on the seventh day, Mukund ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made … And Mukund blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which Mukund created and made - Darth Midnightmare 3:16 (The Holy Bible, King Jaymz’s version ;) )
That was a long time ago … Hell, that was so long ago that I can’t remember half of it. Kinda lost track after he ‘brought forth’ grass ;) … was kinda preoccupied ‘bringing forth’ myself if you know what I mean … Flash forward …
The dude’s notoriety spans 6 batches at Hel(L) … from PGP 17, all the way down to PGP 22 … Very few people know that he was once rather unceremoniously thrown outta Hel(L) under rather unfortunate circumstances. Actually the circumstances were extremely incriminating if nothing else, but unfortunate nonetheless considering that the only reason why he was asked to pack up and leave was because the ‘Powers that be’ decided to make an example out of him. For those who haven’t the foggiest about what I’m saying here … here’s the straight dope on what happened on that fateful night. It was the first insti party of the year and the first insti party for the PGP 18 batch. It was an insti party like any other and Mukund, being new to the campus strays away from the venue (the infamous baddy court) and suddenly finds himself in completely alien surroundings. He would later learn that this was the faculty residential block, the last place on the planet one would want to find himself after having a swig or two at an insti party.
Anyway, as I was saying, Mukund finds himself at the faculty residential block, reeking of alcohol (although he maintains to this day that he’d had just a shot or two of Whiskey), sporting a metal T-shirt and a hairstyle that one did not usually associate with teetotaling connoisseurs of Indian classical music who just happened to be taking a casual stroll that evening and had lost their way, being new to the campus. It’s raining cats and dogs and Mukund’s completely lost his bearing. It’s then that he sees the professor’s house and the light in the verandah beckons him with its warm, inviting glow. By now, he’s well and truly lost and throwing caution to the wind, decides to approach the house out of sheer desperation. He rings the doorbell.
The professor whose house it is, is a worried man. His wife is preganant or ill or both. Actually, she’s ill because she’s pregnant with his child … can’t think of too many women who wouldn’t be ill if they were pregnant with his child. Anyway, he’s a worried man and he’s pacing around his drawing room, angst ridden and the torrential downpour outside is doing absolutely nothing to alleviate his anxiety. That’s when he hears the door bell ring. Now, under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have thought twice about walking up to the door and greeting whoever it was who was standing outside but the circumstances weren’t exactly normal now, were they? The professor walks warily towards the door contemplating the nature of the terror which could be waiting to pounce upon him, on the other side of the door. His hand trembles as he releases the latch and he surveys his visitor through a tiny crack.
That’s when it hit him, all 10 pegs of it actually … Maybe it was his ailing wife, maybe it was his nerves or maybe it was the silhouette of a metalhead-student, long hair et al at the doorway, that caused the professor to react the way he did but then again, maybe it was the shock of hearing the terrifying shadow say in pure, unadulterated Mumbai School boy English – “Good evening Sir, I’m a little lost. May I have directions to the hostel block”, that finally did him in, but the fact is that Mukund faced a disciplinary hearing the next morning, the consequence of which was that he was unceremoniously cast out of IIM L and it would be two whole years before he would return to Hel(L) after cracking the CAT all over again … and it would be the same professor who would conduct his interview after his being shortlisted … The professor, of course had very little to do with the entire debacle. No, it was a person far more sinister who orchestrated the entire process … more sinister than Jabba the Hut and far, far uglier … and even worse, the PGP chairperson at the time!
Darthustra decides to tell me about this episode one day when there’s a 3.4 show going on and we’ve decided to take a break from the stage area during the Eastern band’s turn. He’s just recovering from Jaundice (the relapse that is) and binging heavily on liver tonic. I still can’t fathom his habit of binging on stuff but I guess liver tonic’s better for health than Vodka any day but bad in the long run if one decided to abuse it like he did the Russian spirit that caused the liver trouble in the first place. Anyway, considering the moment that he’d finished recounting the horrific tale to be auspicious, he promptly loses his dinner all over the pavement. I lost my own dinner five minutes later after finally having comprehended what it meant to be ‘sick to ones stomach’.
Thus began a beautiful friendship … I say this because we weren’t really such great friends before that day … To be really truthful, we got off completely on the wrong foot …
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