B2B
Hallo! I am Gujjubee phellow. Queenbee ben called me and had a bee-to-bee toke with me. She asked me to write the aditorial.
“Give us an aditorial,” she said.
“How much you will geeve?” I asked. We are gujju phellows and will not geeve anything if there ij no bijnej. After all, it is B2B, bijnej to bijnej, no?
A question that was asked in the HSS department in the early 80s: Is it possible that if a monkey punches away on a typewriter (yes, typewriter. We’re talking about the 80s, remember?) endlessly, he will eventually type out Shakespeare Hamlet? (more…)
[blockquote align=”none” author=””]Discover if the anecdotes associated with GBF are more real and bigger than the people who created it.[blockquote align=”none” author=””][/blockquote][/blockquote]
Anecdotes are anecdotes. Campfire tales that are recollected after decades to evoke nostalgia. Often, an anecdote becomes an integral part of the narrator, more real than the event that created the anecdote. It’s an anecdote that an apple fell on Newton’s head. Had it been a coconut rather than an apple, he may not have lived to tell the tale of gravity. Had Archimedes been from IIT, he wouldn’t have had a bath, leave alone in a tub and we wouldn’t have had the Eureka moment and his principle that’s taught at IIT. (more…)
How the rain gods sounded a discordant note in the symphony of the much awaited GBF orchestra night.
The YPO performance at GBF 2015 was much anticipated by everyone, most of all, by the performers. If you peeked behind the curtains during a rehearsal in Pune, you would see that YPO rehearsals resemble a wrestler akhada more than an orchestra. Old habits die hard. Folks in their 40s, 50s and 60s become nostalgic and fight over how their hostel in their time was musically superior to the other guy’s hostel and had beaten them at so-and-so inter-hostel competition, and how that girl in your team was cute looking, but used to sing two full notes below the original Lata Mangeshkar scale, and so on and so forth. Once on stage, however, we set aside all existential disputes about chords, scales, rhythms and present a picture of perfect harmony and professionalism (well, almost). (more…)
How a no-show by cabs at the Goa airport left hundreds of GBF guests stranded.
It is 12:45 pm on Oct 17. The stadium is filling fast and it gives me a relief to see the crowd pouring in. This is the most critical time of the GBF and most of the airport arrivals are to happen between 10am and 2pm. I am feeling good in my black suit and white shirt and generous dosage of deo. Little do I realise that there are more people stranded at the airport than are entering the stadium. As usual my mobile is on charge. I glance at it and feel the shock. There are 12 missed calls and my phone is on silent by mistake. (more…)
A budding entrepreneur shares the story of how he scored deals at the GBF.
“First alumni event in more than 10 years since graduation!” is what came to my mind as I was boarding the flight to Goa. Not that I have been actively trying to avoid my classmates or that I don’t enjoy their company, I guess the Alumni Association just made a really kickass effort this time around to grab my attention and got me to sign up. (more…)
About a GBF volunteer who couldn’t resist dropping pearls of wisdom much to the chagrin of others.
Our SIG was blessed with an eager young student volunteer who not only managed tons of work but also had us in splits every so often with his foot-in-the-mouth comments. On one such occasion, a group of us, of varying vintage, were chatting about the food available on campus.
The tale of a girl who rises to symbolize a revolution that Bengal forgot. The Matsanyaya revisited.
The coat of water that had formed a smooth layer on the dirty utensils reflected the sunlight onto Gauri’s face. The silence of the lazy afternoon was broken only by the constant waves of the running water, and the birds that deemed fit to hum, undaunted by the stillness of the season. The mosquitoes had formed a swarm over her head. Cleaning the utensils had been her ritual since her mother died; her mother had done this throughout her life, at least from the time she knew her. (more…)
A tale of loss and reconciliation centered around Emily Coelho who finds solace in her home and garden even as she relinquishes them.
Emily Coelho stood outside the Fatima church in Hadapsar, in suburban Poona, where a small East Indian community congregated every Sunday for morning mass. (more…)
In December of 1989, an international pharma conference and exhibition was held on campus. The organisers went on a rampage – wanton felling of trees and burning of undergrowth – to provide parking space for the participants. Anguished by this, some students photographed the massacre and put up posters all over the campus. The next day, a spontaneous morcha originated in one of the hostels. More students joined it along the way and about a hundred students, carrying these posters, marched silently into and out of the Convo during the inauguration of the conference.
(more…)