The rule of Murphy’s thumb dictates that every long-running spectacle is met with an anti-climactically unspectacular end. Said dreadful thumb threatened to weave its way even into the Watch Out farewell- well, actually the series of farewells that ensued since that final meeting where we had waxed eloquent about the wonderful times spent working for the magazine.
The final nail in the coffin of my splitting of ways with WONA was put yesterday. With bereavement so severe, it often takes time for the appropriate emotional torment to set in. This was hardly the case with me though, for I could feel the pangs since early morning. The laughing faces that surrounded me through the photography session (rendered an utter sham due to the incompetence of the Pahadi shutterbug) and the subsequent valedictory ceremonies that concluded with the customary Dynasty feast (not a bite of which was left for me by the time I got done collecting funds) depressed me far more than their sad faces could have.
It was the realisation that I’d have no reason to be around these happy souls any more that knocked the stuffing out of my promise of keeping a stoic visage. But with the end so gallingly nigh, I took some time out of the bonhomie to let my mind linger a bit upon the truly extraordinary batch of individuals I had the fortune of being a tiny but not insignificant part of.
Apart from taking exceptional pride in the limitless reserves of knowledge withheld in his brain and flaunting it whenever and wherever necessary and unnecessary, Haaris Mateen also specialises in playing the multiple roles of inspirational leader, dutiful conversant and a beacon of hope in dire situations. Often found perambulating the campus in the company of Her Highness Deeksha Sood (newly crowned Empress of Watch Out by our imaginative fledglings), he is perhaps the only committed baster I would have no qualms in having as a friend.
The pride of Chinkistan frequently finds himself out of place here in extreme India, in the midst of those whose eyes haven’t suffered the same ridiculous sidelong elongation that is so common among people back home. That is not to say that he hasn’t got friends by the dozen- but then anyone who so relishes splashing cash around as if distributing seed-cakes to hungry hobbits could never be short of friends. When he’s not shooting aphorisms left, right and centre, Rajdeep Barua is almost always indulging in his one favourite hobby that serves as strength and weakness alike- taming the latest version(s) of photoshop while grappling with the countless obstacles posed by Windows 7.
I must admit, I rather envy Shreyas Krownose (or however else he prefers his adopted last name to be spelt as these days). The force is unnaturally strong within him. It almost seems unfair. He has a good CG- a very good CG in fact; his intern is in the land where the likes of Melanie Laurent stare back down at you from atop the wondrous Tower. As if that was not enough, he is the first person every youngster seeks advice from on anything remotely serious. A bloody hard worker whose astute jugglery with ghissing, formatting and Nesci bakar sessions seldom ceases to amaze me- this bugger is easily the most important reason behind the news magazine keeping in rude health the whole of last year. I believe a salute is in order for the maddu coffeebean-sucker.
About she-who-must-not-be-named, no amount of words is going to suffice. No kidding, for I had the most remarkable time working with her on the two most preposterous stories ever conceived in a Watch Out meeting. Over exposure to cribbity-crabbity did befuddle my mind for a bit, but it could only have been divine intervention that saved me from her devious clutches before it was too late. I am glad to have her as my friend, and needless to say, still enjoy the occasional online chat with Pippy Longstocking reincarnate.
Even a cursory observer of her persona would know that Gabbar’s laugh is much worse than her bite. It scares the living hell out of people, but I never held that against her. Suffering from that most unforgivable of maladies- obsessive compulsive ghissing disorder (with due credits to the person who came up with the term), she hardly endears herself to a grades-starved junta, but I wouldn’t dare hold that against her.
Nirupama K is a woman of a few words. She is also one of the classiest people I have known- classy in a detached but dignified way. May Haddu-land produce more such daughters, as well as sons of the PSR Akhilesh mould. Wit beyond measure happens to be his only treasure, but I admire him most for taking Yossarian’s words to heart- live forever or die in the attempt.
Mohit Sanwal and Somya Sheshank will ensure that the last year of my life in Jawahar Bhawan isn’t going to be completely devoid of WONA-esque class. This is perhaps too early to tribute the Webster and the Wastrel. Then there is of course Gursheen Kaur, who cannot be too fond of yours truly considering the only conversation I have had with her in recent months involved asking for money. The same goes for Khyati Rathore, but she strikes me as a more tolerant woman, and one unlikely to beat me up in any scenario.
Razak Gupta is another chap whose friendship I cherish, and whose fellowship I’ll continue to enjoy for many a DP to come. Anunaya Jha, Yasin Choudhary and Amandeep Singh have all been gems in their own rights- my only regret is that I could have gotten to know them better. Them and several others who graced the magazine with their incredible talents for some time before they found their calling elsewhere.
This end is just the beginning of a new adventure, one in which I feature only as a mute spectator. Exciting times lie ahead for the promising batch we have passed on the baton to, and something tells me they will not disappoint. But there comes a time when one has to let go that which one holds most dear to the heart. The way I look at it, this is good riddance as well. After 3 years of splendid fun, this batch is more than ready to call it a day. Leaving on a high isn’t a luxury afforded to all mortal men. I would struggle to find a better swansong than this.
The final nail in the coffin of my splitting of ways with WONA was put yesterday. With bereavement so severe, it often takes time for the appropriate emotional torment to set in. This was hardly the case with me though, for I could feel the pangs since early morning. The laughing faces that surrounded me through the photography session (rendered an utter sham due to the incompetence of the Pahadi shutterbug) and the subsequent valedictory ceremonies that concluded with the customary Dynasty feast (not a bite of which was left for me by the time I got done collecting funds) depressed me far more than their sad faces could have.
It was the realisation that I’d have no reason to be around these happy souls any more that knocked the stuffing out of my promise of keeping a stoic visage. But with the end so gallingly nigh, I took some time out of the bonhomie to let my mind linger a bit upon the truly extraordinary batch of individuals I had the fortune of being a tiny but not insignificant part of.
Apart from taking exceptional pride in the limitless reserves of knowledge withheld in his brain and flaunting it whenever and wherever necessary and unnecessary, Haaris Mateen also specialises in playing the multiple roles of inspirational leader, dutiful conversant and a beacon of hope in dire situations. Often found perambulating the campus in the company of Her Highness Deeksha Sood (newly crowned Empress of Watch Out by our imaginative fledglings), he is perhaps the only committed baster I would have no qualms in having as a friend.
The pride of Chinkistan frequently finds himself out of place here in extreme India, in the midst of those whose eyes haven’t suffered the same ridiculous sidelong elongation that is so common among people back home. That is not to say that he hasn’t got friends by the dozen- but then anyone who so relishes splashing cash around as if distributing seed-cakes to hungry hobbits could never be short of friends. When he’s not shooting aphorisms left, right and centre, Rajdeep Barua is almost always indulging in his one favourite hobby that serves as strength and weakness alike- taming the latest version(s) of photoshop while grappling with the countless obstacles posed by Windows 7.
I must admit, I rather envy Shreyas Krownose (or however else he prefers his adopted last name to be spelt as these days). The force is unnaturally strong within him. It almost seems unfair. He has a good CG- a very good CG in fact; his intern is in the land where the likes of Melanie Laurent stare back down at you from atop the wondrous Tower. As if that was not enough, he is the first person every youngster seeks advice from on anything remotely serious. A bloody hard worker whose astute jugglery with ghissing, formatting and Nesci bakar sessions seldom ceases to amaze me- this bugger is easily the most important reason behind the news magazine keeping in rude health the whole of last year. I believe a salute is in order for the maddu coffeebean-sucker.
About she-who-must-not-be-named, no amount of words is going to suffice. No kidding, for I had the most remarkable time working with her on the two most preposterous stories ever conceived in a Watch Out meeting. Over exposure to cribbity-crabbity did befuddle my mind for a bit, but it could only have been divine intervention that saved me from her devious clutches before it was too late. I am glad to have her as my friend, and needless to say, still enjoy the occasional online chat with Pippy Longstocking reincarnate.
Even a cursory observer of her persona would know that Gabbar’s laugh is much worse than her bite. It scares the living hell out of people, but I never held that against her. Suffering from that most unforgivable of maladies- obsessive compulsive ghissing disorder (with due credits to the person who came up with the term), she hardly endears herself to a grades-starved junta, but I wouldn’t dare hold that against her.
Nirupama K is a woman of a few words. She is also one of the classiest people I have known- classy in a detached but dignified way. May Haddu-land produce more such daughters, as well as sons of the PSR Akhilesh mould. Wit beyond measure happens to be his only treasure, but I admire him most for taking Yossarian’s words to heart- live forever or die in the attempt.
Mohit Sanwal and Somya Sheshank will ensure that the last year of my life in Jawahar Bhawan isn’t going to be completely devoid of WONA-esque class. This is perhaps too early to tribute the Webster and the Wastrel. Then there is of course Gursheen Kaur, who cannot be too fond of yours truly considering the only conversation I have had with her in recent months involved asking for money. The same goes for Khyati Rathore, but she strikes me as a more tolerant woman, and one unlikely to beat me up in any scenario.
Razak Gupta is another chap whose friendship I cherish, and whose fellowship I’ll continue to enjoy for many a DP to come. Anunaya Jha, Yasin Choudhary and Amandeep Singh have all been gems in their own rights- my only regret is that I could have gotten to know them better. Them and several others who graced the magazine with their incredible talents for some time before they found their calling elsewhere.
This end is just the beginning of a new adventure, one in which I feature only as a mute spectator. Exciting times lie ahead for the promising batch we have passed on the baton to, and something tells me they will not disappoint. But there comes a time when one has to let go that which one holds most dear to the heart. The way I look at it, this is good riddance as well. After 3 years of splendid fun, this batch is more than ready to call it a day. Leaving on a high isn’t a luxury afforded to all mortal men. I would struggle to find a better swansong than this.
So the senti tirade has begun. And it is befitting that Master Kumar Arun gets to kick it off.
ReplyDeleteThe way the post was going, I for a second thought you were going to mention the likes of Mrigank Gutgutia, and Gibron. Curious, curious.
Ah, echoes!
ReplyDelete