Wednesday, May 06, 2009

One down, one to go.

Those who have been following my outpourings closely would be aware that I am currently dealing with exams.There are those who look at exams with joy- as a means of proving to the rest of the world that they're inherently smart. There are those who look at it as a challenge. Some look at it as a curse.

I? I look at exams as a way to become a 2 year old again. I randomly puke. Miss home. Want nothing more than mamma. Turn to religion.

Exams are depressing things. They give me stress, ensuring I do everything else but study just when it is most needed. Consequently, the nights before exams in NALSAR find me doing all the following:
1. Panicking.
2. Flapping (Anyone who's known me for more than two days knows this aspect of me. Those who don't: Well, it involves lots of papers, Manav walking around at full speed, waving aforementioned paper. Or books. I managed to flap R.D. Sharma in Class 12. No mean feat, that.
3. Calling up home, informing home I'm going to fail.
4. Going to people's rooms asking "Kitna kiya? Kitna time lagega"
5. Wondering why I cannot remember anything.
6. Going to people's rooms. Lying in their beds, and asking them to wake me up in 20/40/60 minutes.
1. Panicking.
2. get the picture.

In Santa Clara, however, the routine is different. This is because the exams are different. The one paper I've had so far is a take home examination. A week-long take home examination! No, its not an oxymoron.

So, exams approach. Manav tells everybody he needs to study, and makes plans involving 14 hours of studying everyday. However, Googletalk, Facebook and Mother India Calling Cards interrupt the plans. Manav then decides to compensate by doing 16hours of work the next day. Repeat performance. Manav finally realises that he'll have to spend 45 hours a day studying if he plans to make the plan work.

Abandon plan. Ah, it was fun.

New plan goes the same way.

Finally, the take-home exam comes. Manav receives paper. People around him receive paper. People around him swoon. Manav is blase. Ek hafta hai yaar, masti karo! Manav proceeds to chill, read irrelevant shit, and generally whine to friends about exam tension, and how he doesn't think he can finish the syllabus. The reason he can't, of course, is because he hasn't opened his books yet, and doesn't plan to anytime soon. Oh wait, did I say "doesn't plan to"? Of course he plans to. In fact, all he does is plan.

Time does what it is best at. It passes.

The night before the exam is due, Manav realises that the three pages of hastily typed illegible shit (Typical sentence: Trd sect-misappn- section 3426.1-UTSA-bastard employee flicked- sala kutte ki maut marega) will not do. He then sits down to writing the answers. Then, he opens the module.

He writes his answers. He goes to sleep. He wakes up the next morning. One question is troubling him. He goes online, to the group site. He vaguely remembers a case or two being posted there.

29 cases are posted there! 10 of which are directly relevant to his answers!!! Manav takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He says, soothingly to himself, "I can do this. I still have six hours".

Manav's mind retorts; "No, you can't"

Manav soothingly- but with less conviction- says: "Relax, I can ace this"

Manav's Mind: "You Moron! You Can't do this! You're going to fail! I told you to have started this before but did you listen!!!!??? No!!!!! You're definitely going to flunk!!!!!!! You know nothing!!!! YOUREABLOODYMORONANDYOUSHOULDF*KINGDIE."

Manav: Panics. Then sits. Takes another deep breath. Opens book. See's jumbled black and white. Takes another breath. Can make out individual letters. Takes another breath. Sees words. Reads sentence. Realises he has no idea what the Court has just said. Has a minor stroke. Starts blubbering.

At 4.56, he submits an exam. At 5.02, he discovers 50 marks are wrong because he has failed to see the word "not" on the 17th line of Section 3428.3.

Death shall come!

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

I have exams, again. They depress me. I have a submission tomorrow. I should not be blogging.

If only life made sense.

So, well, it's may now.My sojourn at Santa Clara is coming to an end. I can't say I'm glad. I've had brilliant fun here. Gotten to know so many people I would otherwise never have met. Exorcised some ghosts, and discovered others. But I'm going to be back home. That makes up for a lot of things.

My favourite song recently has been "Chalo ek baar phir se ajnabi ban jaaye ham dono". This means I've been listening to it non-stop, while writing answers, while chatting, or while in the loo. There's something so poignant in the lyrics, in the realisation you knew someone so well at some point that you know what he or she is thinking now, in the plea that both forget what they meant (and, evidently, still do) to each other, that they re-invent their relationship, escape from the past. And yet, the sorrow of the fact that its over, that it cannot but end. The fact that even though one rationalises it, one still weeps.

This depresses me, because I still know some people better than they would admit- either to me, or to themselves.

Or maybe, I read too much into the song.

I still have four minutes to go before my break ends. The break, by the way, is a fraud break, in the sense that it has not been preceded by any constructive work. I'm stuck- lost in Legalese and conflict of laws. Gah.

I was reading old entries- I'm finally able to do those without cringing- and I realised that I was scared about school ending, sometime around the beginning of Class 12. I'm now at the equivalent point- NALSAR has one more year to go, and unfortunately, I'm as clueless about what I plan to be. Less worried, though. Less scared about people being there.

It's ironic. For someone who was the most worried about friends staying in touch, I turned out to be the person who stays in touch the least. I would try to explain that to people, except I think we're past the stage where we owe each other any explanations.

And that is Gah.

And the clock strikes six. Manav gets back to Trade Secrets.