Of References and Referees

There is a good reason universities, employers, and people asking others to refer you, in general, discourage you from reading the references that you have got. All of them insist on ridiculous measures such as the referee signing on every conceivable blank space on the envelope while others insist on the referees mailing the letters themselves. I, till the day before yesterday, never realized why.

A friend of mine had sought a reference from a teacher a few weeks back. The day before she was bored at home and decided to read the reference. Elaborate preparation was made. A lamp was procured. A table found with a plugpoint handy. Nerves were steadied. The envelope was studied in an effort to figure out how the reference had been folded. Then she felt that the bulb in the lamp was too powerful and a bulb of a slightly lower wattage was found. So on and so forth went the preparations till at last the stage was set for the great breach of trust.

I got a frantic call a few minutes after the perjury took place. I was in class. I cancelled the call, looked around apologetically, and put my phone on silent mode. The caller called again. My phone being an old and roughly handled Nokia phone made a farting sound as it vibrated. My class is a class of eight people. Such farting sounds are not taken to kindly. Turning red, I cancelled the call again. But the caller persisted. Finally someone suggested I take the call.

There was strange news. My friend had succeeded in reading the reference. It was a glowing reference. Her referee thought of the referred as a person capable of great achievement. The referred was a very sincere and hand-working person. The referred was very intelligent. But there was a problem. She wasn't the referred. The referee had placed a reference for someone else in an envelope for her. She wanted to know what to do.

I now realize why one should never read ones references. Probably the universities don't read them either. Neither do the referees. And so shouldn't the referred. References are just a way to make the application process seem difficult. Imagine an institute where you just had to send them your transcript of marks, your email address and phone number, and the course you wanted to enroll for. That is essentially all that anyone wanting to endow you with knowledge needs to know. But most of us would not apply to such an institute because it doesn't make us fill forms in triplicate, get attestations, photographs, references, dinosaur eggs and the works. We would probably think that these institutes are a fake.

So that they remain in business, institutes resort to reverse psychological techniques like making the application process seem difficult, making themselves seem fastidious and us insignificant in their scheme of things. Once we realize that, we can all overcome our innate urges, to uncover anything that is to be kept secret from us, specially if the secrecy is regarding references, with ease.

And while we cogitate on this realization, I request suggestions on how to help my friend.

Outside, everyone seems to be going mad. People are yelling. My neighbour's dog is barking. The dog yesterday had killed the neighbour's cat. The pets had been together for the past four years, were brought together before either had opened their eyes. But now that the cat is dead, my neighbours don't seem to care. Neither does the dog. It is barking as usual.

Strange people have been coming to visit parents. For that matter, my parents are also strange today. They were up earlier than usual and there has been this excessive activity in the house that is making me dizzy. Even the phone has not been quite since morning. I've often complained that for a family the size of mine, six phones are too many phones. And never has my belief been stronger than today. Not a minute has passed when a phone has not been ringing or receiving messages.

There is nothing interesting on television. Just some strange people dancing around trees. They are so full of beans that they make me sick. Nothing on the music channels either. There is a familiar anchor, but her make up isn't. Usually, she is almost unclothed. Today I can't make out. She looks like some kind of a body canvas.

In college right now, everyone would be going mad. People usually don't need a reason, especially in college. One definitely doesn't need a reason if one is in third year. It is common to feel that the third year is the last time in at least a decade that one can have fun. And precisely for this reason there are senti parties, lots of booze, silly sentimental events, graduation dinner, conti parties and the like. And of course, there is the madness that seems to grip everyone today; not that it is exclusive to third years. For that matter, the first years are the maddest of the lot.

In school too, around this time of the year, people used to touch the nadir of insanity. Clothes would get torn, mud would be thrown and people would be almost buried alive. Uncharacteristically, the administration would stand by and watch. Some of the people would even join in the mayhem. And this lunacy would continue for a whole day. People would tire themselves out to the extent that the next forty-eight hours would be spent sleeping.

Just this morning as I was picking up the newspaper from where the delivery person leaves it, I saw some hideous looking people drive on a motorcycle from in front of the house. They were screaming. They were probably drunk too. And they were not the only ones, because soon a column of motorcycles passed from in front of the house. All of the riders looking scary, their features unrecognizably altered. All of them screaming. All of them drunk. All of them crazy.

My parents have spent the whole morning trying to get me to join in the stupidity, and I've been avoiding it. First I was pretending to read the newspaper, then I was going through some literature scattered on their desk; I even pretended to clean my room. Being on the computer is my last refuge.

What is the big deal about today anyways? My neighbour's dog was barking yesterday too, but then there seemed to be an all-prevailing sanity. People seemed emotionally stable. What has happened overnight? What is it about today that everyone goes mad for? And then, as suddenly as this insanity sets on, it is all over. The day is past. People get back to being normal. Some will carry scars from today, but in a week even those will be gone.

For the next few weeks, till another occasion hits the public consciousness, there will be no desultory celebration. No loudspeakers spewing out unmelodious songs. No unexpected, and I dare say, unwelcome guests. No frenzied activity. Perfect peace. Calm. Sanity.

I don't understand holi.

Pickle, rice and Potatoes

Like most tragedies, this too began in the Mess, was fueled by reasons pertaining to it, and has now resulted modifying my relationship with it. There was a time when I was consuming a lot of chili pickle in the mess. The reasons were fairly simple. When hungry and confronted with the mess food, I would do anything to make the food edible. Some of the options were eating out, maybe even stocking food, but the practical problems of distance, sustainability and expenditure drove me to test pickle. The experiment worked wonderfully, or so I believed. With pickle, I could almost eat two times the food I would eat otherwise. If Rajdeep was around, there would be milk and obliging gyps too, and all that would make for good meals.

My tryst with pickle continued for almost two years. In this time I not only graduated from college, complained about people not reading my blog and got enrolled in a postgraduate programme, but also developed Andhra Bhawan as an alternative for eating at the mess or at the canteen of VKRV Rao hostel. Andhra Bhawan is a heavenly place as for Rs. 50 only, you can eat till you burst. And this is for real. There was an acquaintance of mine of whom I've heard that after fifteen servings of rice at Andhra Bhawan, he vomited on the waiter who asked him if he wanted more. It was no one's fault, really, because the waiter was just doing his job and my acquaintance was just bursting, but it did, as I heard, create quite a mess. I, for my part, never get to fifteen servings. My favourites are the Rasam and dry sabji and the chili paste and pickle. Between all of the above, I usually finish in just three to four servings.

I first realized there was a problem when, one day, while eating at Andhra Bhawan, I thought I would faint. I felt nauseous and dizzy and claustrophobic. Then there was this other time when I couldn't eat a full McDonald's burger. My rare meals in the Mess began to shrink in size and soon I was surviving on two cheese slices and a few liters of water a day! I didn't want to trouble my mother with all these details, but one day when I had trouble finishing my first cheese slice for the day, I realized I'd have to.

She thought it was worms. So I was dewormed. There followed many conversations about the consistency and composition of my stool, invariably on the phone. One day my room neighbour even asked me, "Dude, I just want to ask you, is everything ok?" Meanwhile, the problem just got bigger and bigger. Even water was precipitating nausea. I had to see a doctor because jaundice was now being suspected. So I made my way to a doctor in Noida, a friend of my mother's. She examined me. "You're really windy these days?" she'd ask. Frankly, I hadn't noticed. I was just too nauseous and hungry to know. She prescribed some test, for which I went to a Ranbaxy laboratory. The lab assistant looked at me and then at the prescription, then back at me just to confirm, then asked, "Pregnancy testkarana hai?"

It was not a pregnancy test, at least that is what the doctor has me believe till date. It was to test for bilirubin to ensure the liver was working fine. It was. The test was normal. There was still no diagnosis.

I will skip the part where the actual diagnosis was made. The bottomline: I had gastric ulcers. I could now feel good about being ill because I was affected by something most people my age are not affected by and I was now special. Part of this specialty package was a minor modification in my diet. I could now eat only rice, curd, boiled potatoes and bananas. I was so pleased to know that there was something I could eat without feeling faint that the very first day of this new diet, I ate a dozen bananas. But sense prevailed as time passed, and now I usually don't eat more than two. For the other meals I eat rice and curd and potatoes, every single meal, and I've been on this regimen for the past few weeks. Besides, because I'm not supposed to eat very big meals, I eat up to five small meals the whole day! Rice and potatoes on each one of them! Also, I am not allowed to eat outside the mess because not only is it not possible to order just rice and curd if one is eating out, but even when that is possible, it is futile for the taste of rice and curd doesn't change much with location. Besides,eating out would also give my parents a reason to be irritated with me.

I don't know what to feel about the irony of the situation. The problem arose because the mess food tastes horrible, and its solution has been found in equally horrible tasting mess food. Of course, there is Gelusil to change the flavour in the mouth after meals.