BUCKET DONATION!!!!!!!!!!

There has been 2 things viral lately, one  being dreadful Ebola virus ; culprit of numerous death tolls and second ice bucket challenge.  The  virus itself is a very unfortunate tragedy of human kind and i pray god that victims get the cure ASAP and the virus gets eradicated from earth while i have mixed feeilngs about the latter “ICE BUCKET thing”.

Being marketing student myself,at first i loved the marketing concept to run a donation campaign. Millions of dollars has been raised while also generating awareness about disease called Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) .”FACEBOOKIFICATION” factor  has exponentially increased the exposure   of the campaign but lately i feel it also has been  degrading it.  The beautiful campaign has turned  into  ugly wet T-shirt Facebook contest.

Keeping the marketing tactic one side, donation is the offering from “halves ” part of society to ” halves not” part of the society. The main message of the campaign is being pushed into the back and, the “fun” of tagging friends and wetting yourself is being the highlight. As flock of sheep, everyone is following the Facebook fad and forgetting the  very own concept of  alien word called “DONATION”.

People in Africa are dying because of dehydration ;They wait hours in scorching sunlight to get a liter of water; even i dont have to go far, people in my country walk hours to get a bucket of water. But in the name of  “beautiful cause” people are wasting water In any book , i haven’t found donation being associated with “wasting ” anything. Irony is , we are wasting precious thing like water for concept like  donation.

If you want to donate, donate that bucket of water to the needy ones, if you want to donate, donate a bucket full of food to needy ones, if you want to donate, donate your one day pocket money to  needy ones.  No matter how small your contribution is, it still is million times better than wasting anything. As mother Teresa said, “It’s not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.”

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Hazy Dreams

Hazy Dreams

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The typical hariyo ,unique character  of most of the typical Bhattis  in town, where few of us dared to enter and the authentic taste  hugged the soul so badly that we keep going there. Sekuwa, Bhutan, Bara with big gulp of sweet chyang shared with friends.. Nothing can beat that feeling.

This is a story of  one of the typical Hariyo Parda  Bhatti run by   Motti didi, a mid aged women with huge body, warm smile and typical Newari tone. Her piro alu, spicy momo and sweet chyang were famous over her regulars. Business was doing well.  Motti didi had son whom everyone called Ramey but  due to  influence with Sylvester Stallone , he liked  himself to be called Rambo. The young chap  never wanted to be in that Bhatti. He felt like dirty walls of those Bhatti  were  a cage which would engulf him  and he just wanted to  get far far from that. The advertisements of  employment opportunities in middle was perfect gate away for him. He had heard dreadful stories of the desert but  the big bold letters written in Salary column always lured him towards those posts.  To fuel his fire for middle east was one of the regulars of Bhatti, Tikaram Bajey. He claimed himself to be a agent of a big recruiting company  of middle east. Though he was Bhramin, he never hesitated to gulp down the delicacies of Bhatti ;that  other Bhramin race would claim “impure”.  Bajey implanted seed of middle east so strategically inside Rambos head that he was ready to pay Bajey huge sum for the necessary documents and visa. And  icing on the cake was Bajey never had to pay in Bhatti. It was his “consulting fee”. May be that’s why he grinned so much, showing his disgusting teeth rotted by regular use of khaini.

Opposite of the Bhatti, there was a finance company where Vishal; same age group of Rambo is working as   finance executive.  The 24 year old chap didn’t get the post due to his extra ordinary CV or experience but through ‘gift” by his father who also happened to own that place. After working few months,  same “ gift” seems “torture “ to him. He never wanted to work at first place. He misses his bike rides, dates with young women and late night parties. The rich spoilt brat was brought from lavish life to the tie suit; 9-5  environment and as Rambo, the neat and well architecture walls of the office was engulfing his ambitions and youth.

The discrepancy between these kids and parents ambition would result in often quarrel and unrest; Moti didi’s threshold limit crossed and she handed over her lifelong savings to the Tikaram Baje. “Tero life set vo mora” Bajey grinned and promised to be back in 15 days.  Vishal case was different. His thick skinned dad had little effect no matter how much he protested.  As result Vishal snuck in his dads room, stole a bundle of cash and ran way.

On that 15th day, Rambo wore his best cloth, packed a bag while whistling his best song  “Don’t wory maa” he said “ You don’t have to work any more. I will earn double what you earn a month”. Motti didi was listening to her son while trying to control her tears. Rambo wore his new boot  and said  he would call her mom when he landed Qatar. Tika Ram Bajey had promised to pick Rambo at  5pm.

Vishal  had flown away from the cage. He  had pocket full of money and  heart full of ambition when he left his home. Few days went smoothly with this regular party, booze and girls.The thick bundle in his pocket got slimmer every day . Everything started to haunt him. His ambition went haywire, dream jumped off the roof and he was left alone with 100 rupees note in his pocket. He had no other option, no other way out. He was strolling with heavy heart and empty pocket when he reached in front of his office. He stared at his office with eyes full of tears, called his dad and said , “ I am sorry, I am coming back dad” in a muffled voice. He couldn’t talk more. His morality was killing his soul .

As he turned back  , suddenly his eyes were on that hariyo parda which he had seen  million of time but never it looked so inviting. His foot started to walk itself and  led him inside. Before the bold act of redemption , he wanted to get drunk .“ Sauni” he said  ,” 1 glass chang”.   Moti didi served him with her signature smile. As Vishal was gulping sweet chyang, his eyes stopped at a young chap cleaning dirty dishes . He tried to figure out who it was but the cigarette smoke filled room was too hazy.

Seeing this moti didi  smiled said” Tyo mero choro, Ramey

Tikaram  Bajey never came.

Hyaa!! Lecture Sidena vanya

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Among the crazy game requests, “like for good or bad luck” posts and crazy status i stumbled upon the quote of Mr. Abdul Kalam  that said “The best brains of the nation will be found in the last bench of a classroom”  Being a back bencher myself i was proud for a moment then i started to scratch my head thinking ” have i got a BEST brain!!!” I dont know if i have or not but i wanted to share my experience of being a back bencher.

I bet everyone in their life has been a back bencher except a rarity case that you  belong to the  “nerd” race  :P.  Ever had a view from last bench??? It’s awesome . You can have all those pleasures you get watching a natural scenery. Unlike bikes where “ objects in mirror are closer than they appear” which sounds freakish , but from the last bench everything is far and harmless. You can see everybody in the class. “Last benchers never look back” 😀 This is one of the most prestigious thing about them which they take pride in. But the phrase remains valid only during normal classes. During exams circumstances compel us to seek help from all directions. We have strong CV. I mean Ctrl+ c and ctrl + v. hehe. We guys are very innocent. Innocent in the sense 0% technical knowledge . In my case ,well it can be -2% 😛

Speed of sound is 330 m/sec approx. Theoretically, a distance of 5* 102 cm from first to the last bench won’t make much difference, but practically it does. By the time the priceless signals from your lectures transmitter reaches your ear, the signal get weak and degraded in quality and pitch like our own NTC , so you turn off your receiver . That’s why there is so much peace and harmony in back.  The “angry birds” ,”Temple run” or any other games will give you a wonderful company and 1.25 hour class goes like that. But rest 5 min, you get very active; for your roll calls.  It’s like treasure moment for them. They feel like national anthem is being played in background. As soon as teacher calls names loud, they raise their hands high enough; as if they are to receive Olympic medal. At the end of semester, if one fails to collect more than 70% of the total such hypothetical Olympic medals , mark my words that s/he won’t be able to enjoy their vacations.

Just imagine if such backbencher society are ever transferred to alien world of front bench to attend a lecture. They will feel as if  they are the only ones in class. Everything is so zoomed in and in focus that  your head stars spinning. The teacher who looked like “ Bam” from the last bench now looks like a giant. The board which appeared to be crystal clear  from the last bench , now seems to have the entire Ramayana inscribed in it. The teacher constantly looks into your eyes and you get  hypnotized. You also look deep into his eyes to create a good impression. You try to prove that you are from among the brightest students of the class which, in fact is total fallacy. You are like the second hand fluorescent lamp powered by those duplicate “made in china” batteries which can go off any moment. But you don’t care about that. You nod with every word he says with utmost concentration,” yes sir…. Yes sir, ya, ya,ya exactly…….”

Sometimes if you are scared enough to sit on the first bench, you may get a strong urge to answer Nature’s call, like I generally do when I am tensed. But you’re in college now. Unlike school students ,its weird  to  go and ask  “ excuse me sir, may I go to toilet?” if you learn to study under extreme pressure and traumatic environment . In case the pressure  reaches a certain value called CRTITCAL PRESSURE  and things go  beyond the limit of tolerance , you get the creepy feeling that your pants can get wet any moment;  you finally  venture  to ask teacher the above luxury.

Some teachers are intolerant about last benchers . I think they see us as villains  like “ Mogambo” , “ gabbar “ or “ Dr. Evil” . They consider themselves as  the “RAMBO” or” Dhai kilo wala  Veeru” and try to  terminate the EVIL. Thus , there’s every possibility that he or she might  ask you some alien questions that you have never heard of. Last sem I fell prey to our of our beloved sir . I was sleeping quietly  in last bench when he caught me  red handed and empty headed :P. So last benchers  have a risky business. BUT like a hero we say proudly “ Jaani, ham bhi khatro ke khiladi hein” 😉