#whole time motherfucker knew some serious news was dropping in a number of months but i was like noooo hes still so upset abt the breakup 😭

[stabbingandorbeingstabbed]

wait if today is revenges bday then its also the anniversary of when i met frank hey lets celebrate that !!!

[youalexturnermeon]

Hi! Hope you're well 😊

Can I request a Cobra Kai Johnny imagine? Its Johnny patching up the reader, maybe after a fight with Kreese or something like that? Thank you 😁

Request: see above

A/N: I decided to leave Kreese out of it because even the littlest thought of this man gives me high blood pressure. Also this has gotten very long but I tried to warn that the topic of being patched up by Johnny has been living in my head rentfree for a while. That’s why I got carried away. Enjoy your daily dose of one shot.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, alcohol angst and fluff

Wordcount: 2078 (oopsies)

Johnny was your neighbour, you moved in, right next door, a couple of months ago. So far, nothing more nothing less. Except the fact that you had the biggest crush on him, and he wasn’t that opposed to you either. Especially when he took his time got ready to go after his Karate classes when the Yoga group arrived to which he sublet his dojo and he stayed behind, sitting in his office, door open watching you, bent over, doing the most complicated figures ha had ever seen. Johnny thought Yoga was the biggest bullshit on earth, fuck Namaste and such, but when you were doing it right in front his thirsty eyes, he didn’t even need TV. He thought you were super-hot. The problem was that he was much older than you. And besides your Yoga passion and your joint love for beer that you sometimes had together, sitting on the ground in front of the apartment complex, he knew almost nothing about you. He wished he did, even more when you once caught him eyeing you doing the Downward Dog on the mat and instead of giving him the finger for being a creep you winked at him and grinned. That made him crazy. But he was too afraid to make a move, because, let’s be honest, you were young, you were beautiful, you were extremely hot – what the fuck should you do with an old man like him, to begin with. Johnny thought, you could have anyone you wanted, someone younger, taller, fitter, more buff than him.

Right now, Johnny was sitting on the ground in front of his apartment, a beer in his hand, a couple of spear ones just in case, thinking about the last time you sat here next to him, hoping you would come out your door or back from work joining him, just to talk and to drink. A few weeks ago, around that time, you just finished work, you were tired and angry in desperate need of a drink, you sat down to him and you shared that you were a barista at Starbucks, how much you hated some customers, how years ago you moved here to go to college and how you dropped out of it three years later, simple small talk getting superficially deeper with an increased number of beers. These were little things, but Johnny was longing for more of those, sitting waiting for this occasion to repeat itself. He wanted to know everything about you and unlike with other people he wanted to share his life with you, too.

After some time, Johnny, realizing how desperate and stupid he was, now acting like a teenager again, suddenly saw your silhouette in the dark, coming closer. His excitement grew, his heart started beating faster and as much as he hated it, his palms became all sweaty. He wated to jump up, run towards you, but he pulled himself together and just sat still, focusing on a little bug crawling on the ground, not daring to look up again

“Hi, Johnny” you said, sounding exhausted, when you finally approached him and heavily sat down, opening a beer without asking. Johnny was about to greet you back when he looked up from his stupid little insect friend, as he saw your roughed-up condition. His excitement vanished and glanced at you in utter horror. Your long (Y/H/C) hair was all messy, the collar of what has once been a shirt was ripped and hung loosely down your shoulder and when he inspected your face, he gulped. Right on your perfect cheekbone was a fresh bleeding wound surrounded by a huge flowering purple bruise. Your pretty face now twisted to a grimace from pain.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), what happened to you?” he asked perplexed, examining your whole body for other injuries he might’ve still not noticed yet.

You shook your head and grinned, “Nothing special, ran into my ex who was the reason I moved to the other side of town, he found out where I was working and decided to pick me up, apparently. He insists I still owe him money, which I don’t. And when I told him this we got into a little fight.”

“Did he do this to you?” Johnny pointed at your face and your now rugged shirt, him voice was filled with fury, he was right about to jump up and hunt that motherfucker down.

“Yeah, but you should’ve seen him when I was finished with him.”

Johnny was surprised how easily you took a big fat black eye, not voicing your pain, laughing away the fight with your ex.

“I kicked his ass!”

Johnny looked at your hands, eyes narrowed. And indeed, all signs showed him that you were able to fight back. Carefully he took your hand in his, making sure he would not hurt you anymore and pulled it closer to his face. Your knuckles were just as the right side of your face, bloody and bruised. You shivered under his touch but for the first time in what seemed to you like forever since you bumped into your ex, you felt your body relaxing. The tension in your shoulders vanishing just because Johnny held your hand in yours so softly. His own were rough from all the training but it felt so good.

“I’m no little bitch, I took a few boxing lessons when I was a teenager” you explained, “When he pulled my shirt, I slapped him, when he started hitting me, I started hitting him back hard, I still got it, then I kicked him in the nuts and managed to run away”

“I’m so, so, so happy to hear to nothing worse happened to you. Next time you see that jerk, you call me, okay? Or when you are afraid to go home by yourself, call me and I pick you up, I bring you home. When I ever see your ex somewhere near here or you, I’m gonna make sure, he’s never gonna touch you or come near you ever again. I’ll even kill that motherfucker for you!”

You laughed and looked into his piercing blue eyes who still showed so much worry and you knew, he was being dead serious.

“Thank you, Johnny!” you whispered, your hand still in his and yet you couldn’t help yourself to make a joke because you could not bear being too serious about your situation right now. You were not used to someone care about you too much.

“But do you think you could manage? Would you be able to kick his ass?” “Is me being a sensei at the dojo you do your stupid yoga in a joke to you, (Y/N)” Johnny said protectively but he too, was glad you could joke right now.

“That stupid yoga you always check my ass out thinking you’re so hidden in your office?”

“Well…” Johnny scratched his head and looked into the air thinking of an even pettier response than yours, but he couldn’t think of any “You got me there”

“I’m actually flattered” you admitted. Until now you weren’t so sure it was you, he was watching so closely.

“Great, now you only have to admit that you are checking me out as well when you’re done with Yoga and I’m leading a class.” You shrugged, “I sometimes do, I love myself a good-looking man who is great with shitty children” Johnny taking another sip of his beer almost choked on it. He was not expecting THAT.

“Alright, good to have this one settled” he said trying to play it cool “Now let’s go patch you up a little”

Without any hesitation or even backtalk which Johnny actually was expecting to get, you followed him and into his apartment. He sat you down on the couch with a new beer in your hand and disappeared into his bedroom.

“Are there any other injuries I should know about?” he yelled whilst rummaging in every cupboard.

“Well, besides my depression, I guess the bastard also managed to kick me in the ribs. Some ice would be great”

Johnny wasn’t even sure he had a first-aid kit somewhere, he wasn’t even sure he ever owned one. Ice would also be a problem, but he thought, a bag of frozen peas or a steak would do, too. After a little search he finally stood with a clean towel, a bottle of vodka and some band aids in front of you again. Firstly, he gave you the peas.

“Show me your ribs” he commanded, and you lifted your ripped shirt. Your complete left side was crowned by an even bigger and darker bruise than the one on your face. He was concerned and hoped nothing was broken and yet he almost shivered seeing your bare skin. To him, you were the most beautiful thing in the whole world right now, even with your beaten face.

“Looks bad” he said and sighed as he sat down next to you and watched you putting the bag of frozen vegetables on your ribs, you hissed.

“It’s nothing. They’re not broken. Broken ribs hurt like hell and this is really nothing compared to that.” Johnny lifted his eyebrows in question.

“I broke my ribs a couple of times” “So you’re a tough cookie?” “You’re not the only tough guy on the block, sensei. I’m not a pussy.” you laughed and friendly nudged him with your elbow. He loved when you called him sensei. And he was excited about the fact that your language was so similar to his. He started to like you even more than he already did.

“Aright, alright. If this is nothing, let’s take care of your face then.”

He turned to you, in his hand the towel now soaked in vodka. He cleaned the crusted blood from your knuckles first. Then, he took a deep breath, he carefully started dabbing the cut on your face. You clenched your teeth but didn’t make a sound.

“Good girl” he said, “No bitching or moaning, that’s good!”

You just watched his face, being just inches away from your own. You saw his concern; you saw that he cared, and your heart started pounding. Your glance followed his toned arms, eyeing his muscles, tensing under his motions. And when you looked at his eyes you saw that they were the bluest blue you have ever seen; you were about to pass out. He was so concentrated; he didn’t even notice you staring at him like a crazy person falling in love. It was only, when he finished sticking the band aid to your face, he realized you looked him straight in the eyes.

He said nothing, you two were just stuck in this moment, sitting on the couch, so close your legs touched, looking at each other, your face so close to him, he felt your hot breath. And then, something in him snapped. He wanted to kiss you!

“I’m gonna kiss you now, (Y/N)!”, he immediately voiced his thought and stroked your unharmed cheek, not asking for permission, just announcing what he was about to do.

“Yeah?” you managed to breath out almost completely silent. And the answer crushed promptly down on you. You closed your eyes and instantly felt soft lips on yours. Johnny, your neighbour Johnny, the Johnny who was so much older than you, the Johnny who you were crushing on since the moment he helped carry your boxes, was finally kissing you. The bag of peas slipped out of your hands and you let them rest on his thighs. Johnny was pulling you closer to his chest until there wasn’t any space left between you two. He was urging and yet so gentle, doing everything to not hurt you. He caressed your back, his left hand dug into your messy hair giving it a slight tug, but not once did his lips leave yours. After what seemed an eternity and yet just a second, he let go of you and pressed his forehead onto yours, out of breath, smiling because he just couldn’t keep himself from not doing it. You joined him.

“You’re gonna go out with me some time now, right?”, he asked laughing in disbelief of his own courage and what it have brought him. Now this question seemed so easy.

“Yeah, pick me up after my yoga lesson tomorrow” you giggled, “Maybe you’ll get another look at my ass”

“You bet!”

[dirtyfilthy]

The Betrayal Of Chelsea Manning By The Coward Adrian Lamo

I have only participated in “cancel culture” once that I can remember. Once, over the broad course of my life, and that was when Adrian Lamo sold Chelsea Manning out to the authorities. Motherfucker has the  sheer gall to call himself a hacker, and then rats someone out — not because of his principles, but from a constant desire for pure narcissistic supply -- and all this from a position of trust no less… 

I was real angry, and I wanted to put the boot in, any way I could. There was a special circle of hell reserved for people like Adrian Lamo… and as it would turn out, he was already in it. 

Amongst petty vendettas like stuffing his wikipedia page with all the well referenced dirt I could dig up, along the way, and kind of by-the-by, I ended up doing a lot of research on the guy, and then, well, the picture of Lamo that emerged… 

Jesus. 

He’s been a hardcore benzo addict since his twenties. If you know what to look for you can tell in some of his interviews, slurring his words and looking very spacey.  He never really had a real job, never broke into the industry he was aways on the fringes of. It’s kinda crazy, if you search for “homeless hacker Adrian Lamo” you can still see what the mass media thought of him before he turned in Chelsea. 

He’d kind of weaselled his way into popular consciousness by being a shameless self-promoter, and then managing to get caught in that spectacular “rebellious teenage hacker” vs. “huge faceless corporation” way that tends to capture people’s imagination. 

There were whole articles about him in Wired. Multiple in fact. Here’s one of earliest from 2004 (unfortunately now behind a paywall), “New York Times vs The Homeless Hacker”. The first few lines can still give you the gist, however

A self-styled security expert and serial self-promoter, Adrian Lamo made headlines as a grayhat hacker. Then the Gray Lady came down on his head. Not long ago Adrian Lamo was exploring an abandoned gypsum processing plant in West Philadelphia with two friends, when a police cruiser drove slowly by. Lamo’s friends were high on methamphetamines…

https://www.wired.com/2004/04/hacker-5/

Even during this phase of his life, a lot of people in the scene didn’t like him. At least, there were people complaining on hacker boards about him stealing exploits and then burning them for the publicity.  In the end he got off with probation and home detention, and that was the end of blatantly hacking into shit. Any more and he would certainly end up in prison. Attitudes were changing, the authorities had stopped seeing hacking as just high-spirited teenage hijinks. and the increasingly severe penalties could land you some serious time. 

After this, he just sorted floated around. He never got job in the industry like the rest of us, and I suspect he may have been  basically unemployable for one reason or another. The next time he popped up in my news feed was in 2010 with a strange article from ex-hacker turned journalist and friend of Lamo’s,, Kevin Poulsen — “Ex-Hacker Adrian Lamo Institutionalized, Diagnosed with Asperger’s” 

The first paragraph or so reads:

Last month Adrian Lamo, a man once hunted by the FBI, did something contrary to his nature. He says he picked up a payphone outside a Northern California supermarket and called the cops.

Someone, Lamo says, had grabbed his backpack containing the prescription anti-depressants he'd been on since 2004, the year he pleaded guilty to hacking The New York Times. He wanted his medication back. But when the police arrived at the Safeway parking lot it was Lamo, not the missing backpack, that interested them. Something about his halting, monotone speech, perhaps slowed by his medication, got the officers' attention

— (https://www.wired.com/2010/05/lamo/)

The article claimed Lamo had been arrested for acting strangely and then institutionalised, basically claiming the police had arrested him because he was autistic. At the time, I didn’t really give this a second thought, “oh well, ho-hum”. As itt turned out, this was a case of the most spectacular kind of “spin” I think I’ve ever seen; the only place the article actually intersected with general consensual reality was in stating Lamo had been arrested and placed on psychiatric hold.

The real story, which is entirely far more pathetic, was that Lamo’s family had become worried about his benzo use (“prescription anti-depressants”) and had cut him off. He totally lost the plot at this point and stormed out of house. Concerned about his mental state, and with fears for his physical safety, it was actually  his own family that called the police to try and find him. 

When confronted about this fairly massive discrepancy, Lamo claimed he hadn’t exactly “lied” as such, and had simply withheld some facts due to personal privacy concerns. 

It was at this point I finally began to see the whole tattered trajectory of Lamo’s entire life — trace the greasy path of his rainbow with my fingertips, and watch as the once bright twine became  increasing gray and frayed as each thread began to curve back towards it’s inevitable impact with the earth, when, at which point, everything important would begin to totally unravel around him.

At his core, Adrian Lamo was a narcissist, and so Adrian Lamo absolutely believed in the Adrian Lamo narrative, as only a narcissist can. Near of beginning of his tale, this was easy to do. He was a wandering Daoist sage, a renegade techno-monk character in a Neal Stephenson cyberpunk novella, and anytime he wanted to see his own reflection he could simply look in any of the major newspapers.  

After his arrest and release, the rest of the world moved on. His peers all settled down to well-paid industry gigs, and you couldn’t just pop the New York Times through an open proxy any longer — well, at least: not most of time, anyway. His own sword, never the exactly the sharpest in the first place, was beginning to show some signs of a serious structural rust. 

Without the constant assurance of people telling his own story back at him, what was he exactly? What did the mirror portray to him now?  An unemployed, semi-homeless drug addict, a hacker who couldn’t hack his way out of wet paper back with pick axe, the tired punch line to any number of bad jokes...   

Of course, the many similarities to my own life were not exactly lost on me. I was basically a case of being a few near misses and unlucky hits away from sitting in his exact position. I had made the transition to an industry career successfully, but I was still a drug addict with mental heath issues.  I had gone through my own narcissistic stage when I was younger, but thankfully grew out of it, the old moons no longer pulled on my tides the way they used to. 

The essential Lamo pattern had began to emerge. Still chasing the same bright stars that had long since sunk beneath the horizon line of the ocean; Lamo would begin to feel irrelevant —  Lamo would get then his name in the media in some fashion. A momentary peace was then achieved, then came a brief period of post-orgasmic. cosmic serenity. 

But of course, the wheel of karma will not stop spinning for anyone, and so, soon enough and all-to-quickly, the entire process of personal renewal, would have to, you know…..  begin anew.

A few other case studies were observed. An unreleased, permanently unfinished documentary featuring Lamo was mysteriously leaked on the internet. Of course, Lamo himself had leaked it. And there was always appearing on various morning television shows, Good Morning America, Fox News & the like.

But then the mother of all opportunities just dropped into his lap.

Chelsea Manning needed someone to talk to. 

Chelsea knew Lamo was Bi, so he was at least in the LGBT community. Adrian was a hacker too. He’d fought against the system in his day, he was certainly someone who would “get it”, she was very sure of this.  And when she did reach out, he was indeed very sympathetic. Honestly, it seemed like he really cared. Just a genuine human being, reaching out across the vast emotional void to provide a sense of empathy to someone who really, really needed it right now.. 

He was very sympathetic when Chelsea told him all about her struggles with gender identity, and he was very sympathetic when she said she was leaking gigabytes of information to Wikileaks…. But behind his sunglasses, Lamo eyes had already morphed into a marquee LED matrix endlessly scrolling his own name. Think of the news coverage!

This was big. This was very big.

It would, in fact, turn out to be fucking huge. Of course, within in the hacker scene, and to a certain extent, even outside it, everyone just fucking loathed him now.  Eventually even the news moved on, nobody wanted any more interviews, and in the end, when everything has already been all said and done: you are ultimately left with only yourself….

… a pathetic drug addict.  Of course, I have to keep telling myself that one point of intersection does not an entire venn diagram or an actual equality make. But I can’t shake the feeling that, perhaps, maybe we weren’t really all that different.  Maybe my own betrayals have had the simple luck of being a lot less public. 

Perhaps my own sins were just as ugly, but far less ambitious. 

Adrian Lamo died alone, from a drug overdose, in a private unit in an aged care facility in Wichita, Kansas.  He was 37 years old. An autopsy showed his kidneys were already failing. 

I guess Sartre got it wrong. Hell isn’t other people, it’s being left totally alone, with nothing else around but the tedious company of your own terrible self, and of course, the fucker won’t stop talking...

So obviously there was nothing more I could do to hurt Adrian Lamo, nothing that Adrian Lamo hadn’t done already. He had long since locked himself away in a prison cell of his own making. I do wonder if maybe one too many silent 3am’s hadn’t come crawling around the clock face when he was there & awake to witness it, lying in bed & staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about things.

Like I’m doing.

Shit, I hope don’t go out that way. 

[thebarbarianbarber-blog]

@davekatweek​ Day 6: Fluff Day!

You and Dave are camping by the lake and you really want to see a meteor shower. But first you gotta wake Strider up.

(for anyone interested: the actual peak of Perseids’ shower is tomorrow - 8/12)

(also i apologize in advance for any linguistic mistakes in this, i’m not a native english speaker)

Make a wish

You crawled into the tent and immediately spotted his messy white hair which were sticking out of the sleeping bag along with his head.

- Dave! - you whispered while shaking his shoulder. - Dave, wake up!

- Sod off, Kankri… I’m done with your shit…

You rolled your eyes. Is your voice really that similar to your brother’s screeching?

- Come on, sleepyhead. Are you wearing your shades? Fucking hell.

- How many times... do i have to tell you… that quick talking… is not rapping... fuck, man, get a life...bla bla bla, i can’t hear you… - Dave muttered.

You gave up on whispering, found his ear and said his name out loud right into it, using all your power of will not to shout. Strider slowly turned around to face you, clearly not satisfied with this turn of events.

- It’s not morning yet. - he growled.

- No shit, Sherlock. Now move your ass, please, and come with me. - you said softly.

- Oh fuck no. I forgot it’s your stupid star party.

- If that’s what you want to call it, yes, it’s my stupid star party and you’re invited. Even though they’re fucking meteors.

- The stars are fucking meteors? - he asked with a snort.

- Well, yes- I mean- No. Goddamnit. That was so unfunny. The opposite of funny, even. - you decided, smirking. - Now get up. We’re going to watch the Perseids.

- Yeah, sure. - he yawned. - Why now?

- Now is the best moment. As you already know, tonight is the peak of the meteor shower which lasted for almost a month already. But the biggest number of them is expected to be seeable in the second half of the night and in the early morning. I certainly don’t want to miss it so I’ve decided now is the right time to wake you up. I want to witness it with you. - you said the last sentence a little more quietly than the rest.

- Wow, thanks. Now I have to get up or else I’ll be an asshole. - he complained.

- Too late. You’re already an asshole, asshole.

Despite the darkness, you noticed he was grinning while getting out of his sleeping bag. You grabbed some apple juice and started to look for orange soda (Dave had chosen the drinks, obviously).

- What? Have you already drunk all of it? - you asked with surprise, showing him three empty bottles, once filled with unhealthy beverage. He examined them and muttered:

- Fuck you too, Dirk.

You sighed and threw the garbage into the bin outside. You were running on apple juice from now.

Dave followed you to the lake. There you sat on a blanket Strider brought with him and enjoyed the landscape before your eyes. The sky above a city full of lights was an image you both learnt to treat as a constant and accept. The sky that night, however, was so much different. It seemed almost alien with its stars, those natural light bulbs, all shiny and majestic, forming constellations that showed themselves only to those far away from urban districts, that sparkling chaos against a background painted with indigo, sapphire and navy blue. Said picture was doubled, one might say, by a reflection in the lake, perfectly mirroring the original. It would be difficult to tell them apart if not for tiny waves ruffling the surface of the water. The forest surrounding the area was filled with a calming silence, though a lonely owl could be heard hooting now and then.

Your tent was the only one around and you haven’t seen anyone so far. This fact made you happy as you dedicated this trip to Dave, even though you were the one excited to see the meteor shower. Nonetheless, you had all this place and all this time for yourselves. You have been looking forward to it for so long.

- Well, how do you like it? - you asked your boyfriend quietly in order not to disturb the peace of the forest.

- It’s dark around here, not gonna lie. I almost feel like I’m one with nature. Like, you could see me on the street and be like “Why hello, nature. How have you been, bro?” And then you’d be like “Oh snap, it’s just you Dave! I thought you were nature.” And I’d say “Yeah, that’s ‘cos we are basically the same person.” That’s pretty much how tight I’m with nature right now. They seem cool.

- Okay, enough of this bullshit.

You took off his shades because, of fucking course, he had them on all this time.

- How about now? How would you describe your relationship with nature?

He looked around in amazement. You could swear his eyes were getting more and more beautiful with every time you saw them.

- It’s just so… - he started. - It’s wonderful.

You smiled.

- I told you it’s not the same in the city.

- And you were damn right.

He gave you a warm gaze and you suddenly felt so lucky.

- Thanks for showing me this place, Karkat.

Love for him that filled you seemed too big for your body.

- Oh, i forgot to tell you. Newsflash. - he paused, for dramatic effect as you suspected. - Rose called me when I was driving and you were sleeping like dead. That scared me a bit, too be honest. Don’t do that again, man.

- Alright, alright, what did Rose say? - you had a feeling it was important. He seemed concerned which was rare in his case.

He hesitated.

- Oh boy. Imma tell you. Flat-out. Straight to the point.

- God, just tell me already!

- Here I go. - he ran his hand through his hair. - Rose and Kanaya want to adopt a baby.

You gasped. Dave was looking a little nervous.

- That’s… Fucking awesome! - you said.

- They went to an orphanage and all that shit. Things are serious. I mean, it takes a hella lot of time to finally get this fucking child and it’s a huge deal apparently. But, yeah. We’re gonna be uncles, dude.

- We’re gonna be uncles. - you repeated.

- Yup. Guess who’s gonna be the cooler one.

- We’re gonna be uncles.

- That’s right. D-Strides over here.

- We’re gonna be fucking uncles, Dave! - you put your hands on his shoulders.- I have to call them.

- Are you nuts? What is it, 3 AM? Chill, you’ll talk about poop and diapers and the psychological drama you and my sister are crazy about but all of this tomorrow, m’kay?

- I guess you’re right.

You looked at the sky feeling a weird mix of excitement and fear. You definitely haven’t seen this coming. Even though you knew it was just the beginning of the adoption process, you still regarded the news as a huge change.

And then you saw it. It was a second, maybe less, but you saw it. A shooting star drawing a bright line on the sky’s canvas and then fading away. Without thinking, you made a wish out loud:

- I wish for a good child for Rose and Kanaya. I wish they wouldn’t wait long for that baby. I wish they would be the best mothers in the world. And I wish we would be the best uncles ever. I wish that kid would receive love and acceptance from everyone around them. I wish they would have a great childhood.

You stopped talking as you decided it was enough. You didn’t consider yourself superstitious but… Fuck, you just wanted them to be happy.

Strider was staring at you, half-smiling.

- That was cute.

You looked away.

- So… What about us? - he asked shamelessly.

Your cheeks were burning. Thank God it was dark.

- What do you mean? - you wondered, knowing exactly what he meant.

- Do you wanna raise a lil’ brat with me? Or a bunch of them. They’d be all over the place yelling and shitting themselves… But I could teach them how to drop it like it’s hot and you could feed them doritos or whatever a bambino eats. Would you like to get in this shithole with me? Like, in the future. Duh.

He was ridiculous.

- You are ridiculous. - you said, chuckling. - I’m pretty sure you are aware that babies don’t eat fucking doritos.

- You’re missing the point, bro.

You were, indeed, missing the point. That’s because you had no idea what to say. You imagined having a kid with Dave. He would be a good father. Full of energy, funny and more caring than he appeared to be. You, on the other hand… You could easily lose control. And you would never forgive yourself if you hurt a child. Your hypothetical child.

- I… I’m really not sure, Dave. - you answered quietly.

- That’s okay. We have tons of time, right?

- We have some, yes.

He was studying your facial expressions for a moment before he said:

- I know what you’re thinking. And I bet you would be the best fucking dad that could ever exist.

You widened your eyes in shock.

- And now you’re thinking something like “how the fuck did he know that?”.

You nodded.

- Surprise! I was a damn psychic this entire time!

- No, you weren’t, shithead. You just know me well, I guess.

- Yeah. And that’s why I know you would kick ass as a father. I mean, you would be so awesome. Not like literally kick ass, that would be terrible.

- I get it. Stop embarrASSing yourself.

He laughed, like a dumbASS he was.

- Just don’t sweat it, alright? - he said, smirking.

- I’ll try. - you promised with a sigh. - I’m gonna get some juice.

- I miss you already. - he whispered when you got up, making you smile.

You went to the tent, grabbed two bottles of the drink and came back. Dave was staring at the sky with his mouth open.

- You missed it! - he exclaimed, facing you. - You fucking missed a star, man!

- No, really? - you asked, disappointed, forgetting to remind him that it was a meteor.

- Hell yeah! It was so bright and bigger than the first one! It just… Pchooooo! Through the whole fucking sky like it was nothing! - he was gesticulating (aka throwing his arms in all directions) trying to show you the trajectory of the Perseid. -  And it was so fucking glorious! What the fuck? Why did you have to go bring this fucking juice?!

Before you could say anything, he pulled you by the arm, forcing you to sit down.

- From now on, no running away. You stay put and watch this motherfucking star bath with me.

- It’s a meteor shower, actually-

- Who the fuck cares what it’s called? It looks awesome. Why didn’t you tell me there was a fucking star wars battle scheduled for today?

- I told you a million fucking times: let’s go and watch it! It looks cool! You never fucking listened!

- Yeah, not enough fucking times, then. Also you sounded fucking boring, no offence.

You rubbed your temples.

- Now that you’ve seen a bit of it, i suppose you don’t find it boring anymore, do you, Dave? - you asked after calming your nerves a little.

- Of course not. Meteors fucking rule.

He wrapped his arm around you and suddenly all your negative emotions decided to go and fuck themselves. Everything seemed to be perfectly fine and it was because he loved you and you fucking loved him back.

- Well? - you asked softly.

- Huh?

- What did you wish for?

- Yeah, like I’m going to tell you.

- And why wouldn’t you? - you asked, raising your eyebrows.

- What if when I tell you it won’t come true?

- Hey! I said my wish out loud. - you reminded him.

He didn’t respond.

- Oh come on. I know you don’t believe in all that shit. Just tell me.

A sinister grin appeared on Strider’s face.

- Make me.

You decided you want to play his little game. You kissed his lips gently and then, without further ado, put your tongue into his mouth. He sighed. You placed your hands on his waist and looked into his incredible cherry-red eyes. He broke the kiss and hugged you before leaving busses on your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your neck. You pushed him lightly so that both of you were lying down on your sides. He embraced you tightly and began caressing your back. You ran your hand through his shiny white hair.

You loved the touch of his body, the warmth it was giving to yours and the warmth you were feeling inside. Every time you were kissing, hugging, touching, it felt like it wasn’t enough. Before you met him, you thought that making out would bore you. Seriously, for how long could people do that? The same things over and over again, what’s the deal? Oh boy, were you wrong. You wanted this to last as long as it could and when you weren’t seeing each other for a long time - when you were both studying for finals, for example - you longed for him, for all the little talks you had, for his eyes, his whole body and for this unique feeling, uncomparable to anything you’ve ever felt before.

If you were to put it into words, you’d say you felt complete.

You almost forgot!

You sat up and gave him a significant look.

- Oh right, the wish. - he whispered, flushed and cute. - I’ll tell ya, promise, just let’s cuddle a lil’ more, ok?

You rolled your eyes and smiled. He was so convincing. You returned to your previous position, looking at his face with curiosity.

- Okay, so… I wished for a hella good future for us.

- Yeah?

You couldn’t help but smile and he scratched his head nervously,

- I just wanted us, this, to last as long as possible. - he went on. - And that it would be all cool between us. Just. Camping and drinking together and showing you my dope raps and hating on dumb movies and… The rest, you know.

He chuckled awkwardly. He was acting like such a dork while talking about your relationship and it was making your heart melt.

- When I saw this star… I mean meteor… I thought, hey, why not keep it like this. With you. You’re the shit, man. I mean. I like you. Really. - he hesitated for a second. - I love you.

Dave fucking Strider was lying next to you, his facial expression resembling the one of a naughty puppy that has just broken the most expensive vase in your house. Fucking Dave Strider who has just confessed his love for you. Dave Strider (fuck), the most charming, intelligent, handsome and sensitive human being you have ever met.

You would never pay him a compliment using all those superlatives at once, of course. His ego was big enough in your opinion.

And there he was. The love of your life and your best friend in one person.

- I love you too. - you said shakily after who knows how long.

He smiled and you would smile at that moment too if you weren’t already smiling this whole time.

- I wish it would stay that way, bro.

That was it. You just had to hug him with all your might. You laid your head on his shoulder and felt warm streams on your cheeks. Fuck. Why did you have to be like this? Crying like a baby while hugging your boyfriend. You couldn’t stop. Your tears were soaking in Dave’s T-shirt and all you could think about was the fact that they were tears of joy. You cried, filled not with sadness, but with joy for the first time in your life. For the first time you had a reason to cry that way.

After a few minutes you calmed yourself down, still embracing Dave. He said nothing, though kept on patting your head and back, kissing your neck and ear and hugging you as tightly as you were hugging him.

All of a sudden, he stiffened and then said:

- Yo, check this out!

You sat up and turned skywards.

They were everywhere. Tens of meteors falling down at once, right before your eyes. Flashing lines drawn from different angles, varying in sizes and brightness but all equally marvelous. You were afraid to blink in order not to miss any of them. The Perseids appeared for a second, maybe two and then faded into nothingness. It would be impossible to dedicate a wish to each and every one. You didn’t have the ability to count them, either. All you could do was watch this performance of light and darkness, dynamics and steadiness until it was over.

And when it finally was, you were staring at a sky that suddenly felt so empty.

Neither of you said anything for quite a long time as you were both amazed by what you saw. When you looked at Dave, you noticed his eyes, as well as his mouth, were opened wide. He faced you and blinked. You were no less thrilled than him.

- That was beautiful. - you mouthed.

- You are beautiful. - he responded, flirtatious bastard.

You snorted and kissed him on the cheek. He yawned. You patted your thighs and he laid his head on them. You played with his hair for a while and continued to observe the sky.

After that great number of meteors you saw, you were excited and not sleepy at all. You were hoping to see another one or two.

Eventually you saw a shooting star (at that moment you realised that this term was incorrect) and looked at Dave, wanting to tell him. However, you saw his eyes were closed and heard him breathing slower than usual. Goddamn sleepyhead.

You, just like Dave, wished it would stay that way.

You also came to a conclusion that watching him sleep is like watching a meteor shower for millions of hours. Or even more beautiful.

[get-the-g-blog]

#MeToo

I originally wrote this specific column a while back when an article had just been published about the kidnapping of a British glamour model sent to Milan for a photoshoot went viral. Unfortunately the magazine didn’t want to publish it at the time so I decided to take my column to it’s own platform (as you see here). After transferring the old content across I’m finally ready for a new article and since this is the week everything has kicked off with Weinstein, #MeToo and Cameron Russell’s instagram full of model abuse, I thought it was time this column saw the light of day.

Before we begin/little disclaimer for you... I’d like to say that I consider myself lucky that the times (plural) I’ve had to deal with some kind of sexual harassment/been put into a compromising position, that it hasn’t been nearly as serious as other stories I’ve heard. I also do not/have never seen myself as a victim in regards to this specific incident nor any of the others. By writing this column I am not looking for sympathy... not even remotely... I just want to stand in solidarity with all the others out there and share a story of a close call that happened to me whilst I living was in Milan. 

When you’re sent “on stay” as a model to another country, it’s not the glamorous experience the media makes out it is...it’s more like being put into a bubble world of relentless castings, promoter parties and model apartments that resemble year 6 camp at best.

For those of you that don’t know, model promoters are people...generally men...who work for a club or restaurant and are paid, per model, to take us out. Models get to eat and drink for free, which can be great...but so long as you know the game... because if you look around the ‘model sections’ there tends to be a few old, grey heads lurking there too... no such thing as a free lunch now.

I was sent to Milan a couple of years ago for two months to try to get work. It was the first place I’d ever lived outside of home, let alone overseas. I was young, open to adventures and fairly naive...basically the perfect prey. I was also scared shitless when I arrived, I felt extremely isolated but luckily I was  bunked in with just one other model, K, who was the bomb! 

The model promoter scene in Milan is massive. Bigger than anywhere else I’ve ever experienced since. It’s pretty much impossible to avoid but when K said she was completely anti-promoters I was happy to just go with the flow... I hadn’t even really worked out wtf a promoter was at this stage so I couldn’t have cared less.

One day at a casting we met a male model called T. T was a fast talking American and I wasn’t really a fan from the get go. He said he wasn’t into the promoter scene either so we should all hang out. We didn’t know many people yet so the more the merrier!

A couple of days later T invited us to a party for the designers DSquared and said we’d be sitting at the table with them for dinner. On the way to the party, it somehow slipped out that the event was actually being run by promoters and yeaaaa we probably wouldn’t be sitting with the designers. K was having none of it. We were nearly there so I wanted to check it out anyway so I somehow managed to calm K down and convince her to go, just for a bit.

The next day T, who seemed quite smitten with K, texted her to apologize and asked if he could make it up to us by taking us to a friends house in Varese (approx 1.5 hour drive outside of Milan) for dinner. New experience...new place...new people... where could I sign up?!

Since T was around our age I naively assumed that his “friends” would be to... I assumed wrong. 

We were greeted by two older men, M (in his 50s) the owner of the huge ass property we found ourselves in...inclusive of it’s own stables, motorbike workshop and a restaurant. And G, an ex model booker (70s..at a guess).

Looking back now, this should have been a little more strange than I found it at the time, but I guess power in numbers... plus G was an ex model booker and T was a model too, so safe...right?!

After dinner and a drive to Lake Maggorie, G started talking about how late it was and that we should just stay the night at a local hotel. That way, in the morning we could ride M’s horses and then go out on the boat. T said he had a casting in the morning so he couldn’t stay but we should (a casting...on a Saturday... in Italy.. who the fuck was he kidding?!).

I don’t remember K or I saying yes but we were driven to the hotel anyway. Whilst G and the hotel manager were deep in discussion that I couldn’t remotely understand K said the hair on the back of her neck stood up and that we had to go home. She couldn’t explain it, just a weird feeling. When we told G that actually we wanted to stay at our place he absolutely lost it. Unreasonably so. He was yelling and screaming, throwing his arms all over the place. It was so outrageous; it made us dig out heels in more. 

We were driven back to Milan on the pretense that we’d be back in the morning with T after his casting. 

To spare everyone the essay that this would be if I gave you an exact play-by-play of what happened next (it’s already long AF I know), I’ll try to break it down for you.

T was being super shifty and aloof in the morning about when he was going to this “casting”. We wanted to wait for him but instead he booked us a cab, told us to get in and he’d be 30 minutes behind.

Once back in Varese K and I were taken with M and G for gelato in a nearby town, given a tour of M’s motorbike workshop, rode horses, witnessed G parading around in his teeny tiny speedos, ready for the boat... and there was still no T.

4 hours later than he’d said, T finally showed his smarmy little face. It seemed weirdly preplanned... just us two pretty young things left alone to be paraded around with these two old men... things were starting to feel off to me (just now... I know)

After the boat ride, back on the pier before dinner, I oversaw G and T exchanging some very terse words. G eventually stormed off, arms flailing in the air again and swearing under his breath (my ex was Italian... I know Italian swear words ;). I’d had a couple of niggling doubts in my mind from earlier in the day and this seemed a little bizarre but I ignored it. I just wanted get to dinner, eat fast and go home.

In the car on the way back to Milan, K sat in the front next to M and I was in the back next to G in the middle and T on his other side. It was late, everyone was falling asleep and that’s when shit got real weird. I was resting my head against the window, nodding off to dream land and that’s when G lay one had on my leg and started grabbing my face and pulling it towards him with the other, whispering “My darling, lie on me, lie on me, it’s much more comfortable”. He was literally pulling my head down on to him, stroking my cheek and pushing his lips towards mine. Every time I’d pull my head up, he’d pull it back down. “You’re tired my darling, don’t fight it, it’s ok baby, just lie on me”. There couldn’t have been creepier words spoken...and I couldn’t have been more awake. This wasn’t good. I knew it. Fuck knows what T was doing at this time. He must have been able to hear what was going on, he was literally on the other side of G but he remained still and silent, didn’t intervene at all. 

I remember pulling out my phone and showing G pictures of my family, hoping to distract him the current head tug of war that was going on. I’m pretty sure my thought process was along the line of “look you motherfucker, I’m loved, people will look for me if i’m missing or kick your ass Liam Neeson style if anything happens to me”.

As we entered Milan I was completely on edge, even more so when they decided to drop T off first. I even mentioned that I recognised where we were (bullshit) in case they had any ideas about taking us somewhere strange. G and T exchanged more terse words as he got out of the car and this time I could make out they were talking about money. Luckily K and I were dropped off at our actual address shortly after, with G giving us too long hugs goodbye. 

In the morning K told me she’d had bad vibes the whole day. I mentioned seeing T and G argue on the pier and she said she’d overheard that conversation, with T said “we should tell the girls, they should know” and G was having none of it. I told her I heard them argue about money outside T’s place and that’s when the penny dropped.

Turned out that T and G were in cahoots with each other running some kind of model escort biz. G would find wealthy older men who would pay the dirty duo to find models to spend time with them...whatever that time involved...as well as paying for all expenses of the day/weekend/week. T, being a male model and therefore ‘safe and trustworthy’ would find the unsuspecting models and bring them to the men. Unaware of what was actually going on, packaging it as a fun time with “a friend” rather than some old man i’m being paid to deliver you to.

K confronted T and he confirmed everything. I have no idea how much M knew about what G and T were doing, I was alone with him several times and was honestly never uncomfortable. Had it been someone else, I’m aware that this story could be very different. I never heard from M again.

G tried to make contact a few more times... messaging me about going for a ride in his Ferrari... like that’s going to do it for me.

T sent a few rounds of apology messages. I basically told him to go fuck himself. One of the final messages was something along the line of “I’m so sorry, let me make it up to you, come to Cannes, I’m staying on a yacht for a week with some friends, join us!”. A week...trapped on a boat with you and your “friends”...yea, that’s a hard no from me.

Looking back I can see how dangerously close we were to getting pimped out or trafficked. Had anything happened, we were millions of miles from home, we didn’t even have the address of the M’s property and we’d been taken away on a Friday so our agency would have been unaware anything was wrong until the Monday.

Hindsight is 20/20 baby.

We got lucky.

x

[literaryclubiiti]

Growling Shriek(s)

DISCLAIMER: This is an admittedly light-hearted conversation about the trends of our most beloved IIT Indore between two not entirely happy-go-lucky stalwarts about to graduate. Following the tradition, this can be considered as a whole-hearted, but nonetheless well-intentioned rant. Reader discretion is highly advised.

By Amey Ambade and Ashish Bharatwal

(SCENE 1: SILVER MESS)

(It’s about noon on a Saturday in March. Amey is sitting on the wildly recognizable red chair, steel plate on the beige table, as ‘Tip Tip Barsa Pani’ plays loudly on the TV, almost in sync with the water dripping off the water filter behind him. He dons a grin as Ashish joins him, visibly frustrated.)

Amey: Dude, what’s up with your mess refund?

Ashish: Motherfuckers. They should be drowned in their own broth.

(Murderous glances from judgemental postgrads across the table)

Amey (unconcerned) : Hard luck, eh? What did you expect, though? Four years on, they’d understand why you dislike them? Didn’t you get to fill a pointless form to get something out of it?

Ashish: It’s not the first time I am getting the short end of the stick in IITI.

Amey: Not the first time you’ve said that.

Ashish (smiling) : Not the first time you’ve said that. You tend to be able to predict each other’s moves after this long a swim in the shitpool as comrades.

(Random Mess Guy comes up: ‘Bhiyaa, mess fees pay kar di na?’ They look at him disapprovingly, and taking the hint, he promptly disappears.)

Amey (doubtfully breaking a piece off a roti with bare hands) : Amen to that, brother. Chal, aaj khane mein kaunsi insect species ki discovery hogi dekhte hain. Talking of insect species, what’s up with E-Blockers suddenly hitting the gym?

Ashish: Well, whaddya know? Trying their best to feel good about themselves before leaving; what were they even doing the last four years, haha!

Amey: Ah well. You know and I know. Now that everyone else is in Simrol, I don’t know what eyeballs you speak of. I give the fad a month to drop off. We clearly couldn’t give two shits.

Ashish (chuckling with disgust) : Especially now.BTW, speaking of shits, look at this - Lauki Ke Kofte. BC’s trademarked turd-sized dumplings® are turning out to be a favorite of those who haunt the Jain food counter. Tatti khaaye par pyaaz na khaaye.  

Amey (proud to not have made the unfortunate sabzi choice) : Chuck that, chal Fresco chalte hain, Snickers pe fir se PayTM cashback aaya hai.

Ashish: Yeah, I have to get a couple of photocopies too. These B-schools! Why do they even have CAT if that is just meant to be a ‘Fuck you!’ to mediocrity?

(They leave the mess, their untouched food-laden plates still on the table. The freshness outside is liberating, it’s like getting out of a green fart convention.)

Amey (finally inhaling air) : Perceived mediocrity… Thodi toh political correctness chahiye, bhai. But yes, I agree. I’ve been swamped with my MS applications lately, and they are equally exhausting. Thinking about our lives after graduation is perhaps more frustrating than trying to maintain a straight face when Batra talks. Add to that the lifelong terror that we will take away from boarding harmfully yellow buses, and lo, you have the recipe for a migraine.

(They reach Fresco, and scan through the hastily placed products. Amey discreetly picks up a Zandu Balm)

Ashish: Remember when as freshmen we were singing at the top of our lungs the lewd version of ‘Chahun Main Ya Na’ and didn’t give two shits when we noticed a furious Batra peering over us ominously from the half-open door? Ah, I miss those careless times.

Amey: And the countless number of times we partied with complete disregard for the neighbors or Digant? It helped that we had no immediate neighbors, aur guards to apne jigri thhey. But with no authorities to piss off now that everyone except us is thankfully in Simrol, it’s like, hum kiske dimag ko shot de ab?

(They’ve collectively picked up stuff worth 150 bucks but will pay only a hundred because subsidy.)

Ashish (showing his phone screen) : Hey, look at this article in ToI: Fluxus event winners haven’t received their prize money. This one guy says IITI owes him fucking 10k. Much ado about Fluxus every year. The only ones happy are the OCs, until last year, right? From what goes around in the campus, they reported earnings of 3000 from Sunidhi’s concert, and an attendance of 3000 in the media. What an absolute load of crap?! 70 lakh mein toh teen decent Fluxus ho jaayenge BC.

(They’re walking, surrounded by the white buildings with eerily jail-like black railings that have defined their time in Silver Springs. Now that Silver isn’t infested with overexcited juniors, final years are loitering in the quaint streets.)

Amey: I still stand by my idea to only have an e-Fluxus to save the money and the Kejru-level shaming.

Ashish: Haha, if only you knew e-Fluxus actually happened this year. We had a middling singer Shirley Setia adorning the terrains of Simrol. I also heard Aditi Agrawal was their second choice, now that she has her own YouTube channel. Way to go!

(They get to the lift, sharing it with the classically unconcerned 4th floor wali aunty as they hear the dulcet voice on loop, touting “Please. Close. The Door. Krupaya. Darwaza. Band. Karein.” Somewhere, Hodor’s soul is shedding a single heavenly tear.)

Amey: The terrains of Simrol! There’s some places in our new campus that look like scenes from True Grit, Blazing Saddles and Mad Max were filmed there. I could swear the dust twisters could effectively upend an unsuspecting Simmi and Avnish holding three Cormens each. Avnish will probably be ecstatic about that, too.

Ashish: It’s miraculous how so few cases of asthma have popped up given the dust bowl Simrol is and the number of students cooped up in there. We are a resilient lot, I must say.  

(They get out of the lift on the famous 3rd floor and enter D-314.)

(SCENE 2: ROOM)

Amey: We’re wasting an entire sunny afternoon for my bloody transcripts. ( He pauses to check a news notification on the antics of a certain orange unhinged toddler-psychopath.) You have to agree, though, with all the negatives aside, isn’t it actually pretty convenient to navigate around the half-built pods in pyjamas?

(They change in a minute, time is important here, and Amey reaches for his shoes. There’s no way he’s going into the arid Wild West in flip-flops. Ashish checks the bus schedule on his phone. They have bus schedules, for fuck’s sake, doesn’t that say a lot by itself?)

Ashish: Yes, but that doesn’t outweigh having no good food, good booze and good company in a ten-kilometer radius, does it? Taste Butts? Screw you, Rohan Rathore.

Amey (disapprovingly) : No cash, only college Smart Cards accepted. And you have to try the infamous Chicken Fried Rice. Nothing screams appetizing as half-cooked rice with boiled chicken bits and spring onions sprinkled on top to emphasize the near non-existent efforts that went into serving it. Maybe if our batch was shifted to the forsaken place too, we wouldn’t have had such a pessimistic opinion. Maybe angoor khatte hain.

(Both take a minute to check if they haven’t forgotten their ID cards and proceed to exit the building. ID cards hold more importance in the Simrol campus than platinum credit cards.)

Ashish: But then I wouldn’t have been able to go to TIME for classes twice a day at ungainly hours. (Phone pings) Iss Utkarsh Kumar Singh ko chayn nahin hai. And then there’s the IIT Indore Discussions and Complaints and Grievances and Suggestions and Repercussions and Discombobulations and Fornications page. People have no chill, this Gymkhana has no chill. Which is a good thing, actually. This one tried its best to make things right. The Constitution was a pretty good move.

Amey: Yeah, they tried to right some wrongs. Avadhesh is hands-down the most proactive Gymkhana President I have seen, especially in regard to being responsive. Can’t say the same about the vigilants-in-their-own-right juniors who were more concerned about lengthening the mail threads with their bull than making their contribution count. The juniors really get on my nerves sometimes.

Ashish: Sometimes? Hah. What have the Quiz and Literary Clubs been up to? I count one… two… three… Three events in the last year, both our clubs combined - no aggressive, only passive, these runts. I’m pretty sure we left the clubs on high notes, but the future for these exclusive groups of students seemingly aspiring just for PoRs is obscure at best. The clubs are almost decrepit now, but the enthusiasm to forward mails from other institutes’ fests has not dwindled a bit.

Amey: Our work defined these clubs, but I agree, lately, confusion seems to have taken them to a standstill.

(They board the dangerously yellow bus after a 10-mile walk)

(SCENE 3: FREAKISHLY YELLOW BUS)

(Amey proceeds to sit on the right side of the bus. Arey naive child.)

Ashish: Bhai, uss taraf dhoop aayegi.  

(They sit on the double-seat and share a headphone. Ashish bangs ‘Another Day of Sun’)

Ashish: I can listen to the ‘La La Land’ soundtrack on end. This and Abusive Aunty Mix and Chodu Singham...  Did you know they caught a third guy for downloading umpteen gigs of porn @36MBps in Simrol?

Amey: Kya?! Yeh kaise hua bhai? That poor pervert.

Ashish: The IT guys can obviously track you in the new hostels. The surprising thing here is, they cared enough. They ALWAYS care when it comes to the quotidian aspects of student life gone slightly haywire. Khaane mein keede se koi problem nahin hai, par Frooti ka payment overdue hai toh expulsion.

Amey: Well, if one guy hogs the whole network, others have to come jumping like it’s The Dawn of The Rise of The Dusk of The War for the Planet of The Apes. I remember how we used to go bat-shit crazy when someone was downloading the latest episode of Game of Thrones from our gareeb 80GB limited Airtel networks when we already had it. Some people were so goddamn serious about the bandwidth they’d become whinier than a Goth kid trying to find his eyeliner.

(The bus hasn’t started yet. CultSec boards. Bus revvs.)

Ashish: Here comes our poor sacrificial lamb. He should wear a tee that says, ‘I am Kalash and I am not a terrorist’.

Amey: Sir, I have known him since my first day at IIT Indore even though that is technically impossible, but impossible is just a word at IIT Indore and apparently everyone had such a good rapport with him so they decided to keep him 22 km away. <insert GRE words image here>

(Both chuckle and greet Kalash, who proceeds to sit behind them.)

Amey (checking phone) : Naya email. Best BTP submissions ke liye. Alag hi! BTP awards are farcical. No interdisciplinary uniformity in grading or evaluation. Two submissions from Mech and both got some prize or the other at the Symposium because of their presentation.

Ashish: Or just plain luck. Still, man. Our BTPs saw some real effort. Our many advisors deservedly became Associate Professors. It was high time, wasn’t it?

Amey: My faith in the IITI academic system is still maintained thanks to these hardworking guys. You remember how hard they had to fight to get us great courses for a Minor degree?

Ashish: The Minor program was unarguably the best decision that defined the academic policies for our batch. And the future batches too.

Amey: Personally, I’d love to see a core subject Minor for the new batches. And Abhishek Sir is the best DoSA we have had since Granny’s left Silver Springs. He’s doing a commendable job, especially given all the student shenanigans.  

Ashish: I think you discount the students’ role tad too much. Our batch has some of the best coders in the country. Utkarsh and the Shah bros are going to the ACM-ICPC World Finals, hopefully turning it into an institute tradition. Then we have prodigies like Tripathi. These guys have done a lot to promote the coding culture at IITI, if only by setting examples. Look at the placements and internship trends you and I noticed this year at the PO: we are near the top of the ladder in India as far as CS is concerned. But more focus on other branches would not do harm, would it *rant intensifies*? 

...Look at the abysmal performance by Electrical and Mechanical; for a decent salary we non-CS guys either have to learn programming and leave our core studies for the night before the exams, or go into research, or take GATE or CAT or IES or IAS or KLPDS and what-not! While we as students need to grow balls and learn how to not get swayed away by first CTCs, some push from the institute would be great.  

(Amey isn’t listening. Notwithstanding the growls and *shaking* of the bus, Amey is cozily napping.)

(The bus stops at the campus main gate after what seems like the whole length of ‘Jodha Akbar’ and ‘What’s Your Rashee?’ combined.)

Entry Gate Security Guard: Sir, ID card. (Ashish has been pretending to sleep too because guard overlook karne ki probability 80% hai and as accent-torn Deepika Padukone in xXx quotably says: he likes his odds.)

(These adamant seniors are not giving up)

Entry Gate Security Guard: ( unable to cut the bullshit, nudges Ashish) Ser! (shudder) ID.

(reluctantly pulling out his ID, Ashish mumbles under his breath.)

(The insidious dust has broken Amey’s sweet nap. He coughs as the scarily yellow bus proceeds into the vastness of the campus.)

Amey: Look, kids with donation boxes for used clothes. AVANA has consistently been on a roll. Although the sight of someone silently looming over you as you sleep, whispering ‘Thatty Rupes’ is almost as scary as the time we watched The Descent and shit ourselves simultaneously crying and laughing.

Ashish: ( in an impressive Marathi accent) Nepali Vachli bhau. Nepali Vachli. (Both share an inside joke as the bus comes to a halt. Destination reached.)

(SCENE 4: SIMROL)

Amey: ( getting down) In the end, that’s what matters. Although persisting regionalism is a good talking point for students, with all its pros and cons.

Ashish: Closely-knit antelope herds are not easy to penetrate.

Amey: Is that the first time you’ve said that? (another chuckle shared, this is getting cheesy) I don’t even remember why we came here. Oh yes. Transcripts.

(A friendly junior smiles and greets them. In contrast to the shade thrown in Simrol, cordiality is still burgeoning here.)

Amey: There are perhaps no stronger polar opposites than AVANA and SESC. I might be horribly wrong, but from what we’ve noticed, it seems like SESC has become redundant and unproductive. The startups they have been promoting either sold stationery or just took the MHRD grant for pizzas, getting bundled up in a matter of months.

(They approach the Physics Pod complete with cinderblocks to cranes and the evergreen sounds of metal hammering. )

Ashish: Yeh bik gayi hai SESC. Ab is SESC mein kuch nahin hai. Yeh saare milke humko pagal bana rahe hain m--

(Ashish stops abruptly as Professor Vishvakarma passes by, greeting them briefly.)

Amey: This guy is THE man. Our Placement Office and the IAC would never be as well-established without him. What’s up with IAC this year?

Ashish: Santosh Sir worked selflessly for both Placements and the Conclaves. Never will the student members be as happy and well-fed as we were under his rule. Haan, this year’s IAC is going to be a mish-mash effort by Rajveer - all hot air and no real content. Ah, who cares? It is anyway under a different professor now.

Amey: But you must admit, PKU sir has been a worthy successor to SKV. The Placement Office is working as a well-oiled machine thanks to him. Won’t you miss our Placement Office perks?

Ashish: Do you mean the divine morning coffees, occasional mayo sandwiches and sour-ass lemon teas or the long hours of highly productive meetings and equally unproductive bakchodi? We’ll definitely miss both.

(They get to the new Academic Office. Ashish listens to the incoherent dialogue between Amey and Rinki Ma’am, and watches her give Amey his precious transcripts.)

Amey (whispering) : Tapesh sir and Rinki ma’am have really grown on us fourth-years, haven’t they?

Ashish (whispering back) : Yeah. I used to get a cold shoulder earlier. Last time I was offered tea. I guess they understand how being seniors is difficult and that our problems begin to get more genuine as we grow through the college. Familiarity here bred sympathy, instead of contempt.

(Cut to: One hour later they leave from SS in an Uber to the city as the dangerously catchy

Swachh Bharat jingle is being heard everywhere. Pity the driver of those poor garbage trucks, people. You can only listen to so much of Kailash Kher and the Chorus Kids. Hey, Kailash Kher and the Chorus Kids sounds like a decent band name.)

(SCENE 5: INDORE CITY)

Ashish: Yahaan Johnny ke paas rok dena, bhaiya.

(They get out of the Nano and pay using PayTM because demonetization. The driver is conveniently named Ramesh. He frowns over not having received cash. Bitches.)

Amey: Where our fuckbois at?

Ashish: Dugar and Bapat are at Sam’s (free) Momos, they tell me. Diggi, Govil, Dhaivat and Avnish are having Fire Paan. Prajwal is at Nafees for biryani. Damn! His attraction to biryani is borderline sexual!  

Amey: Can you blame him? It is magnificent. Though not as magnificent as the one we had at the notorious Love Palace party. Our juniors will never experience the thrill of gatecrashing a wealthy Punjabi’s lavish food fiestas.

Ashish: That was quite a fiasco! The Curious Case of Love Palace! The slaps, the drunken brawls, the humiliation, and, in the midst of it all, the most delicious meal we have ever had, owing in large part to its absolutely undeserving our shorts, slippers and hoodies.

(For our unwitting readers, on 24th February 2014, allstudent received a mail inviting us to the housewarming celebrations of an ostentatiously built residence, the Love Palace that falls on our way to the Axis Bank ATM in Silver Springs. We turned up in full strength, especially the first years who were early to arrive and plunder and leave. Our super-seniors flocked to the open bar, exhausting it of its offerings within an hour. As it turns out, the mail was a hoax perpetrated by *insert_mysterious_name_here* and we were actually not invited. The hosts were gonna have none of that shit. What followed was some lit slapping and thrashing game from our truly Punjabi hosts, which effectively ceased all the faggotry in mere minutes. Amey and Ashish obviously escaped unscathed because they were dressed decently, which was a camouflage. The Bhatias, in the week that followed, saw the wrath of the slap-ees in the form of broken car windows and some dope graffiti. Some of the first-years got their long-overdue slaps well in advance, though.

This event was perhaps one of the most happening ones at IITI, even more than a few Fluxuses. Or is it Fluxii?)

(As they gobble up a hotdog each, they see their homies approaching and a shitstorm of banter follows)

If you’ve manage to read all of the rant above, you can flatten as you go up. The writers want you to know that despite all its flaws, IIT Indore is actually a pretty good place to be, and they cherish their years here. Ashish (rather suspiciously) knows the roll numbers and names of all the people here, and Amey knows how to ignore them. The best hostels in any IIT system, the united outcry that we so often witness (*cough* mess *cough*), a filial feeling that comes with the perk of having a small student population, and the shared respect for friends, professors, and everyone else around, definitely make our IIT Indore journey memorable.

(BONUS)

director@iiti.ac.in  : Wish you all a great life ahead, Batch of 2013–17!

lenka@iiti.ac.in : And I